In any business, there exists a triad of key positions that need to be accounted for, if the business wishes to survive and eventually thrive over the long run; the entrepreneur that manages and forecasts where the business is going and is concerned with growth and expansion, the manager that organises everything that has been done and is being done in the business so that it stays afloat, and the technician that produces, innovates and creates the product or service, so the business has something to deliver to its customers.

The big problem for most artists and an incredibly large reason why art has never been considered a healthy business option for the majority of producers is that all of us creatives are usually the technicians of our own business.

While a few individuals throughout history manage to grow beyond this phase — Koons, Murakami, Rembrandt, Hirst etc. — the majority of us stay technicians. But we don’t choose to do so because we couldn’t be a manager or an entrepreneur — of course we could! We do so, because we became artists solely for the charm of creating in the now and not working about managing, expanding or selling.

The reality is: if painting and sculpting businesses were abundant in the world (a few actually do exist, but the concept is extremely new — and no, galleries aren’t the same thing), most of us artists, that are currently either self-employed or sole proprietors, would probably love to work a 9 to 5 at such a company.

And I know, many of us became artists because we did not have the freedom to express ourselves at our previous jobs, or just life in general, but if we really think about it, the reality is a bit different than what we’ve always thought it to be.

It’s not being employed that is the problem; having a steady job is more or less the bedrock of any creative output (you can’t be at the top of your creative game if your primary concern is how to pay next weeks rent and electricity bill — this is a fact). The big problem is ones inability of expression and self-actualisation.

That’s really the main differentiator between a good and a bad company; the good one (like Google) is a giant playground with only a few core rules that employees need to follow, everything else is an enormous game that all of them can play. And because they make their own rules and create in a free, unconstrained environment, they prosper both professionally and personally. 

No-one leaves Google because it wasn’t fun enough.

But a bad job at a bad company is different; a boss that abdicates instead of delegating (meaning that instead of being a leader, they just want somebody to do their job for them), bureaucratic nonsense that makes people do meaningless jobs (and the leadership’s ludicrous presumption that their employees won’t figure this out) are just the tip of the iceberg.

And while our decision of becoming an artist is usually a set froward into the direction of operational freedom — and as such we become the masters of our own game — not a lot of us actually know how much work it takes to actually create one.

It may be fun playing Magic the Gathering or Monopoly, but try making such a game and you’ll quickly find no real pleasure in writing the rules, building the mechanics, and god forbid arranging contracts with printers, distributers and resellers. 

But it’s fun to play and absolutely fun to paint the artwork.

Today’s blog is meant as a piece of introspection for anyone reading, to take a moment and really think about their decision to become an artist in the first place. Because if indeed we love to be the technician, but hate doing everything else, our only way of surviving the arts will be to either find a partner or two and form a creative business or to find one that was already formed and try to work for them instead. 

A solo approach for anyone who only wishes to create will fail. And the worst part, it will most likely fail every single time.