Dear Fellow Artists,
I want to share a reflection that’s been on my mind lately, sparked by a conversation with an artist friend. They confided in me that after a decade in this field, they felt only slightly better off than when they began (particularly re: finances), and it made them wonder how much longer they could keep going as an artist. It’s a sentiment many of us know all too well – the rejections and disappointments, the lack of funds that make the adulting part of you question your career choice. How irresponsible of a life choice is it to be an artist?!
Sometimes we are just in our studios making art and there are no exhibitions right around the corner, no honorarium checks to cash, award letters, or audiences clapping for us outside our doors. Sometimes, exactly the opposite is happening – rejection letters are rolling in, and money is being spent on materials and equipment we need to create the work we are excited about. Sometimes that’s all that we are excited about as an artist – being in the studio and making art. But, it’s also scary when we have actual people to pay – be it rent, studio assistants, phone bills or the grocery store, but we have no idea how we are going to pay them. That’s when the path gets steep and the external world feels like it’s discouraging our chosen path.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this artist-friends’ delimma over the past few weeks. They are excited about their work, but saddened about everything else surrounding it. For me, this reflection took me back over two decades to when I first started as an artist straight out of being an undergrad at Howard University showing my short films in 2003. In those early days, I found support for my art projects not only in foundations and residencies but also close to home. I’d go to my local grocery store and Caribbean takeout joint in East Flatbush for sponsorship, and my community— of Black and Muslim owned businesses and neighbors—were my first patrons.
I’d stop by the West African shop on Fulton, the bakery in Bed-Stuy with the best bean pie – Abu’s Bakery (iykiyk) supported many times over too. Anyone and everyone – who I supported and who was in my actual community who I could feel and touch was a potential sponsor, a supporter, a part of my art-making process. I’d drop by with my notepad, a conversation, and an envelope. They knew me. They were excited about whatever I was doing. This loop of creation, support and sharing was simple and rooted in a real sense of togetherness. They never even asked to see my art to decide the potential worthiness of their investment. There was no proposal or budget required. No-one even asked for my CV.
But as I grew as an artist and went through grad school, I realized that the hierarchy of institutions added layers of complexity. Suddenly, the value of our work seemed tied to the judgment of a few distant gatekeepers, rather than the people who knew and supported us personally. No wonder it feels so disheartening when we’re seeking validation from a tiny jury rather than from the community that truly sees us.
So here’s my letter to you, dear artist: let’s keep doing it for the love. Let’s not let any strange people in a room influence our feelings about being an artist. Let’s remember that the greatest reward is in the act of creating itself. Creativity is its own gift, and when we root ourselves back in our communities – the communities that actually want to see us win, the intrinsic joy of making and sharing is a closed loop that helps us sustain ourselves.
When I follow the logic of potentially “not doing this art thing anymore”, I come right back to doing it, but with stronger intention. Because, love overpowers any success that could be found outside the studio. Let’s make that fuel for making this work as an artist work for us outside of the studio as well. Back to community, back to sharing with those who truly love us and love the art we create, back to embracing the support of those close to us who want to see us win!
With warmth and solidarity,
Nsenga Knight
P.S. If you are reading this and want to support my work, you can donate to my Fractured Atlas fiscal sponsorship. Nsenga Knight’s Studio Practice, and Social Practice Projects is a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts service organization. Contributions for the charitable purposes of Studio Practice, and Social Practice Projects must be made payable to “Fractured Atlas” only and are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law.
P.P.S. You can also support my work by purchasing one of my signed, limited-edition prints. Explore the collection HERE.