The Roller Coaster of Making Art: Why What You Have To Say Matters

Dear students and friends, 

I’ve gotta say, July has already been a rollercoaster: extreme temperatures, holiday parties, laughter and loss, political scandal, and lots and lots of music. Art imitates life... Or is it the reverse? 

We are told that life as an artist is not easy. The trope of the starving artist, as illustrated by real life examples of artists who suffered in their relationships, finances and health, abounds. If Wolfgang-freaking-Amadeus Mozart died alone in poverty, in an unmarked grave, what chance do any of us have? I was quite literally told by teachers (and I know this sentiment made its way around undergraduate opera programs) “if you can stand to do anything else besides sing, do that”. And yet, at the other end of the roller coaster, sit the glamorous, the fabulously wealthy, the never-to-be-forgotten superstars. That image is apparently enough to sustain an ever-growing cohort of young aspiring musicians and artists, bolstered with the unshakeable belief that what they have to say matters. 

Perhaps that is the key - the belief  that what we have to say matters is what sustains us - whether or not anyone cares and whether or not we can even make a living making art. I’ve often thought that the most challenging part of the industry is that it doesn’t actually make sense from a numbers perspective: if the market works on supply and demand, artists will always want to create more than consumers want to consume. As wonderful as it is to enjoy art, the pleasure of creation is sharper and more potent still. And in a world where art from across time and space is at our fingertips, my songs and my voice  are competing with those aforementioned superstars - even from beyond the grave. Well, it's no contest. The odds of me achieving fame and fortune are like winning the lottery. And that is ok. Because at the end of the day, I am creating art because I believe I have something to say. I am doing it for me, and inviting you to join me, because I think you might enjoy it too. It's a kind of cozy, conspiratorial invitation: “I’m over here, baring my soul, would you like to come along for the ride?”. In the spirit of zen non-attachment, however, to be authentic, the invitation must be extended  independently from the expectation of a response. 

But it begs the question, is the suffering part really necessary? I would say yes, more than people who aren’t artists realize, and no, not as much as we artists think we have to. Art involves effort and effort is uncomfortable:  the painful calluses on a guitar player's fingers, the tedium of memorizing lyrics, or the emotional labor of developing an authentic performance are often forgotten in the glamor of stage lights. Much of creativity is derived from suffering, and art serves an important purpose in alchemizing suffering into something that brings pleasure. I’ve worked with beginner songwriters over the years and the first baby steps in songwriting are typically prompted by an extreme sadness or anger that cannot be expressed any other way. There is also some truth to the artist archetype - our art is enabled by our sensitivity, which in turn makes us more vulnerable to the ‘stings and arrows of outrageous fortune’. In fact, a wise person once told me the artist's temperament consists of a high sensitivity and a huge ego (big enough to outweigh the discomfort which is the inherent result of our desire to both excel and be seen). And that is where the unnecessary, maladaptive suffering comes in. For an unchecked ego leads to pride and a sense of entitlement. It can devolve into a belief that the world somehow owes you success, which leads to resentment. Or it can make you vulnerable to flattery and predatory marketing. 

I’ve often thought the “music industry” must actually be mostly people selling things to aspiring musicians: coaching programs, marketing services, distribution services, pay-to-sing gigs, etc. And it's natural that all of those services come with a cost, as long as someone is providing a service for which there is a market. But musicians with large egos and low business sense make easy prey, and often end up selling themselves short, or compromising values, for an opportunity to share their work and the promise of “exposure”. Yet, rebelling against this way of thinking is not so easy either. It's all very well to say “I know my worth, I’m worth more than that” - but are you? Talent and skill are actually super common. Humans are meant to excel in creativity. Just because you’re good at what you do, does not mean anyone owes you their demand. Of course, inherently, you are worth everything, you’re a child of God, blah, blah, blah. But in terms of the market, you might as well just be rolling the dice. 

The sooner you can take accountability for the fact that at the end of the day, you just want to make art, you just desire to make art, the less you will suffer. If you choose to make a business of it, the business side of it can be totally separate from your worth as an artist. To you, you are worth everything as an artist (a much healthier point of view for the ego). Maybe a few other people will find your art meaningful. I have watched every single one of you sharing your art, and it was beautiful and meant a lot to me. At the studio recitals, at musical theater shows, I have seen how much your art meant to your audiences. We should also put our sensitivity in perspective. The sensitivity which allows us to see below the surface into the essence of reality, that wellspring of creativity, makes those inevitable failures and disappointments extra hard. For those who can appreciate it, there is wisdom and, oh boy, even MORE material for our creativity. For those who cannot, we become vulnerable to numbing, addiction, and externalized or internalized blame. Essentially, both ego and sensitivity are superpowers that must be cared for and trained, so that, just like in every superhero movie ever,  they don’t become liabilities to yourself or others. 

Of course, the underlying lesson in all of this is that artists simply amplify the human experience (which is why art can be enjoyed by everyone). Ego and sensitivity, with all their roller coaster ups and downs, are part of the human experience. Using art to harness them, to reduce and/or contextualize suffering and to transform it into a thing of beauty, is a huge service to humanity and it is exactly why what you have to say matters. What has your experience of the rollercoaster of art been like? How have you alchemized your suffering into art? Let me know your thoughts, I’d love to hear from you. 

Warmly, 

Dr. Jane