Why Are Artists Poor? Part 4

Habitus and Field The economic approach we have employed thus far has not been very subtle. Concepts like reward and constraint coincide well with the econo-mist's preference for logical, closed reasoning, but outcomes tend to be discrete and no intermediate positions are recognized. It is either free choice or determinism.25 On the one hand, the most common view in economics is that individuals are free; they make rational choices and maximize rewards. On the other hand, in an attempt to 'socialize' eco-nomics behavior can easily become totally socially determined. If all internal rewards were reduced to internalized external rewards, as we implied in the previous section, the outside world would completely determine behavior. Individuals would have no choice. (And so we must conclude that in both these views the terms 'sel.sh' and 'sel.ess' are basi-cally meaningless.) In order to develop a better understanding of the relation between intrinsic and extrinsic values, between subjective individuals and their objective surroundings, it is useful to look at socialization in terms of sociology. Among the major socialization theories, Pierre Bourdieu's habitus-.eld theory is presently used most often. Moreover, Bourdieu and his followers have applied it extensively to the arts. Because of its subtlety and complexity this theory requires extensive explanation, which is not possible within the scope of this book. Instead, this slightly abstract section only brie.y treats some of its main concepts.26 The habitus is the princ.i.p.al component of this theory. It is related to the terms 'conscience' and 'att.i.tude' that we used earlier. The habitus is the subjective counterpart of the objective forces surrounding the indi-vidual. The habitus, allows individuals to believe that they understand their social surroundings. There is no calculation of behavior; it's intu-itive.

The habitus is more than just a set of (internalized) values and rules. It can be seen as a collection of incorporated dispositions such as the incli-nations to think, perceive, value, and act.27 These dispositions are linked to a person's position in a particular .eld. As a mental structure, the habitus connects the objective outside world with the subjective self. It is a complicated process that excludes the two opposing conclusions named earlier: man is certainly not totally free, but on the other hand, the notion that the individual is totally socially and biologically determined, is also not justi.ed. The habitus 'leaves room to move'.

The inclinations to think, perceive, value, and act have become incor-porated over time. The habitus accommodates past experiences in a c.u.mulative form. And because no two people have exactly the same his-tory, the habitus differs from one person to another. But at the same time, people often share a common background and environment. Therefore the notion of a modal habitus that is shared by a group makes sense.28 The higher order values discussed in the previous chapter are part of such a modal habitus; they connect people. But it's not just values, the inclination to see, think, and act can also be shared. A habitus gives people a practical sense, a feel for the game. It doesn't prescribe actions in speci.c situations, but instead, the habitus allows people to .nd common solutions.

A modal habitus allows people in a group to work together without being supervised, i.e., without the impetus of external punishment or reward. (They arrive at a natural solution to the so-called free-rider problem.) That people play the game without being aware of it becomes evident when people with a different habitus try to work together. Then there can be a con.ict and things go wrong as they did in the ill.u.s.tration on page 36 where Alex and his dealer failed to come to terms, because they 'spoke different languages'.

Thehabitusisa.s.sociatedwithone'spositionina .eld.Theterm'.eld' has almost the same meaning as the term 'world', as in art world. Fields arechosensothatdispositionswithina.elddependononeanother while remaining relatively independent from the dispositions in other .elds.Therefore,.eldshaveadegreeof relativeautonomy.Medicine,the arts, banking, and politics are examples of such .elds. The modal habi-tus among these .elds is quite different. A banker's disposition has little to do with that of a musician's, while musicians have more in common with writers. Nevertheless, because the positions of writers and musi-cians are different within the arts .eld, their habitus is different as well.

A .eld can be viewed as a topological map of positions that differ socially. It is primarily a topology of strati.cation. In the arts, positions connected with high and low art, for instance, say, literary .ction and science .ction, have different locations within the .eld of literature. High and low positions apply not only to artists, but also to art media-tors, art critics, art consumers, government of.cials in charge of arts policies etc. These positions become more meaningful with respect to social strati.cation, the further they are divided according to the various genres and sub-genres of art.

By occupying different, i.e., higher and lower positions within a .eld, groups necessarily relate to one another. Their habitus simultaneously differs and corresponds. Dominance and submission depend on one's position in a particular .eld. The existing order is reproduced via the habitus. In a simpli.ed version, the habitus among the low arts 'allows' an artist to operate commercially; while the habitus among the high arts 'forces' the artist to forget commerce. But these positions are intercon-nected because the habitus of either .eld inclines the artist to view high art as superior to low art. This was discussed earlier as the phenomenon of cultural asymmetry.29 Sel.ess Devotion and the Pursuit of Gain Coincide Are artists who are devoted to art sel.ess or at least unmotivated by external rewards? Conversely, are commercial artists self-interested and only motivated by external rewards? In terms of the habitus-.eld theory, these two groups do not differ in terms of sel.essness and motivation. Sel.essness and sel.shness usually coincide with one another. (Neverthe-less, as concepts they are not meaningless, unlike they tend to be in pure economics.) Translating these outcomes into economic terminology, sel.essness is usually no more or no less intrinsically and extrinsically motivated than an orientation on external rewards, such as money and recognition. Dispositions in either direction are 'built' into the same habitus.

