Those of us who enter any field of the arts recognize the phrase "making it." This is usually centered around the idea that once you gain a certain momentum in your work, that you've "made it." In the illustration field, it's about "breaking in," which means getting freelance work in the publishing industry.
For most aspiring artists, it's about being able to quit the boring day job and working full time at one's art. Others put a price tag on the achievement; making X dollars per year is the goal. For some it's all about recognition from one's peers and winning certain industry accolades. How do you define it?
I had a revelation recently that defines it yet another way. What if "making it" has nothing at all with the industry? What if it's purely about one's own satisfaction? What if it's only about the doing?
My own trajectory of "breaking into the field" long ago included a speedy 3-day transition from my day job as a house cleaner when I promptly got 2 books upon submitting my work to publishers (my first of many self promotional forays). Working in the children's science and educational market under the auspices of a well-known NYC agent, I began to define "making it" as not just being able pay my regular bills, but to have a "comfortable" life, ie. economic padding beyond an emergency fund. After a decade of trying to get ahead, I became unhappy with my meager income, so I worked even harder; I hustled taking on more and more projects, really anything my agent set me (minus work from overtly religious institutions). I worked smarter, streamlining my technical skills even more, shortening the amount of seat time with time-saving strategies in design and facture.
Still, it wasn't enough.
I began to see that much of my frustration was borne of boredom with the science market. After 1000 or so paintings of Monarch butterflies, 1000s of paintings of the same big African Safari / Arctic/ Jungle fauna, 100s of images of the same species of flower under one's belt, one finds that one has painted them in every permutation possible --and then one begins to question the sanity of an industry that only uses certain commodifiable species over and over to generate its consumer base. It became imperative for me to get out.
According to my standards, I was no longer "making it" and this played havoc with my self-esteem. I felt like I was a failure. But at what? I was voluntarily leaving behind 20 years of clients and a solid reputation, but decided to strike out and try to "break into" another part of the illustration industry.
So, starting over....
Three years later, after having transitioned into to the F+SF genre, I am happier with my subject matter; I am rejuvenated spiritually and my illustration practice is sustainable again. Teaching part-time at a local college, too, provides me with an important academic outlet that was missing. The additional income as an adjunct prof relieves the pressure on having to sell my soul; I can be choosy about what projects I accept as a freelancer. The bigger struggle, however, has been to redefine what it means for me to be "making it." No longer can I tie it to money or being completely self-employed, because teaching is something that I truly love and now wouldn't want to give that up. Neither can I tie it to recognition because I've walked away from those clients who used to ask for me by name. For me, real success-- making it-- has become the freedom to pick and choose the projects that I want to do. It means having the time to produce my own self-generated work in which my voice and my ideas are clearly represented.
How freeing.
Not surprisingly, "making it" has nothing to do with money, industry recognition, etc. It never has. It has to do with making the work. Yes, that's right. Every day that you get up and do your work is making it. When you come home from your day job, shut the door to your studio and get to work, that is making it. When you produce something that you love, that is making it.
When it comes down to what you really get from art, you will find that there is no other substitute.
For most aspiring artists, it's about being able to quit the boring day job and working full time at one's art. Others put a price tag on the achievement; making X dollars per year is the goal. For some it's all about recognition from one's peers and winning certain industry accolades. How do you define it?
I had a revelation recently that defines it yet another way. What if "making it" has nothing at all with the industry? What if it's purely about one's own satisfaction? What if it's only about the doing?
My own trajectory of "breaking into the field" long ago included a speedy 3-day transition from my day job as a house cleaner when I promptly got 2 books upon submitting my work to publishers (my first of many self promotional forays). Working in the children's science and educational market under the auspices of a well-known NYC agent, I began to define "making it" as not just being able pay my regular bills, but to have a "comfortable" life, ie. economic padding beyond an emergency fund. After a decade of trying to get ahead, I became unhappy with my meager income, so I worked even harder; I hustled taking on more and more projects, really anything my agent set me (minus work from overtly religious institutions). I worked smarter, streamlining my technical skills even more, shortening the amount of seat time with time-saving strategies in design and facture.
Still, it wasn't enough.
I began to see that much of my frustration was borne of boredom with the science market. After 1000 or so paintings of Monarch butterflies, 1000s of paintings of the same big African Safari / Arctic/ Jungle fauna, 100s of images of the same species of flower under one's belt, one finds that one has painted them in every permutation possible --and then one begins to question the sanity of an industry that only uses certain commodifiable species over and over to generate its consumer base. It became imperative for me to get out.
According to my standards, I was no longer "making it" and this played havoc with my self-esteem. I felt like I was a failure. But at what? I was voluntarily leaving behind 20 years of clients and a solid reputation, but decided to strike out and try to "break into" another part of the illustration industry.
So, starting over....
Three years later, after having transitioned into to the F+SF genre, I am happier with my subject matter; I am rejuvenated spiritually and my illustration practice is sustainable again. Teaching part-time at a local college, too, provides me with an important academic outlet that was missing. The additional income as an adjunct prof relieves the pressure on having to sell my soul; I can be choosy about what projects I accept as a freelancer. The bigger struggle, however, has been to redefine what it means for me to be "making it." No longer can I tie it to money or being completely self-employed, because teaching is something that I truly love and now wouldn't want to give that up. Neither can I tie it to recognition because I've walked away from those clients who used to ask for me by name. For me, real success-- making it-- has become the freedom to pick and choose the projects that I want to do. It means having the time to produce my own self-generated work in which my voice and my ideas are clearly represented.
How freeing.
Not surprisingly, "making it" has nothing to do with money, industry recognition, etc. It never has. It has to do with making the work. Yes, that's right. Every day that you get up and do your work is making it. When you come home from your day job, shut the door to your studio and get to work, that is making it. When you produce something that you love, that is making it.
When it comes down to what you really get from art, you will find that there is no other substitute.
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