Why do we do it?
I’m
talking about the desire to create art within a modern American society that
is, at best, indifferent or, at worst, hostile towards the arts. It’s a
question I’ve been asking of myself as I’ve navigated through another extremely
busy fall. For the past three months, I’ve been composing new works, presenting
concerts, and traveling every weekend playing Greek gigs or attending
performances of my compositions. All the while, I’ve also been engaged in heavy
teaching and service loads at my university. Yet my bank account in no way
reflects the amount of effort I have made in my professional life. Now that
autumn is winding down, exhausted, I’m left to wonder why I do what I do. It obviously
is not for the money. Maybe I cling to some 19th Century Romantic
image of the misunderstood artist producing work for future generations while
marginalized or ignored by the current generation. This image can serve as a
balm applied to the chaffing of indifference. However, I personally find this
image self-indulgent. It does not really ring true for me anyway. In reality, I
believe that I’ve actually walked into a trap.
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| Donald Erb (1927-2008) |
One
of my very first lessons as a young composition student was learning that it
wasn’t enough to merely “find my own voice” but to passionately pursue it. An audience can always tell when a work has
passion and when it does not. As my great teacher and mentor Donald Erb always
said, “A craftsman can create entertainment, but you need more than that to
create art. There has to be
something inside you pushing out or all a person will ever write is a
craftsman-like piece. And that's not quite good enough.” Being passionate and
endeavoring to create art at a high level may be regarded as its own reward, however,
therein lies the trap. While I must have passion to create great art, that very
same passion pushes me to create work whether
or not it is fully appreciated.
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| Yours truly performing at the 2012 Atlanta Greek Festival |
This
passion trap applies to performers as well as composers. There is a joke going
around the Internet about a client wishing to hire a six-piece band for an
event. When the bandleader quotes a price of $2000 for a six-hour gig, the
client balks. The bandleader counters, “Okay, find six plumbers and find out
what they charge for six hours of work. We’ll play for half of that.” It’s an
amusing story except for the fact that in real life, the bandleader would
probably take the gig at the lower price or another band would. The musicians
would then still perform at their highest capable level. The passion good musicians
have for making music would not allow for anything less. So what has the client
learned? Artists will give the same effort for less money.
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| The ASO and Chorus at Carnegie Hall on October 27. (Photo by Chris Lee) |
From
the humble cover band to the highest levels of orchestral concert music, the
passion trap is present. As I have recounted in past blog entries, the Atlanta
Symphony Orchestra has recently endured a brutal labor dispute. As Scott
Freeman notes in his recent article for ArtsATL.com, “The two-year contract that the musicians accepted included a
total of $5.2 million in salary concessions, an average pay cut of about 16
percent for each. The size of the orchestra fell from 93 to 88. Under the terms
of the deal, the ASO will go from a 52-week orchestra to 41 weeks this season
and 42 weeks in the second year.” Not long after this dispute was resolved and
the season began, the ASO performed a concert in Carnegie Hall that had been
planned before the lockout. How did the musicians respond to their drastic cuts
in salary, orchestra size and their season? The members of the orchestra
behaved as all wonderful and passionate artists do when they are onstage. They
performed brilliantly and received great reviews. The bitterness of the labor
dispute dissolved for a moment and all that remained was the music. What does
management take away from this?
I do not mean to suggest that the musicians
should have protested their mistreatment by performing below their abilities. I
don’t think any of us should do that. Returning to my realm of music
composition, I readily acknowledge that even if I were not paid for a
commission, I would still try to compose an excellent piece of music. However,
I can’t help but wonder if, somehow, I unintentionally contribute to a culture
that fosters indifference to the arts and the exploitation of creative artists.
The musicians of the ASO or that cover band may not have had many options in
their negotiations. Do I have more choices? There have been plenty of times
when a commission has come my way and when the talk turned to payment for work,
I was informed that there was no budget for that. Most often, I’ve written the
piece anyway and was appreciative of the performance. Yet, what’s the message
I’m sending? Not many other professions operate this way. To take just one
example, no entrepreneur would engage in the creation of a product if
satisfaction for a job well done were the only
reward. No one consistently gives a product away for free. There needs to be a
profit involved or the business collapses.
So
what am I to do? Trapped within my passion for creating great art, I fear that
by sticking to my guns and demanding payment for everything at all times,
presenters or potential performers will simply move on to the next composer. If,
on the other hand, I compose works and never receive (or even ask for) payment
for my efforts, how can I be a professional
composer? How can I justify all the hard work involved?
For the
serious composer, there is no easy exit from this trap short of being
“discovered” or winning a significant prize. Therefore, I’ve come to believe
that my best bet is to follow the admonition of being “wise as [a serpent] and
harmless as [a dove]” (Matthew 10:16). Christ gave this instruction to His
disciples so that they would not be unnecessarily wounded as they preached the
gospel. This is good advice within the narrow field of the arts as well. There
is no need for me to be unnecessarily wounded in an agreement with a performer,
presenter or ensemble. Being wise as a serpent means to take my career
seriously. If it feels like I’m being taken advantage of, I probably am. It
wouldn’t hurt to channel a little of that reptilian wisdom on occasion and take
a pass on certain opportunities. However, this cannot be my rigid credo. By
also trying to be as harmless as a dove, I must strive to not carry a chip on
my shoulder nor retaliate against perceived injustices. Sometimes it really is
in my best interest to simply write the stupid piece for free or at a huge
discount. I have to remember that, like myself, most presenters, performing
groups or individual musicians do not have deep pockets. Being harmless as a
dove means I charge when and as much as I can as the specific situation
warrants. It means that sometimes, when the budget is tight, I work out
acceptable in-kind service arrangements such as guaranteed performances of a
commission, guaranteed recording of the work, release of the performance for
recordings and/or online streaming, etc. Being harmless as a dove also means treating
every opportunity as unique and not applying a one-size-fits-all approach. Being
wise like a serpent but harmless as a dove during negotiations may be all I
need to establish myself as a true professional.
In
the end, walking into this passion trap seems to be my only option. However,
there’s no need to go in with my eyes closed, hoping for the best. How I
proceed is important. Knowing that it
can be a trap, yet walking in anyway, eyes wide open, with caution and
confidence makes all the difference.
