It’s been two years since I entered the Toipoto Creative Careers programme, where I strongly remember a wise man called Dominic Hoey – a talented writer, creative and mentor - challenging me to write every day for a month, to see what happened.

I forgot to stop. It changed the course of my life.

It wasn’t the only thing though – a cancer diagnosis played more than a small part too. It drove me to shamelessly ask for help for a bucket load of things and share what I thought was bad poetry and documentaries I’d made on my iPhone. Because I thought I might die.

It also led me to walk through a series of doors in an effort to heal myself with the arts.

In the process of dealing with near death at middle age, I found myself embracing my inner creative instead of doing the tasks I’d previously relied on to pay bills.

Therein lies the problem.

Being an artist in Aotearoa is sadly synonymous with words like starving, sellout, wealthy or hobbyist. None of which are very appealing or accessible to many of us, including me. It’s a knotty problem.

But as I’ve discovered – there are open doors that address said knotty problem as well.

Taking the plunge

I found an ad on Instagram for Creative Commercial Essentials (CCE), offering fully funded places on a 9-week programme. Cue self-doubt, time poverty and imposter syndrome.

I lost my nerve, but a best friend changed my mind and I applied at the last minute.

Designed to lift emerging and established creatives in Tāmaki Makaurau from crippling financial circumstances into a space of commercial viability and prosperity, CCE is an experiment structured around a lean canvas business plan.

Over the course of the 9 weeks, we set about breathing and scribbling it into life with topics including audience development, copyright, self-management, raising revenue, and how to sell yourself like an American.

Led by a team of driven, passionate mentors and a group of Tāmaki-based arts royalty, 40 of us were thrown together to gain skills needed to live, earn and thrive through creativity.

We weren’t competing with each other for attention, fame or the dragon’s den of CNZ funding. We were there to join forces and minds, to become a high functioning ecosystem-fed, watered and occasionally hugged along the path to bill-paying art-making success.

There were no dragons. Only tips, support and lived examples of how to earn a dollar without selling our souls or standing on top of each other to fight over scraps.

 Along the way, we built a culture of opening doors for each other instead of slamming them quickly behind us.

Tuesday workshops became the highlight of my week: a collection of creatives in a room where it feels like anything can happen. I was often one of the last to leave. Transported to a creative wonderland, I’d be so caught up in conversation with someone that I’d lose track of time.

 We discussed key takeaways from what we’d just learnt, our paid and unpaid work, or rehearsed our newly penned elevator pitch in an attempt to learn it off by heart. This led me to offer a few people a ride home, where conversations and friendships took a deeper dive.

First in the passenger seat was Lara Thomas (ceramicist, sculptor, printmaker, teacher). While navigating Auckland’s traffic, we discussed how to clear physical and metaphorical space in our lives, minds and garages to make art. Amongst all this, Lara got me thinking about how to be an open door myself - to allow the world in and art to go out.

The next week it was a carpooling kōrero with Kahu Hurae, a talented Māori artist with takiwātanga (autism). We seeded a collaboration idea around bringing atua Māori stories to people accessibly, using smartphones and social media. He taught me about the history and practice of tā moko and we shared our thoughts on neurodiversity in the arts. We also discussed the importance of manaakitanga and of not talking ourselves down, whether to others or internally.

 At a workshop on “Selling yourself”, I became an instant fangirl of Anna Duckworth (screenwriter, director) when I sat next to her. She shared her self-made activist zines with the table and encouraged me to “have the confidence of a mediocre white man” when writing my bio. I’m calling myself an “award-winning storyteller” as a result. Technically, this is not a lie, but it’s not something I would have done prior.

I’ve subscribed to John Tanuvasa’s fashion design style, grace and wisdom. He taught me how good it feels to glide into a meeting early. I started to arrive with my inner confidence on, instead of just a good outfit. I hope to attend John’s upcoming show for his brand Ohn Clothing in October.

