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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.

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Saturday, December 07, 2024

entry arrow3:50 PM | Creativity is Work



I remember this one particular low point in my life as a writer and as a cultural worker. I once put together a publication—let’s be obscure about this and not say whether it was a book or a magazine or even a pamphlet or brochure—that meant so much to me at that time. I said yes to it because I believed in the work and what it could potentially contribute to the cultural life of the community. I knew there was hardly any budget—most of these things barely have any, which is sad fact about cultural work. But like most of these things that I do, I often compel the universe to somehow find me just compensation for the work load I am sure to have.

And the work load, indeed, was backbreaking.

I wrote, I edited, I designed everything. It took two months of painstaking concentration, but I did it. I finished the project.

Finally, off to the printers the publication went—and now came the awkward time to ask the project manager about the compensation.

“Five thousand pesos,” the project manager told me.

I gulped. I knew it was going to be small—but not that small. Ten thousand felt like the lowest I could mark my creative labor down, but five? I felt myself deflate. I was in a tricycle, on the way to the mall to watch a movie, and, dear readers, I found myself crying.

Was that it? Was the price for the hard work I just did? Why am I even doing this?
This was many moons ago, and of course, judging by the work I still do, I have not really stopped pursuing creative projects—even when I find myself staring at the abyss. Once in a while, especially when a crisis of confidence hits, I talk with fellow creatives to try to find, once again, my bearings. The theatre artist Dessa Quesada-Palm has always been one person to turn to in times like this, and what she told me once keeps coming back to me: “Why do we do this, even if the returns are not exactly giving? Because we die if we don’t.”

We die if we don’t.

This is the reason.

But I also hope this will not be used as an excuse for always underrating the importance of creative work in any community.

I read a disheartening article a few years ago that studied people’s perception about projects we pursue because of creative talent: apparently, for most people, passion seems to be compensation enough ... hence there is no expected real [read: monetary] compensation.

Passion is enough compensation daw.

This is why creatives are often asked to render their talent for things where no budget is ever allocated for them, sometimes asking them to do their bit for “exposure.” Dancers, singers, designers, visual artists, theatre artists, writers, musicians can all attest to this.

I get asked to write/edit for free all the time. Sometimes I do, for friendship’s sake or for project’s sake, to be fair—but that should be my call. I think that people have this idea that because it springs from talent, this must be “easy” for us to do. [But, if this is so “easy,” how come you’re not doing it yourself, and why are you asking me?]

This is why I’ve mostly stopped accepting requests for speeches/judging competitions if the only compensation I get is a coffee mug and a parchment paper with my name on it. We render time and hard work for these things. For example, people don’t know the sheer effort of having to write a speech with a theme, and having to perform it, too!

People also ask for free copies of my books, sometimes. But exploitation of creatives have been part of the system for so long, some of the egregious practices are even now considered “standard”: beware, for example, about competitions—kanang mga logo-making, poster-making, theme song-making competitions, which asks many, many creatives to do hard work essentially for free. Of late, musicians in Dumaguete are finally in an uproar about this unfair state of things. And apparently writers, too, courtesy of Beverly Wico Siy’s ongoing crusade about publications that [1] don’t pay writers, or [2] don’t even give them complimentary copies of the projects their writings appear in—although they do have a budget to pay their printers.

This is complicated stuff, to be honest, with nuances I haven’t even begun to explore. I have projects, too, where I cannot seriously compensate talent [like events for Pride Month, which is a movement that’s basically voluntary]. I learned this from Gang Capati when we were still doing RockEd Dumaguete: be prepared to at least feed your volunteers.

But, overall, this is the plea: please pay your creatives, and if you like their work, please be their patrons. We have bills to pay, too.

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