Dominating world news this week has been the death of seven people on a private yacht, including the owner, Mike Lynch and his daughter. The 184 foot Yacht cost Lynch £40 million. We all understand why this is world news and these things were not;
In June of this year, Greek coastguards alegedly (according to eye witnesses) threw migrants overboard, to their deaths. You can read about this here.
Also in June, at least 11 people were declared dead and 64 others were ‘missing’ after two ships were wrecked off southern Italy.
According to a March report by IOM’s Missing Migrants Project, more than 27,000 people have died in the Mediterranean Sea over the last decade, whilst trying to reach southern Europe from northern Africa.
Meanwhile, the Italian Government has responded to these events by trying to prosecute rescue ships for ‘trafficking.’ It did not work, thanks to Italian courts refusing to play ball.
These disparities should shock us to the core, but…
It is always difficult to talk about money and so if this feels uncomfortable, move on. Otherwise, hear me out as I try to do justice to this rather tricky subject. After all, many of us wonder whether it might be possible to make a living through art and so I intend to be rather candid.
Michaela and I have been making a living through art, poetry and pottery for about eight years now and have loved every minute of it. We took a deliberate decision to live creatively and simply, knowing that this would have major financial implications. We have not regretted this decision for a moment and here we are, still doing OK, still making art, still paying our bills. We are proof that another way of life is possible, not just through sacrifice and ‘going without’, but by chosing to live towards what matters, what feels important. We only wish we had made the move sooner.
Let’s puts some numbers on it
We live these days on a shared income of around £25K per annum, roughly half of my (Chris’s) last annual salary when I was a Service Manager in health and social care. We have to declare a privilege here, in that we live in our own house, without a mortgage thanks to selling our old house and moving somewhere smaller. (We are aware that housing costs are a huge part of many people’e outgoings, and many feel that ownership outright is totally out of reach.)
We currently run two vehicles, both 11 years old and on their last legs. One is a van, necessary for all the ceramics events we do, the other an old runabout that we use locally. The hope is we can find a vehicle that will do both jobs, but for now, our biggest costs are keeping these two in running condition.
We are all seeing spiralling energy costs, and our art depends on an electric kiln!
Our income, as with many artists and creatives, had a big dip last year. We are OK, but it forced us to think carefully about what we do, how we use our time, what our output should be and how we might diversify. We make no complaints here, as most small businesses will be in the same place.
The business of selling art
There has always been an inherent contradiction in the fact that our decision to live more frugally and creatively was dependent from the start on other people using their disposable income to buy things that we make. Unsprisingly, when people worry about their own income, they have less capacity for purchasing art… although, conversely, many of us keenly feel the need to connect with object of meaning, or to lift a friend with that special thing from distance.
Our experience at the last major ceramics event might be instructive. Overall income was only slightly down from the previous year at the same venue, but the pattern of sales was very different. We make objects ranging from the teens of pounds to around £400 for the largest one-off pots and pictures. We would normally expect our main earnings to be from mid-range items of around £40-80 – vases, poetry plaques and the like – but at the last event, we sold almost nothing in this middle range. Unsurprisingly, most sales were smaller, sub £30 items. Many of these were bought as gifts and often came with lovely stories about the person they were bought for. However, over half our earnings came from the sale of our most expensive offerings.
Perhaps this pattern reflects the way our economy is working at present – many of us are feeling the squeeze, whilst others have done well – but also, through the conversations with customers, people are making conscious attempts to invest in objects of meaning. That is after all what art is for.
Art has always depended to a lesser or greater degree on patrons, on investors, on those able and willing to release money in support those who create the art. In exchange, these people form a relationship with the art, with the artist, and hopefully with the meaning the art is reaching for.
We can honestly say that the greatest pleasure in making our art comes at the point when we meet others who are moved by it. It is often an emotional exchange, full of stories of loss, of hope, of love. The purchase that comes after these exchanges may be very small, out of all proportion to the memory it leaves in it wake.
Of course, we are deeply grateful for these exchanges, but even beyond this, we have come to see them as part of the business of art itself. If we have a calling, it is towards this.
If you have not heard of this before, this is a way for patrons of art (or ‘Patreons’) to support artists directly, through a monthly subscription (paid in American dollars!) In return (depending on what ‘tier’ you subscribe to) you recieve rewards in the form of art.
Seatree has a Patreon account, under the name of Seatree community. This has three tiers, as follows
Tier one ($3 a month) access to a monthly e-mal with a made-for-Patreon-only video based around a new poem.
Tier two ($10 a month) as above, plus a monthly hand written piece of art by Michaela, featuring the words of another poem, rendered in her own wonderful style as shown in the image above and the video below
Tier three ($20 a month) as above, plus a monthly piece of pottery, either as a surprise or one agreed with you.
We both love doing these Patreon things, but we really need to widen our community to make this work for us. If you would like to join us, you would be very welcome! Simply click here and away you go.
Here is a sample of one of the tier one videos (normally only available to those who subscribe, so I hope they will forgive me!)
This week, I blocked an old school friend on FB, after she shared a number of posts that were clearly racist, anti-muslim and anti-immigrant – oh and there was one of those ‘share this if you think we should look after our own before spending billions in foreign aid’ posts too.
The thing is, this woman was someone I remember as being a quiet, kind, nice girl. What happened to make her politics so angry, so violent? Part of the answer might be local – my home town happens to be the constituency seat of the repugnant Lee Anderson, former deputy chair of the Conservative Party and now a Reform party MP after his racism became too toxic even for the Tories. In other words this place;
I feel a deep sadness when I watch this film. If feels like the legacy of working class collective consciousness that gew up during the mid and post industrial period has been eroded down to a sort of angry desperation which is searching for someone/something to blame, and so is wide open to the easy answers, and the convenient victims, offered to them by dreadful men like Anderson.
