This blog is an excerpt from ‘The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless’.
After losing your job or vocation, do you have a sense of urgency about the choices you have to make right now?
Why? Where is this sense of urgency coming from?
Do you need to pay the rent next month, but don’t know how you are going to earn the money to do it?
Are you able to pay the rent for a while thanks to your redundancy package and/or wage subsidy (like the JobKeeper payment), but still feel pressure to get a new job – any job – ASAP?
Is it because every time your Mum rings up she asks, “so, have you got a job yet?” Is it because everybody in your friendship circle is talking about their job search and/or money problems? Is it because every time you click on the news you see Scott Morrison talking about “snapping back” the economy to the ‘old normal’?
If you are trapped in a building with a bunch of colleagues who are all speculating on whether or not they will lose their jobs when the next round of redundancies will be announced, and whether or not they will ever get another job in their sector again, then that fear can be contagious. Similarly, if you are a member of the arts community and every other contractor or sole-trader you know in the sector has lost income streams, contracts, has had venues closed and events shut down and doesn’t know when the sector will open back up again, if every channel or forum of promoting, showing, and selling your creative products or services has disappeared, then that sense of devastation can spread through networks like wildfire. These fears may feasibly turn out to be valid. But, then again, new unexpected avenues for people to pursue their vocations might appear. No one knows right now and that is fuelling people’s sense of desperation and, therefore, sense of urgency.
Do you feel a sense of urgency because there is a small quiet voice deep inside of you that is telling you that you’re washed up, ‘it’s all over’, you’re a loser, you’re a failure, now that you don’t have a job?
Do you feel a sense of panic because your sector has imploded, and you cannot see what the future holds for you?
If you feel that you urgently need to make decisions about your future, it is important to understand where this sense of urgency comes from: inside of you or because of messages you are receiving from other people.
It is also important to understand if the pressure is due to real demands (the rent must be paid, or you will be evicted) or the emotional contagion of other people’s panic or negative expectations.
In your grief, are your insecurities flaring up and dragging your self-image down? Do you feel urgent about proving yourself to your inner demons?
“Nobody knows what’s going to happen next. Anybody who is making specific predictions about the marketplace right now doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”
There may be terrible things waiting for us all – who knows? – but why should there not be opportunity for those who are able to adjust. Sitting in a space of uncertainty can feel hard. But, while you’re sitting there, why not process your grief?
Yes – you certainly do have to find ways of paying the rent in the short term. But do not allow other people’s perceived sense of urgency invade or shape your grieving process. It is your time to come to terms with what has happened to you, to access the positive aspects of grief – a sense of liberation from the conditions attached to the ‘old normal’ that didn’t do you any favours, or perhaps insight or clarity into your values and shifting priorities. This is your time to adjust to the radical absence of something that has been shaping your life; do not let other people’s opinions as to what you should be getting on with shape that adjustment process. This could be easier said than done – there are a lot of opinions flying around right now as to how shit everything is and what everyone should be doing. Those of you who have signed up for welfare will have a compliance regime to deal with [groan!]. That’s hard.
But be aware of your grief, of your right and need to grieve. Be aware of the vulnerabilities and the opportunities for insight they contain and take anyone else’s message of urgency with a grain of salt. The state of grief may be a difficult one to experience, but it is also a special time, a stage of life given to you to come to terms with and adapt to the radical absence of something important to you. This special time is yours: cling onto it.
This blog is an excerpt from The next day: a bundle of notes about grief, loss of vocation, and having to carry on regardless.
Every Wednesday at 9am (AEST) I will be posting an excerpt from these notes (there are quite a few!) but if you don’t want to wait then you can download the entire bundle in PDF format for freeHERE.
These notes are something I have been working on during lockdown. They are a response to the plight of friends and ex-colleagues who have lost work during this tumultuous year. This is my gift to them and anyone else who has found themselves jobless.
This project is unfunded. If you would like to make a small donation to it then you can do so here. If you are unable to afford to do this, then please know that my best wishes go out to you.
For our fourth salon, we were lucky to have curator and writer Amelia Winata* talking about the tension between creative practice and arts administration. You can read more about the event on our Parallel Fascinations blog.
Art making versus arts administration
For me, as with others in the room, Amelia’s chosen topic of conversation had a great deal of resonance. I have worked as an arts practitioner myself – in my case I was a performing artist and choreographer. But I have also worked in arts administration and arts management – project management, production management, event management, grant writing and fundraising, stakeholder management, business planning. I enjoyed doing both these things but doing them both at once fatigued me and was one of the factors that lead to eventual burnout.
Another was a strong sense of disillusionment with the way the arts industry is structured, with its tiers of class privilege, convoluted bureaucratic procedures (especially in the areas of grant and contract management), and paucity of funding (even worse now than in my day). There seems to be a disconnect between the more agile responses of artists to creative opportunities and the slow and tedious processes of arts administration. It was interesting that my own feelings of discontent seemed to be mirrored by others in the room.
