A lot has changed in the cultural sector over the last 20 years. The NEA cut funding for individual artists,[1] more people are graduating with art degrees than ever before,[2] and the implicit value of art is increasingly defined by skyrocketing market prices, which only reward a minute percentage of artists.[3] Sometimes it seems as if the only thing that hasn’t changed is art schools themselves—at least in terms of their curriculums. In order to succeed in this highly competitive environment, visual artists need arts entrepreneurship training that post-secondary schools often fail to provide.

​In the contemporary creative sector, the majority of artists’ careers are entrepreneurial.  A survey conducted by the Strategic National Arts Alumni Project (SNAAP) confirmed that the majority arts graduates who find work in their field utilize an entrepreneurial skill set: out of the 92,113 artist alumni polled, over 60% were self-employed, and 14% founded their own company.[4] Creative industries scholar Ruth Bridgstock defines arts entrepreneurship as 1) creating a new venture, 2) the description of an enterprising individual, or 3) a means of employment and career self-management.[5] Most importantly, arts entrepreneurship draws upon distinct skill sets that are not taught in traditional business contexts. 

​Yet this entrepreneurial approach is not reflected in the majority of fine arts programs’ curricula. Bridgstock writes, “relatively few tertiary arts schools attempt to develop capabilities for venture creation and management (and entrepreneurship more broadly) and still fewer do so effectively.”[6] Instead, most BFA and MFA visual arts programs focus almost exclusively on studio classes, neglecting to incorporate the managerial skills their students will require post-graduation. USA Today author Dan Berrett explains, “If arts graduates exhibited a tendency toward resourcefulness and entrepreneurship, it was not because of help from their institutions.”[7] In the latest SNAAP survey, over half of the respondents indicated they were dissatisfied with the career preparation provided by their alma maters.[8]

One might argue that we do not know where successful artists obtained their entrepreneurial skill set. If many artists are creating successful careers, perhaps they learned their business skills indirectly through their studio practice, or simply don’t need formal training at all. Yet a survey conducted by BFAMFAPHD found that arts graduates were actually less likely to make a living off their work than non-arts graduates.[9] Moreover, many arts graduates ultimately decided to abandon their career path because they could not find work.[10] Clearly, art schools could do a better job preparing their students for arts careers.
Many educators and administrators acknowledge their institutions’ short-comings: "It's clear that we need to be doing a better job of preparing our students for the business realities that they face after graduation," writes Douglass Dempster, dean of the College of Fine Arts at the University of Texas at Austin.[11]

If art schools recognize the problem, what are the barriers to change? First, many faculty are not in favor of teaching professional practices.[12] Like many students and artists, they see arts entrepreneurship as a subsidiary vocational practice and object to it on pedagogical grounds.[13] Even if faculty accept the ideology in principle, they may not be able to provide instruction in practice: since they didn’t have access to professional practices while they were in school[14], they may not have the skills necessary to teach students.

Second, professors who are willing and able to teach professional practices face an additional barrier: namely, the sheer amount of coursework required to attain an art degree. "Most of the professional fine arts degrees are saturated with regimented requirements that leave little room for additions," writes Dempster.[15] This was certainly the case for my alma mater, UNC Asheville. In addition to extensive liberal arts requirements, BFA studio art majors were required to take an intensive 68 hours of credits towards their major—enough hours to earn both a political science and economics degree at the same university. While the program recently reduced curricular requirements, it did not do so without major resistance. The department still does not offer any coursework  
Finally, like most arts institutions, tertiary art programs are operating under very limited resources. Only so much can be accomplished within one degree program. With faculty and staff already over-extended, it’s easy to write off extra coursework, especially coursework traditionally associated with other areas of study (i.e. business or marketing). Yet, as Bridgstock points out, arts entrepreneurship and business entrepreneurship are not the same thing.

Yet I believe there’s room for both studio art and arts entrepreneurship in art schools’ curriculums. Since it’s not possible for any degree-granting program to be comprehensive, replacing a few studio art courses with professional practices would represent a better use of limited resources. This way, the curriculum focuses on teaching essential skill sets. Studio art classes teach problem solving, creative autonomy, and methods of visual evaluation; arts entrepreneurship teaches the state of the creative sector and students’ conceivable roles within it.

