Introduction
The attractions of creative work appear to be undiminished, even though its challenges are now well recognised. In many industries, notably the more lucrative, the creative workforce is skewed towards the conventional categories of privilege: it is largely white, middle class and predominantly male (Conor et al. 2015). These disparities have been particularly well researched in the UK (Banks and Milestone 2011; Banks and Oakley 2016; Conor et al. 2015; Eikhof 2017; Eikhof et al. 2018; Eikhof and Warhurst 2013; Friedman et al. 2016; Grugulis and Stoyanova 2012; Hesmondhalgh and Baker 2015; Oakley and OâBrien 2016; OâBrien et al. 2016; Scharff 2018; Wreyford 2015). However, they are increasingly acknowledged as a more widespread and problematic feature of the cultural and creative landscape (Azmat and Rentschler 2015; Basas 2009; Gregory and Brigden 2017; Morgan and Nelligan 2018; Screen Australia 2016; Smith et al. 2019; North 2012, 2015). Both academics and workers themselves are aware that creative employment is frequently insecure. Furthermore, earnings are limited but working hours are not, making it difficult to reconcile the demands of professional and personal lives. This chapter looks at pathways into creative work and the obstacles that cultural and creative workers (differentially) face as they attempt to achieve security, prosperity and a manageable workâlife balance.
The chapter draws on recent research from a number of different countries, including the UK, the USA and Australia. The second section discusses the personal, âDo It Yourselfâ (DIY) serendipitous pathways that are strongly associated with âfollowing your dreamâ and âdoing what you loveâ. The third section evaluates higher education as a seemingly more structured way into a creative career. The fourth section summarises some of the issues that nonetheless confront many creative workers, including graduates, as a result of informal work practices, self-employment, geographic location and personal identities. The fifth section outlines the subsequent chapters in the collection; these critically explore creative work pathways as they are experienced by workers in a wide range of national contexts including Australia, Belgium, China, Ireland, Italy, Finland, the Netherlands, Russia and the UK.
Finding Your Own Pathway into Creative Work
The creative industries are strongly associated with improvised, relatively informal and serendipitous entry pathways in which a personal interest or leisure project is transformed into an income-earning working life. The promise is that a creative talent and personal interest can become the entry point into a creative career. Workers search for ânew employment spaces where pleasure, autonomy and income seemingly coexistâ (Duffy 2016, p. 422).
The general assumption that creativity can be monetised was of course central to the UKâs early identification and celebration of the creative industries (Department for Culture, Media and Sport 2001). For the individual worker, an improvised personal pathway is consistent with the creative ethos that following your dream or âpassionâ is a formula for achieving eventual success (Banks 2007; Luckman et al. 2019a). Taylor and Littleton (2012) found that aspiring workers in a range of creative fields recount stories of a childhood enthusiasm and talent for things creative, presenting these early markers of creativity as both a warrant and qualification for an eventual career. Likewise, the designer makers studied by Luckman and Andrew (2020) frequently trace back their commitment to making either to formative creative family environments, supportive teachers and pedagogic experiences that celebrated creativity (such as Steiner-inspired school models) or simply to the powerful affective experience of being rewarded for having a talent for making.
In some creative industries, like the performing arts, there is of course a well-recognised pathway from amateur activity to a professional status and possible full-time earning. Biographies of actors and musicians are likely to cite school plays, television talent contests, youth orchestras and drama groups as sites where careers began. As a recent example, Seman (2019) discusses contemporary âDIY music venuesâ in the USA that function as âincubation spaces facilitating arts entrepreneurshipâ (p. 233), offering volunteers an opportunity to refine necessary skills and develop their careers. The computer games industry is well known for utilising the user-led content of amateur players in the production of new games. An enthusiasm for gaming may even be accepted as a qualification for employment in the industry (Banks 2013; Bruns 2007; Kerr and Kelleher 2015; see also Josefsson 2018). However, researchers note the limitations of these contemporary amateur-to-professional pathways and, particularly, the potential for the enthusiasm of the novice workers to be exploited. Kerr and Kelleher (2015) conclude from their research on the gaming industry that â[p]assion has an elevated status in recruitment processes, but its deployment seems to be a very neoliberal call for (complete) emotional commitment to the companyâ (p. 190). Other researchers have also noted the potential for self-exploitation (Banks 2007; Duberley and Carrigan 2012; Duffy 2017), yet many creative aspirants willingly contribute unpaid aspirational labour in hopes of a final pay-off (Duffy 2016, 2017; Duffy and Hund 2015; Duffy and Pruchniewska 2017).
In the absence of paid employment options, the improvised pathway often involves the selling of creative outputs. The hope is that an artist or maker will be able to live off the sales after gradually building up a reputation or, more dramatically, gaining the âbig breakâ of recognition (Taylor and Littleton 2012, p. 68). Social media become the space in which new kinds of creatives seek to be âdiscoveredâ. Researching creative makers who sell on the Etsy online market place, Luckman (2015) noted that their promotional profiles usually describe a âmoment of revelationâ (p. 101) in which the maker (in the majority of cases, a woman) decides to prioritise the creative practice that she loves over more mundane or oppressive employment. She escapes into freedom and her business then develops in âa narrative of seemingly ânaturalâ growthâ (p. 101). The image of the improvised pathway into a creative career is perpetuated, even though statistics indicate that only a minority of craft makers make enough money to live on from their creative work alone (Luckman and Andrew 2018, p. 32).
A similarly serendipitous image is invoked in media accounts of the new creative occupations of blogging and vlogging. There is a suggestion that âanyoneâ can convert their use of social media into a career. However, the actual transition is extremely difficult. Ashton and Patel (2018) found that the few individuals who do successfully professionalise these activities must utilise considerable expertise, and also make substantial investments of money and time. Yet the mythology that âyou can make it tooâ is persistent and persuasive.
In apparent contrast to these improvised pathways, education and training courses prima facie appear to offer a surer entry point to a creative career. A recent EU-funded project on creative industries and the digital economy (Luckman et al. 2019a) noted the very wide range of available courses. These target different audiences, from young people who are outside other approved pathways (in UK terms, ânot in education, employment or trainingââthe so-called NEETs) (see also van den Berg, this collection) to mature workers seeking to upskill or retrain. The higher education sector in particular has become closely implicated with the creative economy through the training of graduates, the rebranding and realignment of many arts and humanities degrees as âcreative industriesâ, and also through the contributions of universities to âthe cultural life and offer of many citiesâ (Gilmore and Comunian 2016, p. 2). ...