| Watching newly graduated art students try to become professional artists is a bit like watching newly hatched sea turtles try to make it to the water – they’re a vulnerable group, and if predators don’t kill them, the harsh climate and competition probably will.
Kate Harsant is due to graduate from New Zealand’s prestigious Elam School of Fine Arts, where she studies painting, in the spring. To my surprise, she seems entirely calm about the matter. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that she has a realistic view of the line between producing art for the love of it and producing art commercially – she is already showing and selling her work in a local café and at a clothing store called Maw.
"You can’t be too precious about it. It’s a skill that you have and you can earn money from it to fund things that you find more interesting," she says. "So I will do anything."
She paints on large panels of wood. Her figures are borrowed from comic books and art nouveau drawings, usually accompanied by twisting line patterns and murky backgrounds – they are both whimsical and eerie.
"I try not to exclude any kind of audience," she says. Is she just producing expensive wallpaper? "No. I mean, I like that about it – that it’s attractive – but it also has to be interesting."
Harsant’s confidence and business-like approach to her painting are probably the result of good training. The Elam School is less concerned with traditional subject matter like art history and theory and more focused on the practical aspects of becoming a producer and vendor of fine art. It includes instruction, peer critiques and discussions, but arguably the most practical course at Elam is Professional Practice, the class that teaches students about GST, dealer galleries and support facilities. Harsant says they are even trained in appropriate shmoozing behaviour.
"You’re meant to suss out who the gallery owners are, but you’re not allowed to say, ‘Oh, I’m really interested in showing my art at your place,’ or ‘I’d like to show you my portfolio.’ You just don’t do that," she says.
"Everyone knows that you’re shmoozing because they’re shmoozing, too, but you have to pretend that you’re not."
Another advantage struggling New Zealand artists have is what Harsant refers to as the "artist’s dole" – a program called PACE (Pathway to Arts and Cultural Employment) that was installed by the Labour government in October 2001. PACE, run by Work and Income New Zealand, offers financial and job-seeking assistance to those who can show they are taking steps to develop a career in the arts and who are currently working on a specific project.
The opposition government and some other arts funding organizations have argued that PACE creates a culture of dependency, and that its approval guidelines for artists’ projects restrict creativity. However, Harsant believes the program is valuable for an artist’s morale, as well as their finances. "They’re starting to recognize artists as people," she jokes. "Now they’ve got a little box you can tick on their form."
Despite the training and support, she says only three or four people from each section at Elam continue to pursue art professionally upon graduation.
"It gets too difficult and people want to earn money right away, and when you’re not around it all the time, I think you can lose sight of the importance of it in your life," she explains.
Despite her sense of preparedness, Harsant is happy to remain in school for the moment. "When am I ever going to be around 40 painting students every day and not have a full-time job? Never."
Julia Williams is travelling around the world and exploring the global arts scene. |
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