Artist Resources, Grants for Artists, Creative Projects, Making Money for Artists

Being a creative professional is difficult. It's an undervalued commodity that many people need, but no one wants to pay for. Developing a reputation in this industry requires years of dedication, and there's no guarantee of success. Most artists endure the difficulty because they love the craft. I, on the other hand, got into it because I thought it would lead to money and women. Somewhere along the way I fell in love with the craft, though, and now I have no choice but to continue. Even without the money and women, which never came… Even though I'm stuck in an endless loop of pouring my soul into something that people will only enjoy for five minutes, I have gotten so much joy from being a creator. It's a privilege. The more I do it, the more I want to grow and challenge myself to do more. Every day I want to think bigger about the type of art that I can make and the type of people that I can collaborate with. I want to create as much as I can for as many people as I can. And I want to do it for as long as I can. And over the years, this drive has rewarded me. I've developed into a skilled writer, filmmaker, and performer. I travel the Midwest as a standup comedian, I make short films that people love, and I contract for businesses to pay the bills. It's a rare privilege, and every day I remind myself that I'm probably living someone's dream. But there's so much more I want to accomplish. Unfortunately, as a Medicaid recipient, I find myself struggling against a system that tells me I should stay poor. I was born with neuromuscular dystrophy. And while it doesn't limit my ability to create, it does limit my ability to perform many daily tasks. I use an electric wheelchair to get around and require personal care to meet my basic needs like showering and getting out of bed. Seven days a week, people are paid to come into my home and help me with these things. That expense exceeds $30,000 a year, but it's necessary for me to get by. I rely on Medicaid benefits to cover the cost, but they come with conditions. In order to maintain eligibility for Medicaid, I have to follow a set of rules related to my income and assets. In the state of Iowa, where I live, people who utilize Medicaid are not allowed to have more than $2,000 worth of financial assets. This is regularly reviewed by the Social Security administration. If my bank account exceeds the $2,000 limit, I have to spend those assets down within 30 days. My income is also restricted. If you qualify for MEPD or "Medicaid for Employed People with Disabilities," you are allowed to make 2.5 times more than the federal poverty limit. That means as a single man living alone, I cannot make more than $39,125 in a given year. And this is particularly frustrating in my career, because it doesn't just limit the amount of work I can take on. It limits the type of work I can take on. I have to frequently turn people away because if I make too much, or have too much in the bank, I lose my Medicaid. This is especially concerning because my income as a freelancer is inconsistent. The asset limits enforced by Medicaid make it impossible to stretch my paychecks when I have a good month. I do my best to pay ahead on bills and software subscriptions where I can, but I often have to spend down money in order to stay eligible. This prevents me from taking on bigger, multi-month projects. As a video creator, that takes entire genres of video, like animation and long-form content creation, off the table. And this is a tragedy because we need the voices of disabled creators in this space. We need disabled people working in all kinds of industries, at all levels. And they are capable of doing so. These overly restrictive rules are rooted in false ideas about what it means to have a disability. They were put in place by people who believed if you were sick enough to need Medicaid, you were not capable of working. It's simply not the case. Disabled people can work, and they want to. That will only happen when these arbitrary rules and restrictions are lifted. Allowing more people to contribute and play an active role in society is a decision that will benefit everyone. And it's one we should have made a long time ago. Luckily, people all over the country are fighting to make this dream a reality. In 2023, “Work Without Worry” was introduced in the U.S. House of Representatives with the goal of removing employment barriers for permanently disabled Americans. States are working on passing measures as well, and Tennessee has already done this. You can help us get these bills across the finish line. The United Spinal Association is dedicated to advocating nationally and locally. You can sign up and get involved today. In addition to working with an organization, you can also call your local representatives, or write letters. Share the legislation with them if there’s nothing in your state yet. Only with your help will people like me get to work without worry.

Here's something we shouldn't have to say but will anyway: your creative work has value. Your time has value. Your expertise, your vision, your late nights and early mornings — all of it counts. And yet artists are still routinely asked to work for free, work without contracts, or get outright swindled when it's time to cut the check.

