August 1, 2012
Tomorrow holds the pitch of a lifetime. And it doesn’t even matter if I don’t get the job.
Certainly, I want the job. With all my heart I want the job. But the “job” is not why I’m doing it.
Today I had lunch with a contemporary artist. His name is Barnett, and it was a lot of fun. We collaborated on the following Cinemagram of a nude. That’s a larger-than-life piece, and I asked him to throw daisy petals from atop a 20-foot ladder to “animate” the miniature film. He was such a great sport, and I made a huge mess in his studio.
At the cafe table, as I enjoyed my pasta salad and he his leafy greens, he proceeded to give me a history lesson. Both on the history of New York and of its art world. He echoed the same story I had already heard at arts and technology meetups, from teams like Artsy. It was the story of how the once abundant networks of galleries were forced to close their doors – many of them, anyway, and how the New York art world was forever transformed.
Naïvely, I asked Barnett, “Then where did all the artists go?”
He got a kick out that, switched to a professorial tone and replied, “People don’t make art for the money.” We looked each other dead in the eyes, and I instantly had a profound understanding. I nodded in satisfaction, and we moved on to other subjects.
Reason for Being
The fact that art is not motivated (production absolutely, but not fine art) by profit is precisely why I’m going to be OK – no matter what happens tomorrow. Believe me, you will be the first to know if something amazing happens. Yet if it doesn’t this time, it’s not the end of the world.
I have supplies. I can do anything. Really. Any project, great or small, I pour all my soul into. Art’s going to be a part of my life again – through various means – works for friends and family, storyboard projects or visual communications pieces like the big pitch coming up tomorrow. *fingers crossed*
The magic lies beyond the money. It will always be so. That is a delicious thought to ponder, and my case since it’s practically bedtime, a delightful sliver of hope to hold onto as I lay in bed dreaming about tomorrow.