I say ‘dreadful men’, but I ‘know’ him. I have not met him personally, but he used to work with Michaela’s uncle in the mines, before Thatcher closed them all, decimating whole communitiies during my teenage years. My late sister knew him when he worked in the constituency office of the then Labour party MP for Ashfield. His unfolding and unravelling to the extreme right has been the same trajectory as the wider politics of the area, so I feel ike I understand Anderson. He is that man in the corner of the pub who makes people laugh and holds court with his loud opinions. He has verbal intelligence, quick wit and that say-it-like-it-is bluntness that seems authentic and appropriately ‘northern’. Of course, he is also a bigot and as slippery as a greased rope.
Regretably, Anderson has read the room. His journey from Labour party staffer, to the top of the Conservative party, then to the extreme right wing has not been about principles, it has been about political electability. He has been able to ride that same wavecrest that saw the end of the ‘Red wall’ by Boris Johnson’s populist Tories. He took the racist rhetoric of people like Patel and Braverman, along with the fear mongering and division making over immigration, and gave it a Bentick miners welfare twist, leading him inevitably towards the right – and more than enough of the good people of Ashfield went with him.
Now we jave far right mobs on the streets, setting fire to police cars, stoning mosques and trying to burn down hotels housing asylum seekers – people fleeing from war, murder and rape. As if they are the problem. As if they have stolen our country. As if they are the wealthy elites storing up more and more wealth, more and more property. As if they closed down the mines and hollowed out the high streets, as if they clog the corridors of out Accident and Emergency wards. As if they personally emasculated each and every one of those red faced men standing at the bar in England football shirts.
We need some light relief.
How can this happen? How did people get so angry? How does this anger become a social movement- a moraly-bankrupt, based-on-lies eruption of fake-righteous activism?
Lessons from the past
Firstly, we have to pay heed to history. This is not the first time after all. It is almost a cliche to talk this way so i will not labour the point, but look at the economic circumstances that led to the rise of fascism in the 30s, or the battles against the racists and antisemites in east end of London in the austerity at the end of the second world war. In the words of the proverb Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.
Political discourse
Politics is about the operationalise of ideas, right? It is about justice and looking after the weak and poor. It is the way that large diverse populations are able to work out differences and work towards peaceful consensus. It gives everyone a seat at the table. No? That is NOT what it is really like? OK, well can we at least agree that our system is the least worst option? Has the bar sunk so low?
What happens when politics loses contact with overarching ideology or principles? When power seems an end in itself?
What happens when – rightly or wrongly – the perception grows in a population that we are beset by ‘problems’. These ‘problems’ are defined poorly of course, because they are complex and filtered through information sources that are often untrustworthy and controlled by powers that have a vested interest. Then, what if the political system we vote for seems powerless to address these problems in a way that makes any obvious difference?
One answer is that clever people see this as a political opportunity. The Tories tried it first, by framing the problem in a way that could divide and anger just enough people to make a political difference at the voting booth. In the absence of hope, give them fear, give them anger. Give them hate, because nothing unites like a common enemy.
But who makes the best enemy? Who deserves our anger most? This takes us back to the question of by whom and how our ‘problems’ are defined.
We now have a Labour party fight-back, who have offered little or no hope in relation to those ‘problems’, rather playing a political card called caution.
The freedom of information
The internet. The ultimate expression of libertarianism. A free, open space in which everyone (or every geek at very least) has access to the same megaphone as the rich and powerful. Except that is not how things panned out.
Firstly, if everyone has a megaphone, that is a whole lot of noise.
Then there is that algorithm thing. We run a small business, and anyone who does this will be well versed in just how damned complicated a game we have to play to game Google towards recognising our humble offerings on the altar of the algorithm. The time this takes is entirely open ended. This is not a level playing field.
Much more seriously however is that other quality of the algorithm – the way it feeds on attention. The way it feeds us ever more extreme versions of what it thinks we are interested in. The way it allows us to exist outside our bodies as excarnate, silicone avatars, devoid of the mediating effect of fleshy proximity, insulated from responsibility. They become externalised egos, allowing us a certain liberty and freedom we would find appalling in reality. There are some unintended, but convenient to some, consequences to all this, in that extreme megaphones become much louder.
The two-dimensional slicone goggles starts to affect our every day ways of seeing.
Truth or fiction- who cares. Who is loudest? Whose content makes my outrage tingle most?
And some clever people know how all this works – they can game it, use it as a tool for mass maniplation. The Cambridge files laid all this bare, but there has been no corrective, no regulatory response. It sits there as an open undemocratic secret.
Of course not- after all, we know what the internet has told us about vaccines. We have made our bed and we must lie in it. There is no medicine for this kind of poison.
I really do think this is true in one sense. We can’t make a world without extremes or without the algorithm. Thugs will always be thugs and politics will always be political. The poor will always be with us. Wars will always force refugees out on the terrible road, longing for distant mythical places of peace. It has always been this way.
Dear friends, I cannot hope for the end of violence, but I can sing of the present reality of love.
I can tell you that the same person I unfriended on facebook was kind to me in ways I will remember.
I can hope that deep inside each and everyone of us on all sides – rioters , counter-protestors, police – is god. That the deepst, most truest part of us all, is god.
I am still processing a poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago. Here it is again.
this fragile tent 