There was some tentative discussion around possible working models that could accommodate both a free flowing creative process and an efficient arts administration process; if the discussion at this point was tentative it was not in mood but because no one, with any certainty, seemed to be able to suggest something that could actually work. The problem as felt by many individual artists or even small collectives is that there are only so many hours in a day, and time spent on filling in paperwork is time stolen from creating work. The other problem is the nature of the thinking you have to do – you use a very different part of your intellect and emotional intelligence to write a grant application than you do to paint or compose; the theft here is one of focus and inspiration.
The Holy Grail
As a freelance performer who had to produce her own shows and then, later, as an arts manager I found that I loved certain aspects of the management process, namely creating strategies and project plans, relationship development, persuasive writing and marketing, and it is these things I bring forward into my current freelance practice as a trainer. These things appealed to my choreographer’s brain – choreography is about arranging things and people in time and space as is business strategy. Clunky and tautological bureaucratic process has always irritated me – it offends the designer in me. I can spot slapdash planning from a mile off, too; there is too much of these in evidence within the arts industry in Australia.
I decided to go into arts management because I was inspired to help other artists and to try to relieve some of the strain I could see they were experiencing in producing their work. My holy grail was to develop an approach to creative producing or project managing an arts show that supported the artists, assuaged the bureaucrats, rendered unto Caesar that which was Caesar’s but that ultimately produced great art. I like to think that, at times, I really did make a positive difference to the artists with which I worked, and I certainly learnt a heck of a lot about managing creative and innovative process, and this is precious to me in the work I’m doing now. But, against a background of ongoing uncertainty in funding, precarious employment, a lack of societal respect for contemporary art, and, at times, an almost tribal approach to protecting turf from others in the arts industry, I ended up feeling destabilised and exhausted.
I am still looking for that holy grail, am still passionate about supporting artists and arts and humanities academics, but, paradoxically, am steering well clear of the arts industry in my quest. And I still have no clear idea as to what that good working model could look like; just a vague notion of some lines of enquiry I could follow.
There is a dearly held belief in our society that artists are wankers and flakes – I am getting sick of hearing comments from people to that end. They’re no such thing – good artists are red hot implementers and have a gift for devising practical ways of making the products of their imaginations tangible; this is what makes them working artists instead of daydreamers. But the nature of the bureaucratic work and political lobbying the arts industry asks of them is enough to shut down even the most robust imagination.
*Amelia Winata’s bio: Amelia is an emerging curator and writer. She holds an Honours degree in Art History from the University of Melbourne. Her current projects include a curated exhibition of video art to be presented as part of Channels Festival 2015, and a writing mentorship with Gertrude Contemporary. She is currently Gallery Operations Coordinator at RMIT Gallery.
People who Work Out Loud put these principles into practice in numerous ways, but blogging, engaging in online dialogue (see the #wol, #workoutloud and current #wolweek hashtags on Twitter for example), and offering peer support online and (for some) via Work Out Loud circles (either online or off) seem to be popular mechanisms.
“But people have been doing this since the stone age anyway…”
One interesting thing I have seen on Twitter is that people have different reasons and reactions to Working Out Loud, and this is, unsurprisingly, reflective of their personal needs and the conditions they are working in. Some have even questioned why there even needs to be a Work Out Loud ‘label’ to identify a way of working that comes naturally to many human beings anyway.
I think that I, too, have been Working Out Loud for yonks without being aware that a movement was springing up whose sole aim was to name this practise, contextualise it and give it visibility. I also feel that many in my own personal (platonic and professional) networks are also Working Out Loud in practice if not in name, and in such a way that shows they own most of the 5 elements above as personal values. I daily, literally daily, find myself pondering on my great good fortune in having the friends I have; I am again realising as I write this how lucky I am to know some people who actively manifest at least some of these elements.
So why bother to start buying into this named thingy, is it not redundant if I am already doing it?
What has sparked my curiosity is the fact that it has been named, and those principles have been nominated and are being used to strategically shape many individuals’ working and learning practice. My interest is in what happens when you name a thing that you may have taken for granted, and what happens when you (and your peers) focus on that named thing and put strategies in place to enact it, make it visible and encourage the involvement of others.
The formulation and naming of strategic goals (on a personal level as well as a professional one) is of deep interest to me. I have always been good at developing and analysing strategy; over the years many people have come to me to do this – sometimes within a formal work arrangement and sometimes in the form of informal advice. But, up until a couple of years ago, I had always significantly failed to strategise for myself and my own career. This is mad, because I essentially failed to use one of my strengths (and something that gives me great joy) to improve my own life. I am trying to work differently now; if I don’t I won’t progress towards where I want to go.
But this is not just about me. I see the uneven and disrupted forward progress of my life, and attendant problems, mirrored in the lives of many of my peers. There are, of course, differences to the ways and degrees in which this halted progress makes itself visible, but I am seeing patterns.
