Another art gallery is about to close. It hardly matters where; they’re dying like flies trapped in a closed summer cottage. I don’t know how the for-profit galleries are doing in big cities, but the “community” galleries aren’t commercial. They’ve been funded by nonprofits and face it, kids: that well has just about dried up.

Too bad, sure. But whining won’t make it not so. And I’m more tired of the whining than of the art.

Where does this fancy come from, that it’s okay to aspire to work full-time on art? Do folks think this is the Renaissance? Are they looking for patrons? Are they ready to suck butt and dedicate everything they produce to the man with full pockets? That’s as crazy as buying a lottery ticket and expecting to win big. Or majoring in business with the idea that you’ll get a management job, rise to CEO, and retire rich at 45.

Don’t expect endowments. Look for a job. Get a paycheck job or go commercial (and please, do not delude yourself that the commercial art path – with its forced repeat of what happens to have recently sold – is creative).

The job won’t take that much time from you. We work 40 hours a week in this country, max. You’ll still have 128 other hours. And listen: if you pay attention at the job, if you try to do it well and improve it, it’ll feed your creative belly in ways you can’t imagine.

I’m sorry we’re running short on dollars, but so it goes. Food and housing have to come before art endowments. It’s sad, but so is the death of independent bookstores, print newspapers, elegant talk.

And don’t try that silly claim that art will stop, without endowments. Artists create, regardless of financial payoff. Maybe if the art were better it would be better funded. Maybe if the artists and writers and editors and orators strove for the ideal in their souls instead of the quick high of creative euphoria, maybe then there’d be the support for which they grieve.

Burt P. Upset