Money and the Artist

Once one becomes an adult, there is always a thought towards money, whether you are an artist or not. I think in many ways money is inextricably linked to fear and anxiety. For some, financial security is the only security and without it, they would not know what to do with their lives, and not know what to do with themselves. On the other hand, an artist may have little of either to spare in their lifetime.

In some sense, I despise money because of what it does to people. Every rich person that I have brushed up against had been changed by it. It is no secret that money distorts the view and the perspective of the heart.

My views on money as they stand now seemed to have been formed in part by my father. Born into a somewhat impoverished home, he did everything he could to become a man of means—respected and admired. 

When he became a doctor, he lived lavishly. Long before I was born, he bought property, a small airplane, and a sports car. He did well when he did well, but like the life of an artist or gambler, when he fell from grace, he fell hard. At the end of his second marriage, everything would be taken away—either by his ex-wife or by gambling debts he simply could not repay.

Growing up poor, like my father, has proved to be of great use to many. The experience of destitution can arm the soul with many great advantages in life. For one, the notion of “do-without” can be instilled at an early age—informing a young mind about the harsh realities of financial security can be a blessing to the child. This gift is a hard one to overrate.

For another, it can aid in forming the initial architecture of steady nerves; because my father grew up poor, he need not fear poverty. Because he knew what the bottom of the barrel looked like, it was less scary to him. I watched my father spend money as though he could print it. If the money ran short, he would simply say “work harder”. 

When he died, he died practically penniless. The money ran out, and he was too old to work any longer or any harder. He never saved a dime. He left this world the same way he entered it—with nothing.

This, of course, had some effect on me. I question, how does a doctor die poor?

I did not grow up poor. But there are two times in my life when I could say I lived practically destitute. I was never poverty-stricken, but simply broke with no readily apparent means of a solution. But the time for self-pity had passed. Feeling sorry for yourself would get you nowhere. Then came a change in the zeitgeist of my thinking. Without much trying, I formed a wall around my condition. I was not stuck, just temporarily down and out. In a way, the difficulty can be excruciatingly simple. One just has to survive.

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I kept my father’s favorite maxim in mind—“scared money doesn’t win”. I would not be overcome with self-pity, anxiety, or sadness. Without realizing it, my nerves rallied up to fight, and to fight in my favor.

It is no doubt that my experiences and the thoughts of my father's courageous journey through life kept me company. That, and knowing full well the stories of the many artists that had it much worse than I. If not for reading de Kooning’s biography, or knowing the struggles of Van Gough, I might have thought I had it rough. Even though I lived on nothing but grit, I ate like a king and managed to keep both of my ears.

How does one rid themselves of the nervous tension that we so often create by simply living? Once someone settles down the road of comfort, they are never comfortable enough. After a brief encounter with financial success, there is little going back. The nature of security must be a steady thing, and adventure always requires a change of some sort.

What we must do is fight, and fight with our heads. I have learned I must be grateful for my times of desperation because it was only then that I realized my greatest potential. And so, my thoughts towards money—I have few of them. Not because I do not recognize that it is important. It is. But because I know how to live a life without grand sums of it. And if it be the case that I never find financial security, I take it easy; even doctors can die poor.

As I write this, I cannot help but think of my native country. The United States of America. A country that has gotten so much figured out, in so little time. A country where one can get by with relative ease when compared to other nations. A nation where true depression, wartime and struggle are not lodged into the common mindset. America as a whole has experienced fewer of these problems than most. And now, with so much of the failed state talk, so much of the declining empire verbiage, I wonder how my native country will cope. 

It is a new chapter that will shape a future America, as the current trends and attitudes of money cannot continue. America is in fear for itself. Its citizens are lost in a dream of their own making. If what certain people say is correct, there is a dark night headed for the United States. Americans must find that inner resolve for a future earned. Your material world may fall apart—as long as you don’t. I can’t help but think that it was America’s unhealthy obsession with all things money that is the root of its current dilemma.

Judson Stacy Vereen is the author of American Pleasure, 62 Poems from Judson Vereen, and Like A Bird Knows To Sing. He is also a staff contributor to Wrong Speak, where he publishes a bi-monthly opinion column. His substack page Dispatches from Bohemian Splendor.

Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author's own.