1) Develop a Routine
Whenever I speak to someone who is not in the arts, they are often disappointed to discover how rigid my routine is. You can see the light in their eyes dissipate, as if all their imagined hope for some form of freewheeling existence has been shattered to dust before their eyes. There's a stereotype about independent artists common the world over: that we do what we please whenever we please. Truth of the matter is; it's impossible to get anything done without abiding by a schedule. Some artists do better in the evenings than mornings, but being productive will still entail sticking to a routine that allows them to work through said evenings. As for me, I find that the schedule that works best is in fact the least interesting schedule on Earth: 9-5, with a one-hour lunch break at noon. There was a time when I would squeeze in a 30-minute exercise midday, but that hasn't been working out for me lately so I now try to exercise early in the morning instead, before breakfast. I also schedule the type of work I do as per the days of the week, because it's difficult for me to switch gears within the same day. Meaning: I can't assign a few hours to drawing, then switch to writing, and then do some painting before squeezing in a meeting all in the span of the same day. If I'm in drawing mode, then I need to stay in drawing mode the entire day. So at the head of each week, I might assign Monday to drawing, Tuesday to writing, Wednesday to design stuff, and Thursday to meetings, emails, and prepping social media posts or what have you.
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2) Live Somewhere Conducive to Your Art
I recall how excited I was to move to Denver when I did many years ago, because I'd never lived anywhere so majestically picturesque, with amazing natural views visible wherever you are in the city (or at worst a stone's throw away from anywhere you might be). I'd grown to fantasize about living somewhere like that, and the effects it might have on my soul and practice. But what I quickly learned--though, not quickly enough--is that majestically picturesque places may not be for everyone. The most miserable I've ever been was in fact in Denver, Colorado. As beautiful as it was, the city was actually not conducive to my art-making. Denver is what made me realize that what I need more than natural beauty is density. The denser the city, the better apparently. Growing up in Cairo, I'd grown sick of density. For many, many years I longed to be somewhere that didn't feature such a relentless assault on the senses, but with density comes the thing I realize I value the most: human relationships. Community building that occurs organically, a rich ever-growing network of friends and connections, an eternal avalanche of ideas and conversations, and a bottomless well of opportunities and collaborations. Big, busy megacities are such a part of my DNA at this point that I now realize that the small, quaint idyllic town is nothing short of the kryptonite to my Superman.
Two additional criteria are essential to most modes of art-making though: Space and affordability. If you're an artist that makes physical things, space is kind of unavoidable; You need enough space to make and also store said things. Affordability is also essential--no matter how successful you are--because of the built-in precarity of being an artist. Without the regular salary that comes with standard employment, it is imperative that recurring expenses are kept at a bare minimum. But if like me density is also essential to your art making, this can often conflate with access to space at an affordable enough price point--especially in this day and age. But there are ways: the rundown building on the wrong side of downtown, or the old warehouse owned by the eccentric art-patron fathered by the wealthy oil man. Fruit and veggies sourced from the dirty produce stand instead of the air-conditioned supermarket. Living someplace so central that most things you need on a day-to-day basis are within a 15-minute walk, to hell with cars and gas prices.
This is not the kind of thing they teach you at art-school, but it is in my book a corner-stone of being an artist. It would do any artist well to situate themselves wherever will best rock their boat; the sooner they figure it out, the better.
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3) Make Time For Your Own Work
My biggest regret in life is spending the bulk of my twenties doing commercial work-for-hire. I still do work-for-hire, and still thoroughly enjoy it. Primarily, I think because it involves a great deal of problem-solving, and--I don't know why--but I really enjoy problem-solving for other people. I just love doing it. But, if that's all you do over the course of your entire life, by the time you're 77 and no longer have the dexterity or stamina to make anything at all, you're going to really regret not ever having created any of the things you wanted to create. Make sure setting aside time to do your own work is an integral part of the routine mentioned in rule #1.
