Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Christopher Rico. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Alright, Christopher thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.

It took me a long time to accept that art was something I had to do. I had no road map for a career as an artist; I grew up in places where that simply wasn’t an option, and to some degree frowned upon. I thought I had to get an MFA to be taken seriously, so I applied and applied with no success. Part of it was timing, because painting itself was out of fashion in that moment.

My wife and I were living in a small town where she was a professor at a small, liberal arts college. After years of being denied admission to an MFA program I met with my accountant and told him what that degree cost. I then asked if I could get a small business loan for about a third of that. He said I thought I could and so I did. I rented a 3000 sq ft. warehouse by the railroad tracks, bought what I estimated would be a year’s worth of supplies and materials and locked the door behind me.

In the jazz world this is called “shedding.” I literally locked myself away from the world and focused on honing my abilities and discovering my voice. I worked tirelessly and at the end of that year I had a pretty good stack of fully realized paintings. I was able to show and exhibit my work and paid off my SBL in less than 3 years. It was a risk, but it seemed like a more responsible fiscal decision toward an art career than going into massive debt for a world that (seemingly) didn’t want me anyway. I’ve never regretted the choice, and eventually my lack of an art degree become a non-issue.

Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.

I grew up on military bases around the country. My father was a first generation American of Mexican descent and didn’t speak English until he was in high school. He eventually became an officer and a doctor. I say this to say that I was raised very much in the immigrant spirit; with pressure to exceed my parents’ accomplishments.

From a very young age I felt different. I’m an only child, and spent a great deal of time in my head. When we eventually moved to the Southeastern United States, my allergies prevented me from being outside for prolonged periods of time, and sports were simply out of the question. I was small and awkward and not athletic anyway. So I spent time listening to music, writing stories, and drawing. There wasn’t any pathway presented to me to be an artist. I didn’t think it was something one could do.

I tried a lot of “creative” jobs, but nothing really satisfied me. By college, I had entrepreneurial instincts and I ran house parties (the precursor to raves) during the early 90’s. I was pretty successful and I enjoyed creating the fliers and choosing the music. Back then, we had to drive to DC to this one record store that got all the latest European imports. It was where DJs from all up and down the east coast shopped. I was in a few bands in college, and later got into making window displays for retail clothing, but that too felt lacking. Eventually I fell into set design for the theatre, and that was exciting because of the scale and because it gave me the opportunity to create worlds.

When I started painting I had no idea how to do it. I hadn’t gone to art school. So I read a lot of art history and I took in as many museum exhibitions as I could. I started mimicking and doing pastiche, and through that process came to understand materials and techniques. But what was lacking was understanding what art was to me personally. I knew the how, but not the why.

I just kept going and kept painting. Some were successful, others were abysmal failures, but it didn’t matter. I had found my purpose, and I could not imagine doing anything else with my life. I kept day jobs as I needed to in order to survive and buy more paint, but I didn’t think of those things as careers; more like means to an end.

Through blogging and the outset of social media I began to meet other artists, quite a few in NYC. I went up to a friend’s opening in DUMBO around 2009 and even though we had never met in person we hit it off immediately. He encouraged me to come up as often as I could and so I spent a decade traveling from SC to NYC several times a year and eventually got to know my little corner of the art scene.

It was never about money for me. I still have trouble thinking of it as a business, even though there is the business side of it. I do it because I have to, and because it gives me purpose. I think that authenticity comes through in the work and that’s what people connect to.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

Working artists need revenue. At the end of the day, that is the primary similarity between the Arts and any other business. Art walks and First Fridays are well-intended things that make people feel good, but they are often exhausting and unprofitable for the artists themselves. No artist I know personally wants a handout. They want to sell their work to people who love it and for a fair price.

Artists need non-traditional work spaces. We’ve found these at the fringes of society; large, open spaces with light and in conditions that are friendly to messiness. So I think real support of the arts means protecting these spaces from developers and also keeping them safe. There has never been a great society without great art. When a nation state fails, as they all eventually do, the historical (nay, the only meaningful) record of that empire is its arts. Yet artists are treated as second class citizens at best. People will spend six figures on an automobile that will be worthless in a decade, but scoff at paying 4 figures for art. That’s a mentality that needs to shift, and can only shift through education.

Earmarking municipal funding for museums is also essential. These are places where kids like me can go and experience things that are outside of their sphere of experience, maybe even prohibited by that world. I don’t think art should be safe. I believe art differs from entertainment because it challenges, not reassures.

I think the ecosystem requires thriving, well-funded museums. This educates the public. Then there should be art education to all citizens. This helps to create the new generation of artists and cultivates understanding for future collectors. There should be support for local artists, resulting out of the educated appreciation of art made possible by museums and education. Finally, a collector class emerges to support local arts and through their estates donate to the local museums. That’s my idea of an ecosystem that truly supports artists.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative?

The United States has a long, turbulent history with artists. There’s a distrust toward the arts that is almost baked into our culture, and that is different from elsewhere in the world. In this country we see art as a luxury, whereas other places understand it as a necessity to a well-lived life. Because of these perceptions and attitudes, artists are outliers in this country. This fosters a great deal of misunderstanding and romanticizing about what artists actually do.

I’ll tell you it’s not a path for the faint at heart. Part of the experience is dealing with rejection. Lot’s of rejection. There’s also no clear career path. If you want to be a doctor or lawyer or nurse, you go to school and you do residencies/internships and then you get a job and work your way up. That’s very traditional and very much in-line with American cultural values. Getting an art degree in no way means you get a job, or even a career in the arts. The path is winding, there’s not one way to do it. I think non-artists do not truly understand how much work goes into a successful art career.

The other important thing is that there is no distinction between work and life. I don’t go home at the end of a work day and check out. I’m always painting. I wake up in the middle of the night and see a solution to a painting in the studio. It’s with me 24/7. There isn’t a work/life balance, there’s just trying to fit as much into my waking hours as possible. Also, I’m the creative but I’m also the marketing department, the social media department, the logistics officer, the maintenance team, the purchaser, and on it goes. There’s me, and if I don’t show up the whole thing fails. Like any small business, I may have great quarters and really hard ones. Even if I make it to great heights, there’s no guarantee I’ll stay there. So there’s no security, ever.

The big illusion is that we get to work on our art all the time with no concern for anything else. It’s really a small part of the whole thing. Most of my time is as described previously, and so many of those tasks are not about creating art; they are about maintaining conditions that are favorable to me being able to create art.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://christopherrico.com
• Instagram: @christopherricoartist
• Linkedin: @christopherricoartist
• Threads: @christopherricoartist
• Substack: https://christopherrico.substack.com

Image Credits
Artist portrait and art documentation, Eli Warren