My measuring stick for rising inflation is the cost of an iced lavender matcha latte. It used to be $5, then $6, now a harrowing $7. Every time I reach the checkout screen, a familiar, condescending voice comes blaring through my head:

I applied for an arts grant, and the process broke me. With my drooping eyes glued to my computer screen, I reviewed my responses to the essay questions one final time. The grant application was due the next day, and I was almost ready to submit. I had spent the last several weeks laboring over every word, trying to increase my chances in this competitive hellscape for artists. This was my first time applying for a big artist opportunity, and I couldn’t believe how much time and energy it had taken. I lost track after about 50 hours, resigned to the need to overextend myself. My head ached, and I knew my chronically-ill body was rebelling. But I had to keep pushing. This was a huge opportunity that could change my life as a disabled, low-income artist.

To some, making art and reviewing contracts are like oil and water—they don’t mix. In reality, many working artists will at some point engage in a binding agreement with another person or party for a gig, sale, commission, fiscal sponsorship, grant award, exhibition, or collab. But I suspect I’m not the only artist who feels like an imposter when I “review” my contracts. How can I possibly protect myself or my work, without legal training or expertise?

My first gig after finishing an MFA was a retail job without guaranteed meal breaks. One day at lunchtime, I plopped down on the concrete steps by the back door, shoved a sandwich in my mouth, and opened my phone. The only notification was an open call forwarded from a friend. I tapped through to the application, expecting to bookmark a slideroom portal for later. Instead, the app was a simple google form. No images had to be formatted to specific dimensions; there was just a field for a portfolio site URL. Best of all, there was no fee. As a retail worker managing to create and exhibit artwork while living paycheck to paycheck, it was the first application in months that seemed... feasible. I could fill this out in five minutes on my lunch break, I thought. My next thought was, why aren't all applications like this?

The artist’s journey is complex, traversing through multiple seasons and stages of busyness and hibernation. Once the journey starts, one natural, important question is: where do you create, practice, and focus on your art? Across all disciplines, determining what an appropriate art making space looks like is a continual, evolving challenge for artists. A more pointed question is: what does a dedicated space for your practice look like, right now? This question goes beyond defining your basic, physical requirements—like a freight elevator, a dance mirror, electricity—and involves identifying what you need to delineate space for your art practice without necessarily renting a separate space.

From the beach to the dating pool, red flags are a form of communal protection: the water isn’t safe, keep out. Green flags, on the other hand, are like lighthouses, guiding us towards safety and belonging. In my time navigating these choppy arts industry waters, I’ve learned to trust my gut when it comes to people, institutions, and opportunities. If someone feels too good to be true, they’re probably not real. If a workplace leaves you feeling emptier than a box of fruit snacks on the playground, it’s time to clock out (early). But when an application portal prioritizes accessibility or a job listing includes a salary? Those people probably know what’s up. “Trust your gut” is an awfully short blog post (3 words okay, boss?), so let’s dive in and categorize some common arts industry experiences.

If you work in the arts, you've probably had your fair share of creeeepy bosses, ghoulish work conditions, and clients who turn into ghosts as soon as it's time to pay up. This October, Fractured Atlas is commissioning an artist of any discipline to write a 750-900 word article about their very own arts worker horror story 👹 Please review the details below, and fill out this short interest form by Thursday, September 25th for a chance to write and publish your story with a $750 stipend. We’ll be randomly selecting someone to work with, because the art world doesn't need any more competition ੈ✩‧₊˚

Giving you "required reading" isn't quite our style here at Fractured Atlas, but when it's urgent we can get pretty serious. For years, if not decades and centuries, the established economic system in the U.S. has routinely failed artists, refugees, people of color, indigenous peoples, the unhoused, people with disabilities, parents — to say nothing of its ravaging effect on the environment and disproportionate harm on the global south. The creative co-ops we're sharing with you today may not be the solution to a rapidly warming planet or an exploitative billionaire class, but artists have always been the first to dream, test, and demonstrate the viability of alternate worlds. If any part of you dreams of alternative economies, this post is for you.