Looking at the habitus, it is impossible to say whether artists have only one goal (or one consistent welfare function) like 'serving art', while other objectives remain secondary and only represent conditions that must be met to 'serve art'. Within their habitus, artists have a range of dispositions, which cannot be reduced to one goal. Artists are players in complicated games with many prizes. A special 'sense of the game' enables artists to make moves that enable them to remain devoted to art and other moves that serve other goals.30 Not all artists play the same game. The games and their stakes differ depending on the artist's particular habitus and on their speci.c position in the .eld. Sometimes people from a variety of positions meet for a col-lective game. For instance, dealers and artists are players in a collective game. And because they share a 'sense of the game', they play their game in an intuitive manner. However, as we noted earlier, when a player has a habitus that deviates from the rest, this player will tend to break the rules, which leads to frustration and problems. This happened to Alex in the ill.u.s.tration on page 36 when because of Alex's profoundly internal-ized habitus as an economist, he did not play the dealer's game according to the rules.31 In this respect my economist's habitus is also different from a sociolo-gist's and this puts limits on the multidisciplinary approach of this book. A bird is known by its song and a man by his language. Therefore, I tend to use the language of economics to explain sociological insights. Because the economist's language was developed for other purposes, this is clearly not the best solution. So in the remainder of this chapter and in the following chapters I will actually take a step back. By primarily argu-ing in the language of economics and employing terms like 'interest', 'strategy', 'reward', and 'the pursuit of gain' I necessarily simplify. And although I will continue to keep the habitus-.eld theory of sociology in the back of my mind, part of its richness will be lost. Nevertheless, I hope to prove that the present approach is more useful for the study of the eco-nomics of the arts than a mono-disciplinary approach.32 33 Artists Differ in Their Reward-Orientation By claiming that artists are rewards oriented and by using the term 'reward' I now return to the economic approach. (However, by referring to a rewards orientation, i.e., a term that is related to 'inclination', I reveal how the habitus-.eld theory is at the back of my mind.) In the ear-lier sections, the a.n.a.lysis revealed that all artists are oriented towards rewards; they need rewards in order to make art and to 'better them-selves'. Currently I am wondering why artists have different reward ori-entations. For instance, why do certain artists seek recognition from the government, while others prefer market rewards? As noted before, it's these kinds of inclinations that gradually became part of the habitus of artists. To understand the variations in reward orientation I will, once more, take a look at the formation of the habitus.

In their development as artists, artists acquire the appropriate cultural capital, which is not just some automatic process, but a social experience as well.34 Much of the discussion that goes on between students involves a collective a.s.sessment of the teachers' values, including their thoughts on rewards. Groups of artists with common backgrounds and educa-tions basically develop the same artistic conscience or habitus and the same reward orientation.

In this respect, it should be noted that the habitus encompa.s.ses many areas. No aspect of culture is excluded beforehand. The habitus deals with 'technical' matters such as how artists use their paint; how musi-cians play the piano, sing, use their bodies, etc. Artists also adopt inclina-tions to employ certain styles while ignoring others or treat certain sub-jects and not others.

The habitus also 'tells' which exceptions to basic values are allowed. For instance, it's not so taboo these days for certain 'avant-garde' visual artists to make an occasional commercial wink, resulting in a more accessible piece, but only if they prove somehow that it's not coming 'from the heart' and that they are 'above it all'. Or older artists can pursue external rewards to improve their position, but only within limits.

Differences in the reward orientation of artists come about in the vari-ous styles of upbringing, their educations, and their formal arts training. Fine arts colleges prepare their students for other positions in the art world than low arts or applied arts colleges. Moreover, no student starts his or her education as a tabula rasa. Schooling augments the founda-tions laid during childhood given various socio-economic back-grounds.35 Limiting the discussion to orientations on rewards, it should be noted that in the .ne arts students are more often trained to pursue internal rewards. Art must be considered a labor of love based on an intrinsic drive. Therefore external rewards can only be inputs enabling the artist to make art. The latter is a 'leisurely' att.i.tude. Students usually come from above-average social backgrounds. Thus, these avant-garde artists tend to carry along a relatively high amount of economic and social capi-tal. They come from well-to-do families more often than in other .elds and professions. Because there is money in the family, they can afford to earn less. Social capital gives them .air, self-a.s.surance, and a sense of audacity.36 Although students in the better .ne arts colleges are encouraged to 'serve art' by 'doing their own thing', these schools also encourage artists to seek external rewards in the form of 'recognition from peers'. More-over, in some countries, students learn that accepting government money is less objectionable than accepting money from a corporation or earning money in the market.37 The reward orientation taught in lesser .ne arts and in applied arts schools is less anomalous. As in most technical and vocational training, commercial success is encouraged and thus to make products that sell. However, part of this education system encourages a submissive att.i.tude towards the .ne arts.

Existing inclinations result in various mixtures of products and rewards. In order to a.n.a.lyze these mixes, I found it useful to chart incli-nations on the basis of three characteristics or dimensions: 1 the product mix, 2 the types of rewards, and 3 the sources of the rewards.

First, most artists are inclined to choose a certain combination of prod-ucts. Their product mix leads to rewards.38 (Painter A specializes in com-missioned portraits and still-lifes rather than landscapes and composer B specializes in music for choirs rather than instrumental music.) Second, artists are inclined to choose a certain combination of types of rewards such as private satisfaction, money, status, recognition, etc. Finally, artists are inclined to prefer a certain combination of reward sources, such as governmental, corporate, private buyers or donors.39 I call the combination of sources and types of rewards that artists seek the motiva-tional mix of artists.

Artists necessarily position themselves in respect to these three dimen-sions. Due to their inclinations, they take positions in an imaginary three-dimensional s.p.a.ce of products, rewards, and reward sources. For instance, artist C specializes in installations (dimension 1). This gives her private satisfaction, recognition, and some monetary gain (dimension 2). The recognition she receives comes from peers and the government, while most of the little money she earns comes from the government (dimension 3). This position, with respect to the three dimensions, re.ects her present specialization on products and rewards.40 Specialization largely follows from the phenomenon explained earlier, that rewards are also means. For instance, for the development of her career, governmental recognition is an essential input for artist D, while for artist E it is almost worthless.

In this three-dimensional s.p.a.ce, endless combinations of productive activities and types and sources of rewards are theoretically possible. Nevertheless, because of the habitus, most artists have little room to maneuver in. Artists are not likely to leap to positions further away, and when they try, they usually end up worse off. (Economists call this phe-nomenon path dependency. Once people are on a certain track, they tend to continue, because alternatives become less and less attractive.) (By a.s.suming that the artist does not want to 'end up worse off', I go back to the common a.s.sumption of standard economics that entrepre-neurs choose the mix of products and rewards that maximizes their goal, and so I return to the economic metaphor of maximizing individuals. The notion of the habitus certainly was not meant to be connected to this metaphor, but in the present context and with the present restraints I see no harm in it.41) It follows that artists position themselves in the three-dimensional s.p.a.ce so they can maximize their goals, whether this is to serve art, serve oneself, or both. Because rewards like money and recognition always serve as inputs as well, and because one type and source of reward is more valuable as an input than another, artists care about the source and type of rewards. They weigh one form of reward against another when choosing their positions.

