Hobbyists, Entrepreneurs, and Artists
Taking art seriously is the only way to make it a career
The most common and annoying excuse people give for not fulfilling their dreams is: “I’ve always wanted to do X, but I haven’t had the time.” The counterfactual is implied, encouraging these people to feel even better about never getting around to writing that novel, or learning that language, or taking that cruise to Alaska: “If I had the time, of course I could do it.”
That begs the question of having the determination to write, learn, or explore. By blaming the clock, the person is off the hook for failing at that which they never bothered to attempt. The fiction of being too busy with other things that have, sadly, gotten in the way of their dreams, further flips their victim card. “I have to do other stuff, so don’t have the time to do it.”
Anyone actively doing what they love to do will instantly call bullshit. Albert Einstein discovered Relativity while working at a patent office, Jimi Hendrix slept with his guitar at the Army barracks, and Stephen Hawking was already suffering from ALS when he figured out that black holes shrink and explode. Somehow they found the time to blow everyone’s mind.
Go-getters also understand that life’s inevitable inertia helps build strength and character. Active resistance, often from multiple sources, forces the protagonist to fight even harder to realize their goal. That arduous process turns an everyday person into a Hero, a banal existence into a thrilling ride of lost and won battles, perhaps but not always winning the whole war.
Chronic victims succumb to life’s ubiquitous challenges, and use them as excuses to fall short of their own and everyone else’s expectations. Call them out, and a tsunami of complaints, gripes, and irrelevant facts are cited as to why they refuse to apply themselves, the project has failed, they haven’t been able or willing to step up and do their part, let alone excel.
Yet such criticisms aren’t always fair. A loser is seen through a winner’s eyes. People want different things, and go about living their lives in a manner that suits them. A “hobbyist,” for instance, indulges a passion devoid of intent or motivation beyond the satisfaction of merely doing. Free of expectation, improvement let alone mastery is not part of the plan.
In parallel consider “entrepreneurs,” an opposite sensibility. For them the end-game isn’t enjoyment per se — although they might intrinsically delight in the doing, too — but accomplishment. Their metric is typically financial, and their motivations are competitiveness and power. To judge a hobbyist by the criteria of an entrepreneur misses the point, misunderstands both.
Such differentiation gets trickier for the “artist,” who can also be characterized as a hobbyist or an entrepreneur. The “artistic hobbyist” noodles around with writing, painting, any of the creative arts, perhaps dreaming about one day “making it” while never applying themselves with the determination and dedication necessary to turn it into a career.
In contrast, the “entrepreneurial artist” revels in the vision of themselves as an accomplished artist, and goes about actively doing whatever it takes to transform that aspiration into a reality. Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hours is necessary to master their essential creative skills, but without the marketing hustle their artistic trees fall silently in unseen forests.
Further complicating matters, artists come in two Jungian forms: introverts like Rick Ruben, who insist that the audience doesn’t matter — and extraverts like Andy Warhol, who conscientiously blur the distinction between art and commerce. Both types can succeed or fail, creatively or financially, yet what all artists have in common is their insatiable hunger.
My first corp job after accidentally spawning a child and finding myself married was medical editor and ecommerce director at a small software company in Chicago. The founder of the firm was a former ER doctor with autism spectrum disorder who hired an obese, obnoxious, and over-the-top sales manager to sell the sluggishly moving subscriptions.
“What the fuck is the matter with you slobs?” he shouted at his salespeople first thing Monday morning, the old school pep session never working, the Big Guy never caring. “Where’s the excitement? Where’s the buzz? I wanna walk near the bull pen and feel the energy! Instead, I glance over and the place feels like a goddamned morgue. Work the phones! Get me some sales!”
Everyone thought he was an asshole, but I remember his outbursts because in retrospect, he had a powerful point. “Soon as I wake up each morning,” he elucidated to anyone who cared to listen, “the first thing I think is ‘I’m gonna sell something today…’” Despite being an asshole — arguably because he was — the Big Guy was a stellar salesman, singlehandedly saving the firm.
His life had meaning, was driven by his obsession with a singular goal, namely to sell something. Didn’t even matter what the hell he was selling, he had insatiable hunger, and that made him great at what he did. He wasn’t a hobbyist, even though he loved to sell — he was an entrepreneur, combining his love of selling with an insatiable hunger to sell and make bank doing it.
Whether Pablo Picasso or Takashi Murakami, every success story begins with a creative vision, driven daily by that insatiable hunger. Voracious, ravenous — starrrrrrving — a true artist wakes up every morning and the first thing they think is “I’m gonna create something today…” You don’t have that, you’re a hobbyist. You have it, and sooner or later, the money will come.
