Day Jerb

Day Jerb

I’m taking another retail gig. I was out of the last one for a couple months, and despite having an abundance of time to work on creative stuff, I didn’t end up doing much more than I was when I had my previous job. There’s something about the routine and structure of an occupation that supports doing your creative work around it.

Unpacking the word “occupation” a bit, its root is the Latin occupare,  or “to seize, capture.” A job captures our attention, time, and energy while we do it. It’s funny left at that: your job seizes your life like an invading army captures a town—which is also why “occupy” can refer to military conquest. But there’s a potentially positive effect.

In her wonderful piece in the New York Times last month, Katy Waldman points out that celebrity artists who earn their living from their creative work are mostly a recent phenomenon. Even the superstars of the Renaissance got by largely on a few wealthy patrons’ commissions, not the free-flowing whims of their solitary musings.

[…] even the celebrity painters of the past half-century had to hustle at one point. As David Salle — who was financially insolvent at the time of his first show, held at the loft of a young dealer named Larry Gagosian in 1979 — admitted in a 2005 lecture, “It was common not to expect to be able to live from your art” in 1970s New York.

She further counters that having a day job can even be a boon to creation. Yes, many artists get jobs in related fields, like music production or session work, museum positions, or editing. However . . .

[…] there is another category of artists-with-jobs: people whose two professions play off each other in unexpected ways. For these creators, a trade isn’t just about paying the bills; it’s something that grounds them in reality. In 2017, a day job might perform the same replenishing ministries as sleep or a long run: relieving creative angst, restoring the artist to her body and to the texture of immediate experience. But this break is also fieldwork. For those who want to mine daily life for their art, a second job becomes an umbilical cord fastened to something vast and breathing. The alternate gig that lifts you out of your process also supplies fodder for when that process resumes. Lost time is regained as range and perspective, the artist acquiring yet one more mode of inhabiting the world.

And although it isn’t good to be too bored, if there’s just enough tedium or routine, your imagination creeps into the open cracks and begins to grow.

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