Because artists differ in their habitus, they also differ in their orienta-tion concerning products, types and sources of rewards (thesis 27).

Types and Sources of Rewards Matter to Artists For me as an artist it is of the utmost importance that I receive recogni-tion from my peers. Feeling ignored by my colleagues is the worst thing that can happen to me. The second worst thing is not selling; not so much because I need the money, but because I need it as a form of legitimiza-tion. Therefore, in my motivational mix, I am oriented toward recogni-tion from peers and from consumers in the market. Another artist who truly beliefs in art for art's sake, is only interested in private satisfaction. Meanwhile, a third artist is considered commercial because he seeks monetary gain in the market and fame amongst the general public. A fourth is primarily concerned with money and recognition gained from the government.

Various types and sources of rewards are not independent. For instance, certain artists consider the government money they earn from selling a painting to the government as more 'valuable' than the same amount money earned from a corporation for the sale of the same paint-ing. Because there is no difference in the money itself, the example shows that the sale of the painting also provides recognition, which for these particular artists is higher in the case of selling to governments.

In the .ne arts, the 'value' of money earned in the market is often low. It can even damage reputations and consequently, recognition by one's peers. Although in the .ne arts as well money is earned in the market, the orientation towards money from the market is usually veiled. However, in this respect age matters. The habitus of older artists sometimes 'allows' them to be more openly oriented towards money and fame. Col-leagues and commentators often stress that these artists have put in many years and have thus clearly demonstrated their sel.ess devotion to art. Therefore, they 'deserve' these types of rewards. Although these older artists may actively seek the rewards, the rewards are seen as accidental gifts bestowed on artists with impeccable reputations. (However, if older artists become too straightforwardly interested in money and fame, their art world will expel them. In the visual arts in the Netherlands, the inter-nationally known Cobra painter Corneille is a good example. The musi-cian Andre Rieu and the composer Henryk Gorecki are other examples. Such 'defectors' have, for one reason or another, developed a deviant habitus.) As can be expected, artists in the lesser .ne arts are generally more openly money-oriented than those in high .ne arts positions. It would be incorrect however, to a.s.sume that in their motivational mix money is the only thing that counts. Take for example artists who paint the kind of art that can be bought in 'the store around the corner'. These painters see themselves as artists and present themselves as such.42 In their circle, the taboo on openly earning money is less strong than among other artists. Nevertheless, the habitus of these artists is not independent of the habi-tus in higher cultural .elds, and therefore, they sometimes exhibit anti-money behavior as well, which serves to compensate for their commer-cial demeanor. And even though in their motivational mix money .gures more heavily than in the case of artists in the high arts, private satisfac-tion and recognition by one's peers are almost just as important. The painters I met, who make paintings that sell in the 'stores around the corner', all displayed a strong sense of pride in their technical abilities and a zeal to perfect these abilities, which is hard to explain from an ori-entation that focuses exclusively on money.

In a speci.c reward mix rewards from certain sources and types tend to arrive in speci.c proportions. Usually when one type and source of reward increases, other sources and types increase as well. For instance, when certain artists receive more money from the government their recognition among their peers also increases and vice versa. Therefore, artists tend to remain in more or less the same position in the three-dimensional s.p.a.ce of orientation with regard to products and rewards or they follow a .xed route that .ts in with their careers. This is again a matter of path dependency.43 Successful careers often gradually evolve from a one-sided orientation into a broader orientation. The initial spe-cialization can lead to a winner-take-all situation. For instance, later on successful government artists tend to also become successful in the market.44 When something unexpected happens however, artists are sometimes forced to leap to another position. For instance, a young avant-garde writer unexpectedly receives an extremely important award early in her career.45 In this case, she jumps to a new position and thus the balance in her rewards is lost. Her reputation takes a turn that she can neither cor-rect nor adapt to. If the award comes too early in one's career, one is likely to 'lose' or end up worse off.

Theeffectthatasubstantialandprestigioussalehascanbesigni.cant. However, continuous small rewards can also be of the wrong type and not.taparticularartist'sreputation.Therefore,astheyshapetheirlong-term careers, artists often respond to such outside interventions with counteractions, which will hopefully correct or neutralize the unwanted 'rewards'.Theseactionsaregenerallysubtle.Theyrangefromchangesin the group of people an artist hangs out with, to small changes in their product style to prevent a recurrence of the undesired effect. One has to develop an eye for this kind of corrective behavior in order to spot it. I think I see it all the time both in my own actions and in those of my col-leagues. It also applies to Alex's behavior in the ill.u.s.tration where Alex decidestoconcentrateonphotographybecausehewantstocorrectwhat heconsidered was a growing misunderstanding about his reputation.

In all these cases, path dependency is involved. If an artist has been on a 'wrong' track for too long, it is dif.cult to correct. The rewards received have acc.u.mulated in a speci.c combination of monetary, cul-tural, and social capital, which cannot easily be altered.46 Writers who evolved into popular television presenters and whose books then, consequently, started selling extremely well, are good examples. They are rich and famous, but often lack literary recognition. Sometimes with some enormous effort, they can manage to gain some respect in literary circles, but they seldom become fully recognized. Many successful new media artists .nd themselves in a similar situation.

As they try to guide the development of their careers, artists attempt to control the rewards and products. If necessary, they adapt their products and their marketing activities (which are part of the production process). Various orientations towards sources and types of income correspond with various marketing activities. For instance, certain commercial tal-ents are more effective in dealing with gallery owners or impresarios than they are with government inst.i.tutions. Different att.i.tudes and social networks or, in other words, different forms of cultural and social capital are involved.

In practice, artists specialize in certain marketing activities and atti-tudes. Therefore, artists can be cla.s.si.ed accordingly. For instance, artists who specialize in government recognition and money can be called government artists, while others can be referred to as market artists, business artists, television artists, etc. Once the corresponding inclinations have been internalized and have become part of the habitus, it is hard to change one's position. For instance, when the average gov-ernment artist loses his government income, it becomes dif.cult for him or her to .nd a way into the private market, and vice versa.

