The View from the Studio Door: How Artists Find Their Way in an Uncertain World

... for a life in arts is not whether you can survive the cycle of feast and famine, but whether you can live with the uncertainty." Orland's big premise seems to be that, today, artists live on the fringe. "Arts play no clear role in our culture. Artists have little direct contact with their audience. Artmaking is indulged, but rarely rewarded." What led up to the current state, for thousands of years if not millions, was a very different kind of world. Until the Renaissance (roughly), art and craft were rarely distinguished, and were part of daily life in the community. Clothing, furniture, and other essentials were made by and for people who knew each other. In many cases (most notably the medieval cathedrals), the work served not an individual but the entire group. Then, what ensues from Orland's poses the question: given so little in the way of motivational, financial, and social support, how can one make a life and living in the arts? As for motivation, Orland points out the need for unstoppable inner drive, because there's so much out there to stop it, but leaves that to the individual. He has to leave the problem there, because that's the only place the solution can arise. Financial support: as this review's opening quote notes, the studio artist has to live with different expectations than a matching 401k and paid health insurance. Although teaching gigs, gallery representation, and other means can help broaden and stabilize income, no one really does art to get rich. At least, not once reality sets in. That leaves the question of artists' social support. Humans are, perhaps more than any other, social animals, and generally suffer in many ways when cut off from society. For once, Orland proposes a solution: create it yourself. Attend workshops, as much for the human contact as for the content. Find like-minded makers, and exchange thoughts, challenges, ideas, and encouragement. Then, make sure the kind of society you create continues to meet your social needs. The stereotype of the "rugged individualist" typical conjures a physically powerful figure set against some mountainous backdrop or frozen wasteland. Without ever using the term, Orland identifies artists as similar individualists, living within the larger society, but nearly invisible to it. He also notes the requirement for ruggedness in those individualists, not in the physical sense, but in their ability to withstand the monetary, professional, and social demands placed on them. Artists don't have to be physically powerful, but art isn't for weaklings. -- wiredweird

After years of struggling with the question, "Am I really an artist?" I finally got my answer. For some reason, I had convinced myself that unless I lived an angst-ridden, eat-or-make-art existence, I wasn't really a true artist. Once I read this book, though, I learned that art isn't about lifestyle...it's about what you DO with your life, how you choose to live it. For addressing such weighty issues as "the making of Art," The View is an easy read, and chock full of motivation and inspiration and all the other good "-tions" that are too numerous to list here. I've read it once (unless you count the passages I read several times in a row, just because I liked them so much), and know that it will be a perennial favorite. Possibly more than once a year, if I find I need a little positive reinforcement (a literary kick in the rear, so to speak). If you're an artist, think you might be an artist, want to be an artist, were once an artist, could possibly some day in the future be an artist, or even just know an artist, it's worth reading. Heck, if you just like art, it's worth reading. It'll give you some insight into what exactly goes into making art. It's way more than just the materials and a learned skill set!

I'm just another artist with a day job, and while I may know, at some level, many of the ideas in this book, it is completely worth the time it took to read and the money it cost to buy. I read it twice right away, actually, and it will join Art & Fear in my flight carry-on because they're good books for times when you can't make your own art. I particularly relish the way Ted speaks to artists in all media; there's far too much "truth for every artist" that turns out to be for painters only. I come away strengthened, encouraged, set back on my path. I am doing the right thing and I don't have to know where this path leads. It did used to be different for artists but it's not that way now and make your art anyway. Heck, a therapist or a creativity coach will charge a lot more and take a lot longer to get you to the same place! If I were writing the book, I would devote much less space to art students, but perhaps my distaste for that chapter has its roots in major-envy, in that I want to believe life would be different if only I'd recognized a path earlier. And yet probably my life would have been much the same if I had, only with no insurance. Own the book. It's doesn't cost much, and it's worth it. Someone over in the Art & Fear reviews noted that all the used copies are completely covered in highlighting and margin notes. My copy of View is well on its way to the same end.

This book is a pretty good read in that it outlines some of the issues surrounding being an artist in today's society. It is more cursory than comprehensive. Basically it points out the issues but doesn't really delve into them very deeply. If you are already an artist it won't give you that much more insight than you probably already have, however it will serve to point you in thinking in the right direction. For the price I guess it's worth reading. I cannot recommend it as a 'must buy' but I also cannot say stay away from it.