The Educated Precariat
When I talk about my peers I am talking about people (mostly, it has to be said, women) who are middle aged or approaching it. The ecosystem from which I have emerged is made up of an educated precariat who work as creatives, community sector workers or academics; overwhelmingly we are from arts and humanities backgrounds. We are a privileged cohort in many ways: highly educated with a diverse mixture of high level professional skills gained through exposure to interesting work. We can see this privilege, and we want to use it to contribute to improving the world we live in.
We tend not to have linear career paths, but rather boast portfolios of projects and / or positions that we picked up often out of necessity, i.e. just needing a paid job. There is an advantage to this – you can find yourself in unexpected places, being challenged to use your skills in ways you never thought possible. Our portfolios of experience, therefore, are a definite component that advantages us. Many of us have mixtures of skills and knowledge that are unique.
But I am seeing a pattern of problems, obstructions, and frustrations building up too.
Underutilisation of skills is one source of angst – too many of us seem to be moving sideways into projects or sets of work responsibilities which no longer stimulate us and where we feel as if we are using only 10% or 20% of our skills, but promotions or more challenging projects seem to be thin on the ground.
Being exposed to difficult working conditions is another. Money is in short supply in the arts and community sectors. Projects and the small organisations where many of us work are underfunded and under resourced. Even those of us working for large institutions have found ourselves working on programs which are not budget priorities for their hosts. Projects and programs that are based on real need and great concepts fall far short of their potential or outright fail due to inadequate resourcing (human and financial) and this is a heartbreaking situation to be involved in. Funding for professional development or employee support programs is often non-existent. Some of us are unlucky enough, too, to be exposed to the poor governance and management practices (even sub-legal or illegal behaviour and bullying) that can proliferate when an organisation and even a whole sector and its leaders are put under continual stress. Too often, when I mix with my peers, I see the effect this is having on people – low confidence, fatigue, ebbing levels of ambition and hope, a growing disengagement with a vocation that once inspired, and even, distressingly, mental health issues.
Personal finances are a particularly fraught area for many.
Too many people in my ecosystems have little or no savings, few or no assets, appallingly low levels of Superannuation (perhaps as low as $3000-$10,000 after 2 decades of work), but high levels of HECS debt (perhaps as high as $25,000). This despite having worked like Trojans all our lives, having been prepared to compromise on pursuing dream jobs (so no job snobbery in other words), and having been prepared to take calculated risks. Too much of our work is underpaid, underemployment and unevenly spaced contract work takes its toll. One outcome of having little disposable income is that further training and / or career counselling is out of your reach, which slows down an individual’s ability to improve their lot.
Our necessary work compromises have been part of the problem – our resumes have been fractured and diluted with jobs we took to pay the bills but didn’t want to do. The really unlucky among us have cycled on and off the dole and in and out of unskilled work in between working on projects that have been more suitable to our skill levels. But these same projects can be highly demanding but poorly paid and unhappy and distressing experiences, leaving the contractor to stagger away from a completed project with no savings in the bank, an uncertain employment future and contending with the disorientating effects of severe fatigue and chronic stress.
Why, when we have so much to offer, are we stuck in this unpromising situation?
A rudimentary survey of conversations and articles in certain corners of the internet will quickly alert you to areas of need within many sectors – innovation, collaboration, consultation, intergenerational relationships, workplace culture are words that crop up again and again – and these areas of need happen to be the areas where my network of peers, those broke and overlooked people, really kick ass. So why do we have so little effect, so little influence, so little visibility, so little traction?
I love the kitchen table conversations I have with my peers – they are broad, deep, reflective, bold, imaginative, visionary, analytical, intellectually rigorous, emotionally gentle and forgiving. I love that my peers also make manifest these qualities in their personal art projects, their blogs, their volunteer work. My heart bleeds for us all when my peers reflect that these qualities are too often absent from their day jobs. The waste of talent, experience and skill makes me grind my teeth in frustration.
So how do we give these things a life beyond the kitchen table and the unpaid grass roots project on the weekends? How do we take all of our privilege – that education, experience and talent we are so lucky lucky lucky to have – and position it so that we do have some visibility? With all we have going for us we are 95% of the way there, but we have been stuck at the 95% level all of our lives. What is the missing factor? When it comes to vocational development and career progress how can we box just a bit more clever?
We need to be conscious of what we do and who we are.
We need to frame our experiences so that others can learn about us and what we can do to help them and our society. We need to open up and let other different people support and comfort us with their knowledge and insights, gleaned from very different parts of the world from ours. We need to consciously own the values that have driven us instinctively or semi-consciously and which have informed our endeavours. We need to claim a place in the broader world and stop thinking of ourselves as a little ghetto of the overlooked and broke.
We need to put a name to all of this, we need to nurture it with conscious strategy. As in element 5 mentioned above, we need to make sure that we make our efforts purposeful on a strategic level.
Can Work Out Loud do this? I’m going to try and see. The movement appeals to my social and humane instincts anyway; I’m sure my involvement with it will provide me with fun and interest. What is there to lose?
Update (24 June 2015): Just read this description of the life of a temporary lecturer. Well worth a read for the insights it gives into the working conditions of one of the educated precariat.