We were lucky to catch up with Nicholas Louis Turturro recently and have shared our conversation below.

Alright, Nicholas Louis thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. I’m sure there have been days where the challenges of being an artist or creative force you to think about what it would be like to just have a regular job. When’s the last time you felt that way? Did you have any insights from the experience?

I am certainly happiest when I’m a full-time creative, but financial instability as an artist was a concern of mine right out the gate after moving to New York City. Some artists naturally have a calmer disposition when it comes to the inconsistency of pay in the gig economy, I was not one of those artists.

I desperately tried to hold onto the semblance of being a standard member of the larger economy at work. I started as a real estate agent, tried my hand at becoming a spin instructor, and worked in marketing for years. I’ve masqueraded as a “normal person” at a “regular job” my entire adult career thus far. Truthfully, I’ve developed a lot of boring-but-useful skills at these places of work that translate to my daily life in the arts.

Something I make sure to advocate for is my identity as an artist within these places of work. Every interviewer I talk with knows pretty early on about my practice, same with my coworkers. Being an artist is not just a trade, it’s a code. When I identify myself as an artist in places where art is not the primary mode of business, I’m declaring my dedication to who I am, people respect that. Maybe some people would rather that dedication be to the job at hand, but I think most people subconsciously recognize that “regular jobs” are just a means to an end. I set the expectation right out of the gate: I’m going to work hard for you, and in return you’re going to recognize my true pursuits and not get in the way of them.

Not to mention, Artists should be employed at places of normal work! We’re not all going to make a full time living right out the gate, and why subjugate yourself to something that is a self defined dead-end-job? I enjoy developing skills that open more doors for me, and just because I’m an artist doesn’t mean I’m incapable of doing something else or working in a different field, artists have a lot of skills that standard corporate employers take for granted.

When a huge opportunity comes that forces me to leave my paycheck in pursuit of the greater calling, I’d rather have it be a decision of consequences than one without.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

My name is Nicholas Louis Turturro. I’m an Artist and Actor, mainly working with acrylic and oil paint.

My works range from large cosmic surrealist pieces to smaller realism portraiture and landscape. I blend my two disciplines together through theatrical live painting installations, where I work within a large sprung canvased frame placed on the ground and create a new work for an audience from start to finish.

I began exploring paint as an artistic medium shortly prior to the pandemic. It was just this instinct that appeared during my first winter in New York City. I remember one night being particularly restless in my new apartment with its freshly painted white walls. I couldn’t stand those walls, I searched desperately for anything I could cover them with, eventually finding a container of black paint and a newspaper sketchpad from a school project. I covered my wall and began to paint. It hasn’t stopped since.

My explorations quickly became focused around themes of space, something I was particularly dearth of in that tiny apartment in Washington Heights during a global pandemic. It was clear painting was a very physical act for me, and that my exploration into surrealism would come from a need to escape.

I produced my first live painting installation, titled Piece of Mind, in April 2022. It was nothing more than another instinct. Shortly thereafter I performed it again as part of The Soho Playhouse’s Lighthouse Series.

Those works were my first foray into developing my own unique soundscapes for these installations. They introduced the relationship between painting and music for me, and how that relationship impacts an audience. My most recent installation, titled Point to Point, went up in August at The Tank in midtown Manhattan. This was the most comprehensive installation to date, chronicling the life cycle of large stars and how their existence parallels ours.

As for what’s been on my mind as of late, I’ve recently been considering what utility means within painting. This is for a few reasons, first of which being that my style is very impractical. I like to paint big and the modern art market is a formidable world to approach, so at some point the roles of canvas are going to overwhelm me. Secondly, I’ve been thinking about accessibility in arts ownership, and how paying for something with little practical function isn’t in the budget for a lot of people. I’ve grown up in an economy that’s been great for the elite and a leap back for the working class. Should my neighbors be priced-out of artistry? I don’t believe so, so how can I create pieces of art that also have utility? Can we take what was learned from the Art Nouveau movement, the breakdown of distinction between fine and applied arts, and intentionally apply it to the modern age?