Professional practices training does not always require additional classes. Much of the coursework could be integrated into existing classes. Supplementing studio work with writing assignments, for instance, fosters written communication skills. Extracurricular projects and student-led organizations can also supplement the curriculum. Mentoring students throughout a grant application process, or modeling the gallery application process would be highly beneficial for an aspiring artist. This type of instruction is not only educational, but also essential in a field that necessitates entrepreneurship. In response to the contemporary creative sector, tertiary arts programs must adapt to their students’ needs by challenging the traditional fine arts curriculum.


[1] Diana, Schemo, “Endowment Ends Program Helping Individual Artists,” The New York Times, 1994, http://www.nytimes.com/1994/11/03/arts/endowment-ends-program-helping-individual-artists.html.

[2] Susan Jahoda, Blair Murphy Murphy, and Caroline Woolard, screenwriters, Artists Report Back, BFA MFA PHD, 2014.

[3] Andrea Fraser, “L’1%, c’est moi,” Artforum, 2011.

[4] Dan, Berrett, “Arts graduates find jobs, satisfaction,” USA Today, 2011, http://usatoday30.usatoday.com/news/education/2011-05-03-inside-higher-ed-arts-programs-college_n.htm.

[5] Ruth Bridgstock, "Not a dirty word: Arts entrepreneurship and higher education," Arts & Humanities in Higher Education 12, nos. 2-3 (2012).

[6] Bridgstock, "Not a dirty word," 122.

[7] Dan Berrett, “Arts graduates find jobs, satisfaction.”

[8] Strategic National Arts Alumni Project: Tracking the Lives and Careers of Arts Graduates, SNAAP, http://snaap.indiana.edu.

[9] Susan Jahoda, Blair Murphy Murphy, and Caroline Woolard, screenwriters, Artists Report Back.

[10] Dan Berrett, “Arts graduates find jobs, satisfaction.”

[11] Dan Berrett, “Arts graduates find jobs, satisfaction.”

[12] Barry Hessenius, "Interview with Ruby Lerner," Barry's Blog. Last modified March 2, 2014. http://blog.westaf.org/2014/03/interview-with-ruby-lerner.html.

[13] Bridgstock, "Not a dirty word," 128.

[14] Barry Hessenius, "Interview with Ruby Lerner."

[15] Dan Berrett, “Arts graduates find jobs, satisfaction.” 

As with many of my paintings from the Perpetual Pursuit series, I began this panel by designing it virtually. I initially planned on hanging the piece fro the ceiling (as shown in the left image), but ultimately determined 1) this was too much of a direct reference to James Turrell's "Skyspace" series, and 2) that this posed an major lighting dilemma. I wanted the piece to be well-lit, an impossible task for a piece hung with its back literally to the light. I thought about displaying the piece on the floor, too, as it was intended to abstractly emulate water.  

I liked the idea of framing an abstract place where you would rather be.

Ultimately, I ended up hanging "Waterscape" on the wall amongst a constellation of other pieces. Together, they formed an installation. The piece is now among the private collection of UNC Asheville's provost. More and photos of "Waterscape" can be found here. 

After the second firing, the glass melted more. I painted over the clay in oil paint, and painted over the glass in spiderweb-like patterns. You can also see text written faintly in the lefthand image.

First, I created a sketch of the form I wanted to create. This sketch does nothing for informing the painting process, but instead outlines the form I'm going to create in a strictly sculptural sense (pardon the lack of photo; all my sketchbooks are in a cardboard box somewhere in preparation for the move to NYC). 

Here is the panel all gessoed and ready to be painted in my studio. The rectangular elements you see both recede (top right) and come forward (bottom left) into space. 

Honestly, this piece went smoothly from the beginning. Note that this is NOT always the case. Making a series of art pieces is kind of like having multiple children: some of them seem to obey from the get go, while others are a bit of a struggle. And then you have to find them homes where they will be safe and stop bothering you, but that's a whole other blog entry... 

So I added paint drips to the blank-ish area, which I felt resolved the issue. And I almost left it this way. In fact, I was so sure it was finished, I had my good friend Amryn Soldier photograph the piece. What changed things was what often changes things: my advisor, Virginia Derryberry. Virginia engaged me in a conversation that made me think about other possibilities. She got me thinking about pieces: pieces of compositions, pieces of rectangles, pieces of artistic waste in comparison to the whole. 