And then there were the guest speakers – powerful and memorable creative powerhouses like Anonymouz aka Faiumu Matthew Salapu (mic drop), Jack Gray, Kirsten Matthew and Square+Sums. If you don’t know who these people are yet, find out.

Sam Snedden managed to turn the dry-cringe topic of fundraising into an engaging, scalable, real-life story with sprinklings of comedy gold. Anne Rodda made me think so hard about the purpose of what I do that my brain hurt. I think her planning and visioning workshop will change the next 30 years of my life, or the course of it. So did Karen Workman’s on copyright.

 I don’t think I’m alone in saying that.

As a result, I’m more equipped to judge when a project is the right fit for me, when it’s not, and how to negotiate the territory.

 A creative life without purpose can be a merry-go-round of door-opening and door-closing moments, with not only dragons but pirates stealing your stuff. Without direction from ourselves, good mentors and role models, it can be hard to stay the course.

Building our own community

 As I write this, the whole “experiment” has grown legs. It was meant to end two weeks ago. However, the unofficial Season Two started a few days ago at Poynton Studios, creative home of Benji Taylor and a handful of other rising stars. He didn’t want the course to end, none of us did. So he organised a wrap party and invited the entire cohort.

After a tour of the premises and meeting the talented locals, a group of us sat down for a mock-up podcast. We covered a random assortment of things: how to charge what we’re worth, whether to stay or go (overseas), past lives and feminine rage.

 Ideas are cheap - turning them into reality is not. Benji and his collective at Poynton Studios seem to be mastering both. As are many of the decades-younger-than-me creatives I’ve met recently: Sara Moana (illustrator), Anneka Scholtz (curator, public programmer), Abigail Dellavo (photographer). How did they all get this great in so little time?

There was so much happening at once - Muhammad Waqas’s calligraphy art was happening live downstairs at Poynton Studios. I was still meeting people from the course that I hadn’t before. Like Matthew Crawley (music promoter, performer). His band Thee Golden Geese, are giving it a last shot at becoming golden geese themselves (or at least famous) before they get old. The date for their upcoming album release party is now penned in my diary. Backstage with the band? It’s not out of the question for teenage dreams at mid-life to become a reality. 

 I’ll be back at Benji’s this week, knock-knock-knocking on the studio door. We’ve been invited to go back, to continue the conversations. Money can’t buy access to parties like this. Or should we call it a networking event and claim the expenses, in light of what we’ve now learnt?

 It seems we’ve formed enough social glue to keep going together, on our own. Our time in CCE may have officially finished, but the heart of it still beats.

The learning connections and networks we've made fill me with hope for the future. Not just for us - the artists - but also for all the people who see, hear, feel, touch and read our work.

Because when artists thrive, they pump lifeblood into their communities and society reaps the rewards.

 I’ll miss the guest speakers, the structured learning environment and seeing my incredible mentor Dina Jezdic every week.

But what is the most important thing? He Tāngata - it is people. It feels like winning existential lotto to have met so many talented people in person.

Being an artist can be a lonely process. But I’ve learnt through CCE and Toipoto that it doesn’t have to be a one-woman show. It can be collaborative. It’s also the most fun I’ve ever had getting down to business.

In the process, I might have become just rich and well-connected enough to commission Sara Moana to design my first-ever tattoo. I’ll be using the money from writing this story you’re reading to fund it. That’s what I call a thriving arts ecosystem - and a good investment.

 It’s sad when something this great comes to an end. But maybe this is the start of inking a whole new canvas. When one door opens, it can give access to subsequent door-opening moments.

It can be game-changing.

If perchance, reading this fills you with envy or a little bit of FOMO - don’t get mad. Make art. And make money out of it. Step right up…and allow me to welcome you in. Maybe this is your door-opening moment? 

Creative Commercial Essentials has been a partnership between Toipoto – The Big Idea’s creative mentoring programme – and Tātaki Auckland Unlimited. To find out how to join Toipoto and take your creative career to the next level, click here.