10Three Examples of Orientation Towards Government Rewards in the Netherlands The following three examples show the effects on the behavior of artists oriented toward government rewards. 1 In Dutch subsidized theatre, the number of opening nights is large in relation to the total number of people who attend. Although compa-nies appear to be better off, if plays ran longer with fewer opening nights, and therefore lower cost per seat, they prefer to have more opening nights. This can only be understood by taking into account an extreme orien-tation toward government rewards, both in terms of money and recog-nition. On average, these companies depend on the government for about 85% of their income. Therefore, they naturally orient them-selves almost exclusively towards the government. Of course, they seek recognition from peers and experts as well, but primarily from among those peers and experts whose judgment matters to the govern-ment committee members who ultimately decide on subsidies. And, in general, these committees are impressed by many opening nights and consider them as a sign of quality.46 2In the late seventies and early eighties a 'palace-revolution' took place at the better Dutch visual art academies. In a relatively short period of time most of the older teachers were forced to leave and were replaced by young teachers. On average, teachers at these schools are also relatively successful artists. Building on their own experiences they help show potential artists the way. These older teachers had been fairly successful in the private market with a style that in Chapter 3 we called traditional (modern) art. Their main source of income was the private market. However, in the seventies, a new avant-garde (contemporary) market began to open up, and this is where the younger generation of teachers were most successful. This market was heavily dependent on govern-ment subsidy. Between 1950 and 1996, the government considerably increased its purchases of visual art as well as the subsidization of visual artists. In the Netherlands, the part of the visual artist's professional income that comes from public sources increased from almost nothing to 45% or even more.47 The national government, in alliance with the younger artists and the new cultural elite, was almost exclusively interested in avant-garde visual art and hardly any money went for traditional visual art. (Only local governments spend relatively small amounts of money on the latter.) Due to the new and substantial government demand for avant-garde visual art, the cultural capital of the older teachers, who were prima-rily engaged in traditional visual art, declined rapidly. The younger teachers' experience, who sold their work mostly to the government and received government subsidies, had suddenly become more valu-able than the older teachers' experiences in the private market. The 'palace-revolution' led to a purge of the older teachers from the princi-pal schools.48 Students consequently developed a more government-oriented habitus as well. Of course, these kinds of con.icts are fought in almost exclusively artistic terms, but viewed from the tenth .oor, the changes in income sources and the corresponding changes in career paths clearly show the importance of rewards. The example also reveals that, although the average habitus is not immune to market forces, a fundamental change in reward orientation is usually accompanied by a change in personnel.

3The gradual abolition in the eighties of an extremely generous subsidy scheme for visual artists in the Netherlands shows that a considerable reduction in subsidies affects artists' behavior.50 The scheme was orig-inally created to reduce the hards.h.i.+ps of visual artists. It was replaced by a less generous system of subsidies. As a consequence, a relatively large number of those who had pro.ted from the previous subsidy system left the arts because they were unable to successfully adapt their reward orientation. They had specialized in government orienta-tion. Their earlier successful dealings with the government had col-ored their habitus, which left it un.t for the private sector.51 Younger colleagues, who had no experience with this scheme, naturally devel-oped a different orientation.

11 Conclusion Artists are supposed to be sel.essly devoted to art, but it is hard to tell if they are sel.ess or to what degree they are sel.ess as opposed to commer-cial. If artists seek rewards, this can imply that they are more or less com-mercially oriented, but the rewards can also be means to sel.essly 'serve art'. Therefore Alex's claim that by concentrating more on photography he serves art may very well be true, but it's also possible that he's merely after applause or both. Moreover, if Alex is exclusively intrinsically motivated his motivation nevertheless stems from earlier external rewards. After all, he has admitted that while drawing in his studio he is sometimes in.uenced by the imagined reactions of former teachers. Nev-ertheless, sel.essly devoted or not, it is likely that artists are more intrin-sically motivated than other professionals.

The example of Alex imagining the presence of former teachers while he is drawing also demonstrates that internal rewards have a social origin; they stem from past external rewards. This notion has been devel-oped in a more elaborate form, in the sociological notion of the habitus. Some of the peculiar inclinations, as well as the limited 'choice' artists often have, become more comprehensible when the notion of the habitus is kept in mind. Sel.essness and sel.shness are not meaningless concepts, but they often coincide. The habitus approach can be illuminative and helpful to the economist, even when he decides to continue with the tra-ditional economic approach, employing the traditional terminology.

Artists who occupy different social positions within the arts have dif-ferent orientations towards external rewards. Some artists choose recog-nition, while others prefer fame or money. Some concentrate on peers, others on governments and still others on the market. Given their habi-tus, individual artists do not easily change their orientation. For instance, many European artists have a predominant orientation on gov-ernmental rewards, and when governments change or reduce rewards, artists are often at a loss.

Although an orientation towards rewards can explain the behavior of artists, this does not imply that artists can freely choose other artistic activities and other types and sources of rewards. If they choose other combinations, they usually end up worse off because their habitus and capital does not make a good .t for these positions. What often appears to be a n.o.ble lack of interest in rewards and an admirable perseverance in one's artistic choice can also be interpreted as the result of the limitations of one's social position.

Artists are relatively highly intrinsically motivated. As far as they are also extrinsically motivated, recognition is often more important than money. It follows then, that the belief in the economic approach, that an interest in money can suf.ciently explain behavior, is inadequate when it comes to the arts (as well as most other professions). The fact that money is relatively unimportant in the arts is further corroborated by the exis-tence of a survival constraint for artists. When a certain amount of money comes in, artists suddenly lose interest in earning more money. Together with a strong intrinsic motivation, this phenomenon serves as our .rst explanation of why incomes are relatively low in the arts, as will be discussed in greater depth in the following chapter.

Discussion 1 'If Alex does such and such he loses his autonomy'. How should a sen- tence like this be interpreted? Is the difference between autonomy and non-autonomy an absolute or a relative difference? 2 Can you explain why artists who seek fame, are more likely to become suspect than artists who seek recognition from among their peers? 3 To some artists money represents a constraint rather than a goal.

Could this also apply to other rewards like, recognition from peers and experts?

Chapter 5

Money for the Artist

Are Artists Just Ill-Informed Gamblers?

