The Art of Surviving Creativity

"You’re in art school? That’s so cool! Good for you! At least you’re studying what you love.”

I can’t speak for everyone in art school or a similar creative program, but to be completely frank, art school almost obliterated my initial passion for creating art. Don’t get me wrong– it’s not all doom and gloom. Art school provides priceless insight into the processes of creating work that is, believe it or not, useful and applicable to everyday life. However, the pressures that come along with a Fine Arts degree–or any creative degree–can negatively affect your mental health. Let’s talk about the obvious factor–financial security. Maclean’s reported on a figure disclosed by the Council of Ontario Universities that Creative Arts graduates had the lowest average salary, earning $34,653 on average, compared to $49,469 overall.

The title ‘artist’ has many labels attached to it, most of which are unfortunately negative. We are often perceived as ‘tortured souls’ or ‘social outcasts.’ This almost serves as a prophetic mission, because if successful artists like Van Gogh and Rothko were sad to their core, I therefore cannot be happy and successful. This mentality, paired with the pressure of creating art to achieve good grades, leads you to stop making art for yourself and start making it for others. The work you spent hours creating and getting lost in now seems like a chore. A creative outlet that makes you forget the world suddenly reconstructs into anxiety in the form of lines and brushstrokes.

Throughout your journey, you reach a point of stagnation in which you become scared to create work because you are displeased with the outcome. Yet, you are so entrenched in it that you have to see it through to completion. This is when your work can become disingenuous, causing you to question your own integrity.

Insecurity seeps into your everyday life; you become unsure of yourself, and it shows in almost every aspect possible–personal relationships, work styles, your overall confidence–they’re all affected.

This lack of authenticity is common for any creative program. Whether you’re a writer, a photographer, a filmmaker, or a fashion designer, you are exposing your innermost thoughts and feelings to criticism from anyone and everyone who views your work. You become a little biased and choose to compromise your individuality to cater to the general public.

“I wonder what shade of red people will like more.”

“What topic is current, trendy, and will get people talking?”

“Am I a sell-out if I do this?”

Have you ever written an essay on a topic that you were disinterested in? A topic you didn’t necessarily agree with, but proceeded to write on because it was due for class? Picture that, for the majority of your four-year undergraduate degree. Imagine having to convince your peers it is what you truly believe.

In any creative work, you are taught to develop a personal style. Take, for example, my earlier reference to Van Gogh and Rothko. Whether you know anything about art or not, you can distinguish their paintings anywhere. Although style is an integral part of achieving success in this field, it can also be detrimental to your work. In other words, you must make your work stand out. With this goal in mind, you put so much pressure on yourself to be different, instead of painting however you truly want to.

Photography by Jeremy Marasigan

This, too, leads to work that is inauthentic, and the people critiquing your work can tell almost instantly. The harshness of critiques can either motivate you to create better work or paralyze you into stagnation.

The great part about all of this is that after a while, you grow thick skin. You destroy and create, destroy and create. This brand of confidence starts to become more present as time passes. You develop a process of renewal, meaning new ideas strike you so fast you have to write them down on napkins or receipts.

You are also never alone. You develop an incredible support system of colleagues and classmates that spend all this time together bouncing ideas off each other. You spend countless nights contemplating why the heck you’ve chosen to do what you’re doing. Again, I cannot speak for everyone, but my experience in a creative program was both taxing and fruitful.

Creating something personal can be scary at first, but in due time, you learn to develop a process that you enjoy. The most valuable lesson you take away is to not care. When you near the end of your journey in a creative program, you start to disregard any humility, and you let your freak flag fly. It is in these moments that you truly discover your unique voice.

By June Barrage