And that’s when it occurred to me: The Farther was practically asking to have smaller pieces added to it. It would be the perfect solution to its pseudo-rectilinear problem—that is, how its barely not a rectangle. As art school will tell you, if you’re going to do something, do it all the way. Either make a perfect rectangle, or make it damn clear you weren’t trying to. Assert your piece in all its non-rectilinear glory. 

Here hangs the final product in my solo show, Perpetual Pursuit: Painting the Unattainable, in Tucker Cooke Gallery! The top two pieces are actually 3-dimensional, imitating a frame where the outside comes forward into space. This goes conceptually along with the idea of trying to reach a space or idea that remains physically above, out of reach. Their measurements were designed to "tuck" into the rectilinear silhouette the larger panel creates. 

The other three pieces continue the composition of the painting, extending golden palette scrapings to the left, the thick graphite line downwards, or continuing the bronze drips against a aquamarine backdrop. 

(Bonus points if you noticed that piece #5 ended up moving to the right and down some so it fit in the corner.)

The final product was hung slightly above eye level as to reassure the themes of ascension throughout the show.

See the full features of The Farther here, or the rest of the solo exhibition images here. 
 

In America, the arts are often seen as a luxury. They are the first thing to go when school boards cut budgets, and successful arts policy is seen as the exception, not the rule.

Like other so-called “luxuries,” people go to extreme measures to preserve its integrity. Historically, art is something we risk incarceration for, accept poverty for, or in the case of the quintessential rock star—quit your job, sell your house, and move across the country. Chuck Close said art saved his life. Ai WeiWei has been detained by the Chinese government. Thrice. Clearly, we’re onto a powerful motivating force.

Yet if so many acknowledge the arts’ value, then why do we even have to convince people to participate? Americans for the Arts’ CEO Bob Lynch traces Americans’ view of cultural events to our puritanical roots: “In Europe, arts advocacy organizations don’t exist they way they do in America—simply because they don’t need them.”

Indeed, in many ways, America lacks the rich cultural history other nations possess – perhaps because we were founded on simplistic, utilitarian principles that rejected concurrent English affluence. In fact, one study found that respondents had a difficult time distinguishing between the terms “arts,” and “leisure”—a telling finding when you consider the ramifications of such language: “leisure” is synonymous with “luxury,” which implies an excessive expenditure. Many studies—such as RAND’s Building Participation in the Arts—support this notion by citing cost as a primary barrier to arts participation.

First Lady Michelle Obama doesn’t see culture as an extravagance, however: “The arts are not just a nice thing to have or to do if there is free time or if one can afford it. Rather, paintings and poetry, music and fashion, design and dialogue, they all define who we are as a people and provide an account of our history for the next generation.”

In the arts administration field, arts events are often compared to sports, a “leisure” activity we all know represents a powerhouse of public engagement. The perception that sports exceed arts’ popularity made the NEA’s 2008 Survey of Public Participation in the Arts (SPPA) finding surprising for many. The report showed that, in a year, 34.6% of the adult population attended an arts event, while just 30.6% percent attended a sporting event.

How can this be possible? One issue is categorization. While “sports” are lumped into one group, cultural events tend to be divided by medium or industry—visual versus performing arts, the “publishing world” versus the “dance world.”

These categories can skew perception. Ask 100 people off the street if they visited an art gallery in the last year, and it is doubtful 35 people will answer in the affirmative (more like 21, according to the 2012 SPPA). However, if you ask those same 100 people if they have visited a gallery, read a book, or attended a play, museum, concert, dance, film, festival, or reading in that time and you will get a very different response.

We’re also forgetting another aspect to American credo—the dream. The fateful, ideological notion that good things happen when we pursue them, that hard work inevitably leads to a better life. Any artist will tell you their efforts are inevitably married to their work ethic: in The War of Art, Steven Pressfield says, “nothing else matters except sitting down every day and trying.” Michelangelo contemptibly remarked that if people knew how much effort went into his pursuits, they would no longer be so impressed.

So in all our talk about arts participation, we need to remember two things: 1) That the arts can and do represent a robust sector, countless jobs, and innumerable devotees. But I fear all the numbers and statistics can distract us from the main point, which is 2) The arts remain a part of an intrinsic—and yes, American—dialogue around work and value.