Taking the Reckless Decision to Enter the Arts At the age of thirty, Alex decided to stop working as an economist. At that time, Alex unintentionally joined a life drawing cla.s.s, and three months later, he was admitted to art school. Alex had decided to become an artist. It was a sudden and reckless decision. Alex felt relieved. It felt like he had .nally discovered his destiny. He was not worried about his chances. On the con-trary, Alex tried not to think about it. In the back of his mind, he must have known that the odds were against him, as they are against any average art student. Therefore, Alex told himself that he had no choice. If he wasn't going to pursue a life in the arts, he might as well just die. Alex was also con-vinced that anybody as con.dent as he was about becoming an artist, was bound to be a success one way or another. He stuck to a simple belief: the more dedicated he was, the more inevitable his chances of success. Looking back at that time, Alex realizes that, now as back then, he had numerous choices. Becoming an artist was only one. Therefore, by not pondering the odds, Alex tried to convince himself of the reasonability of being unreasonable. As he now realizes, someone who makes it in the arts is so unusual, that the desire to become an artist is little more than leaping off a cliff with one's eyes closed. The life drawing cla.s.s that Alex presently teaches is made up of artists, art students, and some extremely talented amateurs. The work of some of these amateurs is better than that of the artists and would-be artists. Alex has initiated some discussions between the amateurs and artists. In the course of the conversations, it turns out that some of these amateurs are aware of their talent. Some had even contemplated going to art school, but decided not to in the end. One of the reasons they hesitated to enter the art world was the many uncertainties involved in an arts career. They seem less reckless than the artists. Moreover, they demonstrate that almost anyone can .nd out that one's chances of success in the art world are low. Nevertheless, they are often apologetic about their decisions.

Making Jokes about Becoming Rich and Famous Alex remembers that in his last two years at art school he and his cla.s.s-mates used to make a lot of jokes about becoming rich and famous. There was something obligatory about it. Alex was at the stage when the cards were being shuf.ed, when teachers select certain students to launch into the art world usually one or two per cla.s.s. Naturally, everyone was nerv-ous. The chances of success of those who go unselected are not quite zero, but certainly diminish considerably. For the majority their dreams of a career in the arts are over, even though it will take some ten years to admit it. The jokes serve a magical purpose. Their ironic jokes about fame and fortune exorcised their fears about their own futures. The jokes are double-edged because, on the one hand, students begin to realize that most of them probably won't be rich and famous any time soon. On the other hand, by jokingly exaggerating their chances of fame and for-tune, they are effectively mocking fame and wealth and are implicitly expressing their faith in the notions of the sel.ess artist and the denial of the economy. But above all, the jokes demonstrate their reluctance to face real-ity and that fame and fortune was on their minds all along. Alex is sure that back in those days they all fantasized about money and fame. Occasionally Alex still catches himself fantasizing about fame and fortune, even though his chances are no better now than they were back then.

Dropouts Who Become Artists Alex believes these days that the seeds of his decision to go to art school were planted much earlier than when he ultimately decided to change pro-fessions. Looking back, Alex now realizes that the dice were cast in his family at an early age. His older brother was set to receive the bulk of the family inheritance, which consisted mostly of cultural capital. His brother is currently a professor like his father before him. In this kind of family, there just isn't much chance to share the cultural inheritance. And so Alex chal-lenged fate by pursuing an academic career in economics even though economics is a subject alien to the general interests of his family. Needless to say, his decision did not pan out, and at age thirty Alex decided to go to art school. Alex felt relieved because he no longer had to .ght destiny. But he was also t.i.tillated by the possibility of actually succeeding and thus wreaking revenge on the rest of the family. Although this appears to be an extremely private story, Alex doesn't think so. A historian told him about the roles that are a.s.signed to the various chil-dren in well-to-do families. For several centuries, up until around the First World War, the eldest son in these families was destined to carry on the family business, while the younger males often ended up serving in the army or joining the church. (Meanwhile, not all women in the family married; some became nuns or spinsters.) This was how family capital remained undivided and vigorous. Alex thinks that today the arts among the higher echelons of society, sometimes serve a purpose similar to what the army and church once did, albeit less convincingly. (Even today .rst-born sons are underrepresented at .ne arts colleges.1) Given the odds in the arts, becoming an artist is basically a form of degra-dation especially when one compares it to the far more lucrative possibili-ties of those who take over the family business, or their traditions in the sci-ences or politics. But then again, these 'drop-outs' are not necessarily always worse off being artists. Even if they're unsuccessful as artists they can still maintain some ambiguous hint of status. Moreover, successful family members often end up looking after their artist siblings. And most importantly, by choosing another path, the 'drop-outs' do have a little more chance to recover ground on successful family members, even a slight chance of actually surpa.s.sing them. In the past, some exceptional sons end up becoming bishops or generals. And today, an artist at least has a small chance of attaining a kind of fame and fortune the rest of the family never even dreamt of.2 Why is it that prospective artists like Alex seem so reckless? Are the arts a kind of lottery system where prizes are high, but the odds on success very small? And, is it true that artists ignore available information about these bad odds? This chapter attempts to address these questions. Above all, it attempts to explain why a low-income existence is the destiny for the vast majority of artists. It also looks at why only a small minority of artists will earn a high income from their art.

It goes without saying that people are impressed by the high incomes that famous artists earn. Not only do these incredible incomes go hand-in-hand with the glitter of stardom; these incomes also con.rm the sacred status of the arts and the genius of the particular artist. Strangely enough, the obverse, the notion of the starving artist, also con.rms the special status of art. But the phenomenon of the starving artists must remain an exceptional image. Because to learn that the phenomenon of low income is not just isolated to a few individual artists who happen to be poor, and affects the large majority of artists is an unpleasant and therefore readily overlooked view.

In the previous chapter, we were concerned with the sel.ess or reward-oriented artist and the boundary between intrinsic and extrinsic motiva-tion. Because this chapter tries to clarify the issue of an artist's income in terms of money, we now focus on the boundary between the orientations on monetary and non-monetary rewards.3 As an artist, I am convinced that high incomes are well-deserved gifts for talented artists and poverty is caused by a general lack of public inter-est in the arts. In other words, the general public and the government spend too little on the arts. As an economist, however, I disagree. I do not believe in permanent under-consumption. Yet, I certainly .nd it hard to believe in permanent overproduction either. Therefore as an economist I am at a loss. I don't understand why artists put up with such low incomes. As an economist, I prefer to think of poverty in the arts as a temporary phenomenon. Because if incomes are low enough, it should mean fewer people will want to enter the art world, which means that the sector should shrink and that incomes will subsequently rise to a normal level. I notice however, that so far this has still not happened.

