One of the most pervasive identity myths that haunts art worlds is that of the starving artist. There are countless examples in popular culture of this archetype including a very good opera about the subject. While the idea that a true artist suffers and through suffering art is born might have a degree of romantic mystique the truth of the matter is that all suffering creates is suffering. The archetype of the starving artist, and her condemnation of anyone who achieves any degree of success as “selling out,” does little more than provide limited solace to an otherwise unpleasant existence.
Archetypes are powerful things. Consciously or not, as beings in the world, we emulate strong and powerful archetypal roles. Not to get too Jungian but I see it as far too common to deny. Personality is performance. In the performance of personality we model our ‘character’ off of good actors (in real life or literature and pop-culture). The starving artist, through its romantic appeal, is a popularly recurring figure. Sadly this figure does more of a disservice to us in the long run, in the same way as the alcoholic writer generally creates alcoholics not writers.
The starving artist type gains value, to a greater or lesser degree, in the idea that money is somehow dirty. There is an air of superiority, by those who don the starving artist type, placed around obscurity. It is as though anyone whose work could be understood by, and thus appreciated and paid for by, more than a select inner cabal of followers is somehow flawed. Because popular/successful is read as bad, money, as a tangible proof of popularity of ones work, is also treated as bad or dirty. There is a belief that the work itself becomes sullied by making money off it.
This is as common in the performing arts as it is in any other medium. Many theater makers working on a small scale will deride the “commercialism” of Broadway plays or the work produced at regional theaters. Rather than examining the work itself the funding for the work comes under attack. Rigorous critique is replaced by a more general barrage against slick stagecraft and well rehearsed acting. Taken at their root these critiques are really about money and the relative access to, or paucity of, its presence in making the work.
While it is true that throwing money at a bad play will not make it better it does not follow from there that all plays with good funding are bad. It is true that people throw millions of dollars into producing total crap while others spend next to nothing to make a true gem. At the same time, those true gems, with a fully financed producer, would potentially become even greater while the well financed schlock would remain schlock.
The archetype of the starving artist and the myth of dirty money have created a false dichotomy between “uptown” and “downtown” theater. Between “indie” and “commercial” plays. Being poor does not inherently make one virtuous and even Jerzy Grotowski conceded that poor theater costs a lot of money. High budgets do not make one good or bad. Powerful authentic art can exist with no money or all the money in the world. But this is not the point. The focus of our critiques should center on the quality and effectiveness of the work itself rather than its funding.
So too our personal narratives would do well to be reoriented away from the damaging myth of the virtue of the starving artist and back towards the rigorous and devoted artists and craftsman. Even a cursory look at the Renaissance shows us that powerful and lasting works can be created from well funded origins. There are many people in pop-culture one might look to who are wildly successful and still maintain a high degree of artistic integrity. Danny Elfman comes readily to mind as one such example as does his regular collaborator Tim Burton. Many artists have made the transitions to the big leagues without sacrificing their artistic integrity.
Poverty is only romantic with distance. It is time to retire the Starving Artist as a myth of a bygone age. A romantic notion, well fit for literature, and hardly worth modeling one’s life after. The reality of the starving artist too easily winds up starved. We need new archetypes for a new millennium. Archetypes that empower us to live strongly and courageously as artists in our contemporary world and beyond.
