I remember the bitterness I felt once I understood it didn't matter how talented I was or how hard I worked, that there was no way I could survive and also have the time and mental energy required to make art at the level I knew I was capable of. The artists I most admired at that time, I started understanding they had their basic needs provided for them, allowing them to pursue their craft for as long as they wanted. They could create freely without the constant mental and emotional stress of affording food and rent.

I admire working class artists who manage to do it anyway. I have my own issues, and my faculties allow me to either work enough to afford my art with no time to make it and/or output becomes depressingly low quality, or I barely work at all and have as much time as I need but poverty is a material and mental burden, knowing there is a very short countdown before I am homeless, so I just go back to work. I have artist friends who married high earners. I couldn't live with that kind of power dynamic in a relationship.