Incomes in the Arts are Exceptionally High Using the term 'artist' in a broad sense and, at the same time, disregard-ing the difference between high and low art, it turns out that an extremely small group of artists earns astronomical amounts of money. Movie actors and pop musicians belong to the group of professionals who annually top the lists of the highest professional incomes. Actor Leonardo DiCaprio earned $37 million in 1998, .lm director Steven Spielberg $175 million and the singer Robbie Williams $56 million. After taking into account potential earnings Forbes constructs its annual celebrity top 100 for the us. The three mentioned above appear in the top ten. So do the Spice Girls, Harrison Ford, Celine Dion, and the Rolling Stones. In 1998, there are only two non-artists in the top ten: Oprah Winfrey and sports superstar, Michael Jordan. No other profes-sional, whether surgeon, lawyer, scientist or accountant, has a remotely comparable annual income.45 The annual celebrity top 100 that Forbes publishes every year includes 40 athletes and 40 so-called 'entertainers'. (Apart from a few television personalities like Oprah Winfrey, the 'entertainers' group consists only of artists.) The average income of 'artists and other entertainers' on the list turns out to be .ve times higher than that of the athletes. It should be noted however, that the income gap between artists and athletes was larger 10 years ago and may well eventually disappear in the years to come. Also, Forbes points out that it is becoming more and more dif.cult to distinguish athletes from artists. Successful athletes, like Michael Jordan, boost their incomes even more by launching acting or singing careers.

Although it's the entertainment or 'low' arts that dominate the celebrity top 100 followed by sports this does not mean that there are no lofty incomes among the 'serious' artists.6 Moreover, because the careers of many top pop artists are relatively short-lived, the picture would look much different, if one considered lifetime earnings. In that case, a singer like Pavarotti and a writer like John Irving are likely to move much closer to the top.

In this respect, it is instructive to look at the monetary value of a body of work rather than on single works of art. For instance, the present value of Van Gogh's total output could well exceed the lifetime income of any modern superstar, given the price paid for individual works. (In 1990, Van Gogh's portrait of Dr. Gachets sold for $82.5 million.) The same applies to the hypothetical value of the oeuvre of certain writers and composers, if copyrights would last forever. The value of the collective works of Shakespeare, Dostoyevsky, Bach, Beethoven, or Mozart would be astronomical. Not that these works are so 'serious' that they have no entertainment value. In their own time, these works were considered entertaining. Exactly because certain kinds of art are relatively 'rich' in meanings, it can serve different functions for successive generations. Therefore, their life cycle is long and their hypothetical all-time market value can be extremely high. Nevertheless, in this chapter I shall concen-trate on actual incomes and not hypothetical incomes.

Top incomes in the arts (broadly de.ned) are considerably higher than in all other professions that require similar levels of training (thesis 28).

Art Markets are Winner-Takes-All Markets There exists a number of markets where a large and often increasing part of consumer spending ends up in the pockets of a small number of pro-ducers, while the majority of the producers earn little or nothing.7 Those near the top secure a disproportionate share of the particular market's income. Although there is usually more than one winner, .guratively speaking 'winner takes all', as Robert Frank and Philip Cook wrote. For instance, professional tennis players operate in a 'winner-takes-all' market. There are thousands of tennis players all over the world offering high quality performances, but only a select few earns the big incomes, while the vast majority cannot even earn a basic living from playing tennis.

In normal markets, remuneration depends mostly on absolute per-formance. The seasonal worker who picks tomatoes is paid for the number of boxes he .lls. If A .lls 100 boxes and B 99, A receives 1% more income. Most remuneration in production is directly or indirectly based on absolute performance as well. In winner-takes-all markets how-ever, reward depends more on relative performance than on absolute performance.8 If athlete A runs 1% faster than B and wins, she may very well take all the prize money and so earn in.nitely more than B. Frank and Cook present the example of Stef. Graf who became the world's number one female tennis player, after Monica Seles, who had been number one for years, was forced to withdraw after she was stabbed by a lunatic. Within a few months, Graf's income doubled even though her absolute performance probably had not changed during this period. After Seles' withdrew, Graf's relative performance increased however.

A feature of winner-takes-all markets is, as Sherwin Rosen noticed earlier, that small differences in quality, talent, or effort often lead to enormous differences in income.9 The objective differences in the absolute performance of top athletes are small and yet income differences are enormous. The same applies, for instance, to soloists in cla.s.sical music.10 In the arts, remuneration rests largely on relative performance. Slight differences in performance can lead to large income differentials (thesis 29).

Winner-takes-all markets are not just limited to arts ma.s.s markets such as mechanically or electronically reproduced music and literature. In the current visual art world as well, the value of the 'star's' signature is related to relative performance. Old art is sold in a winner-takes-all market as well. Otherwise, there would be no signi.cant drop in value of a painting formerly thought to be painted by Rembrandt when experts .nally prove that one of Rembrandt's student painted it. After all, the difference in quality between this painting and a real Rembrandt was very dif.cult to discern; and yet the difference in value is immense.11 Even though the winner-takes-all perspective is not limited to ma.s.s markets of mostly technically produced and distributed goods, due to economies of scale, the effects are the most p.r.o.nounced in these kinds of markets. The services offered by the top performers can be reproduced, or 'cloned', at very little additional cost.12 Copies of a master recording cost no more for a top singer than for a second-rate singer. The same applies in the case of a television broadcast of a particular concert. Inter-national stars control these markets and there is little room for talents of less renown. Along with the ever-increasing impact of technical repro-duction, extreme winner-takes-all markets also become more and more important.

Other than the in.uence of economies of scale, 'natural limits on the size of the agenda', or as Frank and Cook have termed it, 'mental-shelf-s.p.a.ce limitations', also contribute to the emergence of winner-takes-all markets.13 Earlier I spoke of a 'limited star capacity'.14 This means that people tend to remember the relevant details of only a limited number of products such as product names or the names of its authors. Otherwise, a consumer's life becomes unnecessarily complicated and unpleasant. It generally pays to remember the names of artists who are already renowned. By listening to others one can save on so-called search costs. Moreover, being familiar with the same artists adds to the pleasure of communicating about them with others.15 For the average art consumer it makes sense to limit one's energies to a small number of already famous artists. This 'limited star capacity' of consumers helps to explain the astronomical incomes that some artists fetch (thesis 30).

