THE LONELINESS OF THE MID-CAREER ARTIST
Yesterday, in a moment of anger and frustration I confided to a friend, “Why do I waste time trying to get into clubs that do not want me as a member?” The thing is, most* workshops, resources, funding and support out there are for “new voices” and “emerging talent”. Sure, artists just starting out need all of the help they can get. There is no lack of discrimination in our world, and (theoretically) the newbies getting help are a diverse cross-section of our society. The ugly assumption that I keep running into is this — someone as old or experienced as you may be (or I am) should have found success already, so what the fuck do we need help with, 20 years after art school? You should have made it already! You should have all of the answers! The wound takes the form of a ticking clock — a reminder that we are not 30, and are still trying to figure it all out. On top of all that, there is a damn good chance you had a significant personal experience that eclipsed your life for a couple of years — a toxic relationship, a messy divorce, a major financial problem, a catastrophe, an addiction. There is no special box to check in Sundance applications for “somewhat talented filmmakers who had to step away from their career to solve some traumatic life shit and had a long road to navigate before they could find the time and space to write a fancy new treatment for that new category.” Well, that was my week, and I want to know if you run into anything like this as well.
I talk to a lot of artists about the obstacles they create for themselves, or run into, or wake up to. The sting of not being an “emerging artist” is chronic. I just came across a wonderful International program to apply to, but you have to be 25 or younger to submit. Aren’t we all learning until the day we die? It seems so hypocritical. Can we call that ageism?
In the absence of abundant, viable support systems for mid-career artists, we tend to suffer in silence. Of course, there are some communities, local and virtual — but many of them are exclusive to specific art forms. It seems that their founders think that the trials and tribulations of painters and writers and filmmakers are so radically different that they exclude them from a group based solely on the work they create. I know, it sounds maddening and idiotic until you witness it first-hand. And then there are the poorly administrated platforms where posting anything about your vulnerabilities (especially anonymously) invites troll attacks and complete regret that you posted anything in the first place (ahem, Quora). And then, there are the groups that are shameless storefronts for self-professed creativity gurus with an eBook to sell you for $40. In any case, the real problem is this — artists (like anyone else) can be incredibly reluctant to ask for help. In countless private conversations over the last months, I hear the same story from everyone — “I was too ashamed to ask for help.” And yes, a few years ago I was one of them. As you would expect, a mid-career artist has had some great moments, some minor (or even major) victories. Their friends and colleagues, their classmates — they imagine them firing on all cylinders, fighting the good fight 24/7, a tank full of gas and a star to guide them until morning. Who wants to disappoint that fan club? Who wants to step out from behind the magic curtain and say “I’m having a really fucking hard time.” Exactly. No one.
Some of us are lucky enough to have a partner or a bulletproof friend that we can never hide the truth from. That person is your anchor, your confessor, your catalyst to find a solution out of that lonely blanket of failure and defeat you have wrapped yourself in. But what if you do not have a person to show your feet where the ground is? (Well, I did call this post the loneliness of the mid-career artist for a reason.)
The solution lies in finding the courage to have the conversation, and the tenacity to create a safe space for that conversation. Sometimes we have to hit rock bottom to ask for help. I personally had $12 to my name, was living in a foreign country where I barely spoke the language, was in the trenches of a hostile divorce, had no work documents and was a single parent to a 5-year-old. I really did have nothing to lose when I found myself sending up flares to people I used to be close to. The headline is this — I was scared about nothing and I should have asked for help a hell of a lot earlier. There was no judgement, no “Ahem, that was an idiot move.” Just listening, just kindness, just understanding. Every single one of us can have a piano fall on our head, and then we try to hide it for proud, foolish reasons. On the other side of that act of facing your fear and vulnerability is the coming-clean and some profound relief. In that relief, there is outrageous peace. In that peace are the badass seeds of your return. So, connect and redeem when you are lonely. EVERYTHING YOU WANT IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THAT FEAR. I know, it is easier than making an omelette, but how many of us do it? Far too few.
*The Sustainable Arts Foundation is a great nonprofit, specifically designed to support artists and writers with children. http://www.sustainableartsfoundation.org