Art is compelling. Art is beautiful, sure. But mostly, art is work. And in that way, it’s no different than being a doctor or a lawyer or an Indian chief.  Most importantly, it serves as a means to pursue happiness, not as something we can take the time to appreciate once we achieve it.    

Ask a fine arts professional about arts management and most will respond with something along the lines of, “What is that?” At least that was my experience when I inquired about the field at my small liberal arts school in Asheville, North Carolina. Such reactions lead me to believe I was entering the uncharted territory of a highly specialized, obscure field. This is not the case.

As my title implies, the majority of my work catered to Local Arts Agencies, or community-based organizations that integrate the arts into the daily fabric of their communities. While the description sounds specific, these organizations are broad in scope: they can be private or public, large or small, serve urban or rural communities.

My main project was to review, synthesize, and compile local arts advancement content. During this process, I acquired all kinds of new acronyms and jargon. I learned the difference between the creative sector, the creative economy, and creative industry; a Local Arts Agency (LAA), a State Arts Agency (SAA), and a Regional Arts Association (RAA) (not to mention the respective needs, job titles, and resources they require on a national level).

In practice, endeavor consisted of going through hundreds of emails the VP of Research and Policy, Randy Cohen, had accumulated in his inbox—a task that represents undoing over 20 years of assigning mail to respective outlook folders. A daunting amount of data, the complete list includes 94 categories, or 3,586 files. 

My job was to identify frequently asked questions, came up with questions and answers, and synthesized all the information into something coherent and user-friendly. As the project came to fruition, I worked with the web team to publish this content online in both the FAQ section and well as attached PDFs. This information could then be available to local arts administrators everywhere, as opposed to seeking out individuals within the organization to answer specific questions.

Many of these departments had functions and objectives I didn’t even know existed. Or worse: I was familiar with their titles, yet had completely misinterpreted what those titles meant. Take development, for instance: such a vague, optimistic term leads one to think, “Developing what?” The objectives of the organization, I assumed. Instead, “development,” is often synonymous with “fundraising,” which requires strong written and verbal communication skills.

“If you’re not a communicator, don’t go into development,” said Kate Gibney, Vice President of Development. From the head of the table, Kate told us about her career at the Smithsonian, The Corcoran Gallery of Art, and the National Museum of Women in the Arts. She said this casually, delivered in the same tone from which she informed us of her college major. Kate’s story was not unusual: so many of AFTA’s staff members had prestigious backgrounds and educations I came to expect it.

 

In the coming weeks, pressing existential questions of “Who do I want to be when I grow up?” and “What am I doing with my life?” were not uncommon. Tell someone outside your prospective field something vague like, “I would like to combine art and business,” or more specific still, “I would like to pursue a graduate degree in arts administration,” and no one presses further. They are impressed you have some semblance of a plan, and continue with their daily dose of small talk.

But at Americans for the Arts, surrounded by arts administrative professionals, this kind of answer doesn’t cut it. Instead, people ask follow-up questions like:

“Do you want to go into for-profit or non-profit? Private sector or public sector?”
“I saw on your resume you’re a writer. Have you looked into development? Communications? Marketing?”
“But who do you want to be when you get out of grad school? As in, what job title would you like to hold?”

To get some answers, I scheduled coffee dates with anyone with a caffeine addiction and a willingness to impart an hour’s worth of wisdom (these criteria basically include the entire staff). As it were, I met with team members from development, membership, and research; the COO, the CEO, and the executive assistant, to name a few. I didn’t realize how many notes I’d taken until it was time to unpack my desk, which practically contained a dissertation’s worth of legal pads.

Of all these conversations, my primary take-away was that no one—not even prestigious arts professionals I so admired—have a direct career path. Unfortunately for us Type A folk, the universe forces you to meander. One VP with decades of museum and independent curatorial experience told us that she’s still trying to figure out who she wants to be when she grows up.

The COO and CEO followed the same trend: while I was hoping for them to divulge some sort of formulaic method they’d all been safeguarding. Instead, they told me no such process exists. “If you are passionate about your work, if you are engaged and asking the right questions, there is no wrong path,” they told me. My cubicle buddy put it more forthrightly: “Stop doubting yourself. You got this.”