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4) Never Stop Producing
I remember how lost many of my friends were at the beginning of Covid. Events were canceled, project funding pulled, and work dried up. Locked up in their homes with nothing but time, their own heads, and worry about how to pay the bills, they didn't know what to do with themselves.
I can't help but contrast this with another artist friend of mine who is literally always drawing whether there's a project on the horizon or not. Always. Even when we're out socializing at the local cafe, he would always have a sketchbook handy, filling it away with ease as he engaged in conversation, sometimes quite intense ones even. While this is a degree of multi-tasking I am admittedly absolutely incapable of, it is emblematic of the holy grail of artmaking I aspire to: where making art is second nature, little different to breathing. It's just something you do, and you do it all the time.
Granted, needing to figure how to pay bills just as projects and funding are drying up isn't the most conducive condition to casually sketching away at cafes, which brings me to rule #5.
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5) Establish a Security Cushion
Y'know what being alive for 40-something odd years has taught me? Things like recession, earthquakes, floods, fires, war, revolution, divorce, medical emergencies, relocation, hyper-inflation and pandemics are not only possible, but inevitable. Not just once in your life, but more likely than not on any given month. Just one of those things happening can be hella disruptive, but it actually isn't uncommon for several of those things to converge all at once. Such an occurrence would be disruptive enough for any gainfully employed person, let alone an independent artist with no fixed salary. Having enough of a security cushion to weather these guaranteed disruptions is not only recommended, but imperative. To build this cushion, take 20% of whatever you are paid and put it away. Keep doing that until you have accumulated at least 6-months' worth of your monthly expenses. It may take you months or it may take you years. If you calculate that it is impossible or will take you an exceedingly long time to do, that means you're likely in the unfortunate position of having more monthly expenses than you should. In which case, serious lifestyle adjustments may sorely be in order.
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6) Eliminate Distractions
Most things in the world right now are either vying for your attention or your income. Try avoiding them as much as possible. What you want to be able to do is start your day by jotting down a to-do list comprised of no more than 3 or 4 things and actually be able to do those 3 or 4 things with as little to no friction as possible. Anything that attempts to pull you away from getting those 3 or 4 things done needs to be blocked out. This is likely to be your biggest life-long struggle as an artist and will necessitate developing a strategy that best works for you to maneuver it.
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7) Design your life
I recall what a revelation my visit to the Rivera/Kahlo studio-homes in Mexico City was. Studio-space constituted the vast majority of their dwellings, with a very minimal percentage of the home dedicated to bedroom and kitchen. This seemed so perfect to me, and contrasted heavily with how I lived at the time--not so different from any middle-class family in the United States--an approach to living I discovered that I just couldn't fit in. An approach that was in fact at odds with my very being. That is not to say that such a modality of living isn't right for you, but in the same way an artist needs to consider the location that is most conducive to their art (rule #2), an artist must also consider the modality that is most conducive to their art: Does the big screen TV really help or does it detract? What about the big L-shaped sofa, and the corner stand stuffed with random shit no one looks at and all the things stuck to the fridge? How many of your shoes do you actually wear and how often do you wear each?
Consider everything and design your life to best suit who you truly are--or better: who you'd like to be.
Ganzeer
Cairo, Egypt
10.10.25
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Congratulations, Larisa! You will be receiving a very early beta edition of the TIMES NEW HUMAN ebook, which collects a number of my speculative fiction short stories (with illustrations!). Hope you like it! |
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Creativity & innovation in your inbox! |
Kehinde Komolafe shares reflections on what she sees, hears, and reads: insights that nurture creativity and innovation. Published monthly in the Innovators’ Nurturer newsletter/blog. |
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"The gift that is not used will be lost, while the one that is passed along remains abundant." - Lewis Hyde |
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From: Gustave S. Subject: Some praise
Just wanted to let you know that I'm totally digging the longer form newsletters dude! |
Dear Gustave,
Thanks so much! Hope you don't mind the somewhat truncated one this time around. Many pots on the stove these days. Glad you've been enjoying though!
Best wishes,
Ganzeer |
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