People are clearly different in mental-shelf-s.p.a.ce. Some people recog-nize more artists' names than others. There are many different ways to use one's shelf s.p.a.ce. One jazz a.cionado might specialize in interna-tional jazz musicians. He might be familiar with all the big names past and present, but he might be totally unfamiliar with the local jazz scene or musicians in other genres. Meanwhile, someone else might know a few international jazz musicians, some local jazz musicians and some musicians in world music. The .rst one is probably an international jazz specialist, while the latter is probably more of a generalist. (Some people who don't care about pop music may still be familiar with the names and tunes of a few international or local stars, because pop music is a perva-sive part of general culture.) Just because people want to save time and money researching various artists and athletes, while still being able to carry on a conversation about famous athletes or artists does not mean that everybody every-where has the same list of preferred athletes and artists. There might be a somewhat h.o.m.ogenous character to lists of international stars but when it comes to local 'stars', the lists will vary because various social groups seek distinction. This continual need for distinction clearly puts a limit on the h.o.m.ogenizing aspect in the winner-takes-all markets. The extreme of one single winning star serving all of the consumers and attracting all of their spending cannot exist. Therefore, the centralizing power in winner-takes-all markets is balanced by the need for distinction (thesis 31). The signi.cance of that need appears to be increasing in modern society. Therefore, a variation in styles and artists is bound to endure. Pop music, for instance, clearly exhibits both aspects. On the one hand with its cult of stardom the centralizing power is strong, but on the other hand this power is balanced by the need for distinction of all sorts of subcultures causing continuous change and innovation at local levels.

One way to compete with the stars in any particular genre is to copy their formula. Sometimes formulas, as for instance in so-called boy-bands, last a while and copyists can hit the charts be it usually for a short time only. But for more lasting recognition and .nancial success imitation is not enough. For instance, many musicians have chosen to imitate George Michael (who himself started of copying others). But these 'pla-giarists' hardly made a dent in his share of the market. The only way to compete with the star is to .nd a way around the star's relative monopoly by offering a different product in order to attract unsatis.ed and new groups of consumers. Therefore, contrary to Frank and Cook's thesis, the increasing importance of winner-takes-all markets does not neces-sarily impoverish cultural life (thesis 32).16 Both imitation and constant diversi.cation are part of the system.17 People Prefer Authenticity and are Willing to Pay for It Because the arts operate in winner-takes-all markets, some artists' incomes are high. But this does not explain why top incomes in the arts are higher than incomes in other winner-takes-all professions. Why do successful pop musicians and top .lm actors earn more than lawyers and athletes?

Artists, lawyers, and athletes are alike in the sense that small differ-ences in talent can mean signi.cant differences in income, even though their absolute performances may be nearly equal. The slightly better lawyer wins the case and ends up earning far more than her counterpart. The same goes for the athlete who runs just a little bit faster than the rest of the pack. In both cases, the difference is small, but clear. But the case involving the arts is not the same. Performance among athletes and lawyers can be measured, while in the arts essential differences cannot be measured exactly.18 Relative performance in the arts is not so much about quant.i.ties that can be measured objectively, like with lawyers and athletes, but also on authenticity.19 For the art consumer authenticity is important; art repre-sents authenticity.20 An artist's unmistakable .ngerprint can be detected in the work of art. The personal touch or the artist's signature testi.es to this authenticity.

Why are the artist's personal ident.i.ty and signature so valuable in our culture? In the Middle Ages, people didn't care about an artist's ident.i.ty. In contemporary Thailand as well, the artist's ident.i.ty hardly matters. As was noted earlier however, the West has an insatiable desire for goods and services produced by unique individuals, by artists. It's as if artists have injected their individuality into their artwork. Even though every-body is probably authentic, it's only artists who produce public proof of their individuality.21 If the ceo of Sony dies today, someone will take his place tomorrow. But if Karel Appel dies no more 'Appels' will be pro-duced; or if Pavarotti dies, no new Pavarotti recordings will be released. Unlike other professions, artists are irreplaceable.

People admire artists and envy their ability to prove their distinctive individuality. And so it's my hypothesis that the general public wants to be like the artist; they want to be the artist. Because this is impossible, people magically connect with the artist through his or her artwork. People believe the artist is 'in' the artwork. For instance, the soul of Brahms (long dead) or Robbie Williams (still alive) is 'in' their music; by listening to them people connect with these artists. Often there is a degree of symbiosis involved whereby the 'fan' temporarily becomes the adored artist and shares in his or her individuality.22 Although it may be easier to identify with living artists, I believe that people also identify with dead artists. Take the case of an Inca mask; its attraction is not just its rarity but also the a.s.sumed individuality of its creator. In comparison in the world of stamp and coin collectors, rarity is the primary quality.

Indirect proof of authenticity's importance in explaining high incomes comes from professions in which performance is generally not based on authenticity. If we look at the list of the richest athletes it turns out that they are not just known for their athletic abilities but also for their TV appearances and their endors.e.m.e.nt of products. They're not anonymous athletes who happen to excel in a particular sport, but distinct characters with distinct circ.u.mstances and distinct histories. So it's not so amazing that the basketball player, Michael Jordan, not only appears in ads but also in movies. Even the highest paid lawyers and ceos often become public .gures. Although their time is extremely valuable, they still manage to appear in all kinds of, often less than intelligent, television shows. Whether these are strategic moves or merely stem from vanity, their contribution to entertainment certainly contributes to their income.23 In chapter 1, it was stated that art's authenticity contributes to art's sacredness but also depends on it. It follows then, that top incomes in the arts are exceptionally high, because of art's sacredness and authenticity, which the public values and is prepared to pay for (thesis 33).

Incomes in the Arts are Exceptionally Low Just because top incomes in the arts exceed those in other professions does not mean that the average income of artists is also higher. On the contrary, evidence indicates that the average income among artists is lower than in comparable professions.24 Therefore, by going into the arts, artists endure an income penalty. If they were to choose another occupation, they would earn more money. According to an early us census report, only employees of the church faced larger income penal-ties than artists.25 In the context of this book, this is an interesting result; it again suggests that there is a parallel between art and religion. Both invite employees to make sacri.ces.

