“My teachers deemed me persona non grata for having gotten my Actors Equity union card after my sophomore year.”

You didn’t let the “experts” keep you from pursuing your dream.

You know the old cliche’: “Those that can, do it. Those that can’t become teachers.” Now this old saw demeans teachers far too much. It is the height of arrogance to assume that you don’t need to learn from the masters, either formally or informally if you have a strong leaning toward “do it yourself.”

That being said, at some point every artist has to set himself or herself free from any excessive need for that psychological/emotional validation of others in their chosen art form. The art world is brutal from a business standpoint, and many people simply don’t want you to steal their thunder and get the gig over them. These people become masters of intimidation.

Here’s a snibbet from an essay I’m developing from my perspective as an aspiring drummer:

During my early career in technology, I viewed my day gig as the means of financing my art. I have no patrons or benefactors, apart from those members of the listening public who have paid to hear my various bands perform.

So unless you’re quite fortunate, a contemporary North American musician needs to get smart, very quickly, about how to survive. The rose colored glasses must be quickly tossed aside, and you must embrace the full force of the market. Many artists don’t address this very well. They could be extremely talented, but utterly lacking in anything approximating financial acumen in what is a very difficult lifestyle to achieve balance.

In my early twenties, there were two years where music was my primary source of income. Music paid my rent. Of course there were gaps in this income stream. Gigs, bands, and projects run their natural course, and then dissolve or morph into new opportunities. I filled my musical income gaps with a series of interesting, and sometimes bizarre, part-time jobs. These were jobs that were not terribly difficult to leave once a full-time music scenario became available.

During much of this period, I shared a house with two roommates in the Wallingford area of Seattle, Washington, a neighborhood that has long since been gentrified. My old rental house was refurbished and sold to a private buyer. It’s fun to remember the hours of music making that house facilitated. Young and care free, we had no clue how filthy the place really was. We did well if we remembered to vacuum once a month.

We had a funky, concrete floor basement complete with exposed sump pump, and knob and peg electrical wiring stapled to the floor joists. Bare light bulbs and “early orange crate” style floor lamps provided illumination into the musty, mold-ridden space. Occasionally, the basement would flood when rain water overwhelmed the sump pump.

I remember several mornings where I had to slosh my way through the basement and make sure that there were no power cords sitting in a puddle somewhere, waiting to electrocute somebody. I was fortunate that in the nearly 4 years I lived there, none of my musical gear got water damaged. I am, however, missing one Ludwig Vistalite rack tom, which I’m convinced someone stole from me. There were a lot of strange characters going in and out of that house, and it’s remarkable that I didn’t lose more gear.

Asking the question, “Were they actually moved?” cuts out the issue of “scene” and the problem of people who want to be seen as liking something but didn’t actually enjoy it. (The snoozers.)

Your examples reminded me of the film version of Rent. I know there were larger issues being touched on, but I couldn’t like the characters because they all gloated about their starving artist status, as if it made them better and more interesting. Show me someone who can balance their art and their success and find pleasure and meaning in both–now that’s interesting!