by There is a specific stereotype of the creative genius: that is the young achievement of irreversible talent. Unlike a surgeon or a politician, the artist is not expected to gather years of knowledge and experience before assuming his role. You could say that one doesn’t quit being an artist.
But history provides plenty of counterexamples. Former French impressionist Henri Rousseau worked as a toll and tax collector until he picked up a paintbrush in his 40s. Alfred Wallis, a West Country fisherman, started painting and drawing in his 70s. After the death of his wife, he began to make his pictures of life on the coast and the sea, mostly on pieces of cardboard, “for company”, he once said. American country artist Grandma Moses, a homesteader turned farmer, began producing her landscapes in New England at 76; Her work grew to such an extent that in December 1953, at the age of 93, she appeared on the cover of Time magazine.
These late bloomers are often described as “naive” or “foreign” artists, somewhat patronizing terms used to describe people with no formal artistic training. But they are also recognized for the originality and virtuosity of their work, which shows that, at any stage, a new beginning is always possible.
Of course, depending on one’s circumstances, there will be different ways to start over and make it – that is, earn money and recognition – as an artist. London-based Libby Heaney, whose exhibition Heartbreak and Magic opens at Somerset House in February, tells me that art was her favorite subject at school. “But because I come from a very working-class background, my teachers and family suggested that I study something they considered ‘more serious’ at university instead, theoretical physics with German,” she says. . Heaney quickly doubted her choice but she didn’t have the money to start over. So she decided to specialize in quantum physics, undertaking a PhD followed by five years of postdoctoral fellowships at the University of Oxford and the University of Singapore. She continued to make art in her spare time, although she considered it a personally enriching “hobby” – like “yoga or clubbing”.
I come from a very working class background, and my teachers and family encouraged me to study something more serious
Libby Heaney
As a quantum physicist, Heaney has received awards, and has published around 20 papers in international peer-reviewed journals. But during this period she was “gradually saving enough money to go back to university to study art”.
In 2015, in his early 30s, Heaney graduated with an MA in Art and Science from Central Saint Martins in London. Two years later she had her first solo show at a gallery in Aarhus, Denmark. In her artistic practice now, Heaney draws on tools and concepts from her scientific research. For example, she uses her own quantum computing code to transform and animate digital images of her watercolor paintings. The years Heaney spent in science while saving for art school were no waste.
But Heaney is wary of presenting his story as a template for success. “The ability of working class people to take risks – whether that’s by going to art school [where an aspiring artist crucially discovers peers and mentors and develops their credentials], or doing less commercial work – significantly reduced compared to people who already have financial support such as family wealth,” she says. “How feasible is it for other working people to take a roundabout route into the arts to mitigate the financial risks?”
Others take a more spontaneous approach. Arjan de Nooy is a photographer and book maker, who lives and works in The Hague; this year his book Photoology was published. At university in the 1980s, de Nooy studied chemistry and art history. He already had a lot of fun in photography but ended up with an MSc and then a PhD in chemistry. While working in a patent office, his interest in making art increased. He was in his late 30s when he made the impulsive decision to enroll in the photography program at the Royal Academy of Art in The Hague in 2004,” he tells me. “I was very interested in meeting like-minded people, because I knew very little about the ‘art world’.”
De Nooy graduated in 2009. Like Heaney, he found that his approach to art making has been enriched by his scientific training. “I’ve always felt that there’s not much difference between how I work as an organic chemist and as a photographer,” he says. “I tend to combine existing information to find new information.” In his books and exhibitions, he makes extensive use of “found photography” – he has amassed a large collection of historical photographs – and collage.
Now, a decade and a half into his photography career, De Nooy agrees with Heaney that the biggest block for most artists is lack of financial resources – and not just in terms of having funds for university. “I know very few artists, if any, who can live off their work alone,” he says. To strengthen your career, he says, you need a combination of skill and serendipity – meeting the right people at the right time, and winning prizes or receiving grants. “If you can write a solid grant application, that’s also a plus,” he says.
But sometimes the barriers are psychological as much as they are practical. Making a creative work, and showing it to the world, is a very fragile experience. Helen Downie, an artist in London, produces work under the name Unskilled Worker – a reference to her lack of formal artistic training – and did not complete her first adult painting until she was 48. “As a child I knew that I am an artist, but somehow I had forgotten,” she says. At one point she considered enrolling at the University of Creative Arts in Epsom, but didn’t. “My life became very chaotic and it wasn’t until I was 48 that it suddenly came to a head and I had a space in my mind to start over.”
In 2013, Downie uploaded an image of the first painting she did as an adult – a portrait of a dark woman, with big red lips and almond-shaped eyes – on Instagram, at the suggestion of a friend of her son. Then, she says, “once I started, I couldn’t stop”. Her following grew in number and, after two years, her expressive color portraits attracted the attention of the fashion and art world. Fashion photographer Nick Knight hired her to produce illustrations for his website. Commissions for the likes of Gucci and Vogue, as well as museum and art gallery exhibitions, have been ongoing ever since.
“There will always be many reasons not to start,” says Downie. “The conditions are not perfect: there is no space; at any time; I left it too late. All of them are based on fear.” But once you get to work, she found it’s much easier to keep up creative momentum. Another strategy is not to take yourself too seriously – in case the fear comes back. “I betray myself by not giving any weight to what I am doing. I say to myself: ‘I’m just playing, I’m just playing.‘“
Related: Grayson Perry on art, cats – and the meaning of life: ‘If you don’t doubt yourself, you’re not trying hard enough’
It is remarkable that each of these artists knew what they wanted to do when they were young. In order to reroute into adulthood, they had to find a way to end the adult act, whether by going back to school or just letting themselves play without any inhibitions. Perhaps this is good advice for all of us. Artist Grayson Perry, who invited everyone in the country to try making art through his hit television series, Grayson’s Art Club, agrees. “The biggest blocks to being creative are fear of getting it wrong and the inability to trust human intuition,” he tells me. “Give it a go and keep going – no one does a masterpiece on the first try.”
