Patron of the Arts

Have you ever noticed that it’s so much easier to support someone else’s creativity than to produce your own? I suppose it might be because there’s less of a gamble that way, less personal jeopardy, less of a chance that someone will criticize you (after all, you’re just a patron of the art, not the artist himself).

And while it is important that there be people like that in the world, (especially ones who might be well-off and willing to financially support your work) are those same people putting aside dreams of their own and hiding behind the artist’s personal risk?

I am surrounded by friends and family who are artists of every kind – writers, actors, singers, painters, dancers – and who are actively, even when it’s heartbreaking and frustrating, pursuing their dreams. A gal who just had her first novel published (real copies on the shelves of Barnes & Noble). A guy who’s currently in one Broadway show at night and rehearsing another during the day. A few girlfriends who compose their own music and choreograph their own dances and boldly perform their work in the middle of Times Square. A father who paints a sanctuary of beauty in someone’s breakfast nook, creating a European look so real you can almost smell the fresh baguettes and café au lait.

Is it a question of bravery? Of being willing to take the risk even though you know that your art may be rejected by others? Is it a question of survival? Of knowing that you could never be satisfied doing anything else? Is it a question of persistence? Of being (as my mama says) the “squeaky wheel” until you get greased?

And isn’t it odd how those of us who “support” can often be so judgmental and critical of those who create.

“His headshot looks ridiculous.” (Read: I’m much better looking than this guy – but then why is he the one who got the part?)

“Her voice is too nasal.” (Read: I’m a much stronger vocalist that this chick – but then why is she the one in that new musical? Seriously.)

“I can’t believe he’s going on another audition in the middle of the day while I have to sit here at my desk and enter these bills.” (Read: I’m so dedicated to my job and he’s obviously not – but then why haven’t I even entertained the idea of auditioning when I work at a company whose whole purpose is to support artists?)

It is difficult to sit down and be quiet and come to realizations about yourself that you might not want to believe.

It is difficult to spend hours at the piano until you’ve notated the whole song that’s in your head. It is difficult to give your best audition only to get a simple nod and “thank you” as your response. It is difficult to compose a dance for a whole company in your tiny living room because you can’t afford to rent a studio. It is difficult to practice that aria in your apartment, knowing that your neighbors can hear you, without assuming that they’re judging you.

But is it any easier to have creative desires in your soul and not take the risk of exposing them (and yourself)?

And as much as artists can be judgmental and cynical – they are also human (maybe even more so). And they can identify with those risks. And they understand them. And they will support you. In fact, they probably already do.