So many of the pieces from these installations are chopped up and transformed. Sometimes they’re chopped into multiple smaller pieces offered at “what-it’s-worth-to-you” prices, sometimes they’re turned into tote bags, other times jackets, and I’m collaborating with a local designer on some different items as well.

It’s a different experience to own part of something original. Print on demand products have their purpose, but so much of what we buy today has nothing imbued on it. No sense of humanity or care or consideration, a pure product. It elicits no meaningful response, it makes creation feel hollow. I want my work to hold people in the way we’re all held in this big existential cosmic soup, and to maybe hold a few of their personal belongings as well.

I’ve been an actor for longer than I’ve been an artist. I do mostly new works in NYC across theater and film, and I make most of my acting income through commercial bookings. I love theater, particularly the elements of collaborating with a team, which is why I’m so involved with SERIALS (@SERIALSNYC) at The Tank. SERIALS is a late night short play competition that capitalizes on fast turnarounds and a “see what sticks” mentality. It’s a gym for actors, made up of reps and reps of wildly different characters and storylines. It breaks down a lot of the separation between theatrical disciplines and forces us to all speak the same language, and it’s perhaps the model for theatrical creation that speaks the most to me.

What can society do to ensure an environment that’s helpful to artists and creatives?

Be deliberate. I find myself frequently disturbed by our blind consumption. We’ve turned craft and care into luxury items in exchange for convenience and disposability, and I think that’s led to a lot more unhappiness. There’s no joy in finding something that speaks to you anymore, possibly because the joy of discovery has been hidden under hundreds of product listings for the same item on Amazon.

Surround yourself with objects of beauty. Save for an extra week to afford the item coming from a workshop or studio instead of being drop shipped. Consider the intangible traits of items and the power they hold. Everything you buy should be like your mother’s cookies, the best according to you.

I know telling society to buy less might seem counter-intuitive, but I think a lot of artists would feel better supported if their artistry was valued for the time put in, not for the fastest shipping option. We have to compromise on our artistic integrity every time we consider slapping our art onto a mug or pin or t-shirt. It’s inauthentic, and cheapens our overall voice.

Also, show up in person. You are not experiencing my work when you see it on social media, you are looking at a bunch of pixels organized to reflect what my work looks like. I don’t need to explain why going to a concert is not the same as streaming an album, it’s the same for visual art.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can provide some insight – you never know who might benefit from the enlightenment.

I remember having a conversation with a friend of mine, who has experience in the performing arts but is not an artist himself. I was feeling dejected after a project that I had poured a lot of myself into, I wanted to quit but knew I couldn’t, I was spiraling a bit. He didn’t understand the notion that I couldn’t stop what I was doing and pursue something more secure.

“Most people would rather be doing what you’re doing, but they choose not to. You can make the same decision.”

This isn’t an exact quote, something along those lines. I remember finding this statement to be impossible, because there is no choice for me.

That sounds indulgent, maybe it is, but I think it’s something a lot of other Artists can resonate with. It’s not a choice in the way you choose a standard career. No one wakes up and says “how can I reduce my income and become the family pariah at the same time?” The need is almost impossible to explain and the experience is spiritual. There is no God at the altar, but there is one in the Frescoes overhead.

Additionally, there is no way to predict the path, it’s a journey of no linearity. A medical student’s journey is arduous, it’s also very clearly mapped, with a few decision points at dedicated times in the process. The light at the end of the tunnel may be a pinpoint, but it’s still visible.

The journey of an artist is a dark chasm, no discernable step in the right direction, no choice but to take a step regardless. It’s fear-inducing and exhilarating. It’s blind, based on instinct and experience, sometimes literally (ask Goya). There’s no assurance of success, in fact it’s more likely to amount to nothing, but the idea that it’s a choice is misguided. If it were a choice, no one would be an artist, and there’s joy in that.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.nickturturro.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nickturturro01/
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/nicholas-turturro-39257a156/

Image Credits
Madison Massey Madison Scheps