In earlier studies, the measured income penalty is somewhere between 7 and 15%.26 The penalty was probably underestimated, because then, even more than now, many poor artists could not be traced and were therefore not included. Moreover, artists' incomes were usually com-pared with the average income of the work force as a whole. In current surveys, artists are polled using more sophisticated methods, and they are compared to people in occupations with similar 'educational and professional standings'.27 Consequently, the income penalty for going into the arts turns out to be considerably higher.28 For instance in 1990, the average income of a full-time artist in the us was 30% lower than that of all other full-time managerial and professional employees, 'a group broadly comparable with artists in term of educational attain-ment'.29 Moreover, according to existing standards, us poverty rates for artists are higher than for any other group in professional or technical occupations.30 There is evidence that real incomes in the arts have gone down consid-erably over the last decades. Throsby estimates that in Australia between 1982 and 1993, the real creative incomes of artists have decreased by approximately 30%.31 According to Pierre-Michel Menger, a similar trend exists in Europe.32 Even though the amount of work in the arts has increased this is more than offset by the increase in the number of artists. The increased compet.i.tion between artists for the available work contin-ues the trend toward lower incomes.33 In Europe, creative artists, like visual artists, composers and writers, earn the least, whereas in the us and Australia it's performers, like dancers actors and musicians.34 In the Netherlands, there is relatively a lot of information on the incomes of visual artists. According to a detailed survey, 40% of Dutch visual artists earned less than zero from their profession in 1998. 35 Therefore, the income penalty for the average visual artist in the Netherlands is almost 100%. (If 50% had earned less than zero, the penalty would have been 100%.) (So far we discussed annual incomes, while it would have been more relevant to compare hourly wages in and outside the arts. Suppose artists with very low annual incomes only work a few hours each week in the arts. The result would be a large difference in annual incomes between the arts and elsewhere, while the difference in hourly income will be less dramatic.36 Estimating hourly wages instead of annual incomes doesn't make much difference in the case of Dutch visual artists however, because they spend an average of 36 hours per week making art.37 On average, performers in the Netherlands only spend 18 hours per week working in the arts, however.38 Because .gures regarding hourly incomes are still inadequate, for the time being it is necessary to compare annual incomes.) It is useful to note that, if average incomes in the arts are low or even negative, this does not necessarily mean that artists are always poor. Artists are, in fact, often not poor because they have other sources of income, usually from second jobs. But as long as still only a few can make a living from their art, the arts must nevertheless be called a low-income profession.

Despite some exceptionally high incomes in the arts, the average (and median) incomes in the arts are consistently lower than in comparable professions (thesis 34)39. This implies that a highly unequal distribution of income exists in the arts. It is more skewed than in comparable profes-sions (thesis 35).

Five Explanations for the Low Incomes Earned in the Arts Why are incomes in the arts so low? As an artist, I surmised that low incomes in the arts are due to under consumption, people are not inter-ested enough in art. As an economist, however, I pointed out that the notion of under consumption is dif.cult to maintain when increased consumption .gures are taken into account. It's not just that real per capita expenditure on art increases, but also an increasing proportion of income is devoted to art. The .ne arts are no exception.40 Therefore, what puzzles me as an economist is not that the volume of consumption is not higher, but that the number of artists does not decrease in response to demand, so that eventually more normal incomes could be earned. Instead, there are so many artists wanting to work, that only at the pres-ent low level of income supply and demand meet.

Therefore, in terms of monetary income, it does not pay to become an artist. Average incomes are low or extremely low. Nevertheless, the will-ingness to work for low incomes is high. How can this be explained? A number of explanations can be offered, which complement one another.

table 3 explanations for why incomes are low in the arts 1The winner-takes-all principle: Winner-takes-all markets are important in the arts. They attract many compet.i.tors.

2Un.tness for non-arts professions: Because artists believe they are un.t for other, non-art professions, they believe they are better off in the arts despite the prospect of a low income.

3An orientation towards non-monetary rewards: (a) The average artist is more interested in non-monetary rewards than other pro-fessionals, while (b) such rewards are (thought to be) available in abundance in the arts.

4An inclination to take risks: (a) the average artist is less risk-aver-sive than other professionals, while (b) high stakes, in the form of both non-monetary and monetary income, are (thought to be) available in abundance in the arts.

5Overcon.dence and self-deceit: more than other professionals, the average artist is inclined to overestimate his or her skills and luck and at the same time, ignore available information; therefore they overestimate the rewards available to them in the arts.

6Wrong information: the average artist is less well informed than other professionals; therefore they overestimate the rewards avail-able to them in the arts.

These explanations for low incomes among artists are based on the a.s.sumption discussed in the preceding chapter, that artists are oriented towards rewards, whether as a means to 'serve art' or to serve them-selves. First, low incomes in the arts can partly be explained from the winner-takes-all perspective. Even though artists may be just as ill-informed, overcon.dent, risk-taking, and interested in money as other professionals, the winner-takes-all principle should tempt more people to enter the arts than other occupations with a weaker winner-takes-all market. Due to the market structure, extreme monetary rewards and renown lure people into the arts.41 Therefore, many youngsters become artists and supply many art products. It follows that average incomes are low.42 But average (and median) incomes in the arts are not just lower than in comparable normal markets, but also lower than in comparable winner-takes-all markets. So the question of low incomes also demands other explanations that are more fundamental than the explanation already offered by the winner-takes-all perspective and that complement it.43 Artists are Un.t for 'Normal' Jobs In choosing a career, people naturally take into account their skills as well as their de.ciencies. Consciously or unconsciously, they a.s.sess their chances in various careers. And so it should hardly seem amazing that a youngster who early on exhibited exceptional talent on the piano and ended up winning prizes in various compet.i.tions decides to go to the con-servatory. Talented people simply have an above average chance in the arts. This explains how a small group of gifted youngsters might end up choosing the arts. But because this group is small, it does not explain why average incomes are so low.

However, it's not just proven skills that determine whether someone becomes an artist; a candidate's inadequacies can be just as important. It's possible that a lot of average artists chose