Phoneys in the arts

[Eric]

A literary translator, someone helping Brits to have access to major works of European literature, earns at the rate of ?0.85, i.e. 85 pence sterling, per word translated. This may sound a princely sum when magnified by 80,000 or 100,000 words. But for a freelancer like me, there are hidden costs, such as the inevitable introduction and notes, without which the book will float across the Channel devoid of context. And a total lack of a steady stream of work. This rate per word is recommended by the Translators' Association (TA) in London, but owing to EU cartel rules, there is no way of enforcing it. So translators have to go cap in hand, begging publishers and national literary promotional organisations for maybe that little bit extra, say ?0.90 pence per word.

Current rates, according to the TA website as below, though I have heard that the rate is to be raised to ?0.85 per word for prose, hence the above. These, then are the TA suggestions for a minimum rate of remuneration for the translation of poetry and prose. Where the maximum lies still depends on a number of factors, including realism, connections and the gift of the gab:

Rates


The TA suggests a minimum rate of remuneration for the translation of poetry and prose:

• ?80 per 1,000 words for prose
• ?0.85 per line for poetry

At the other end of the arts spectrum are the phoneys, usually in the visual or performance arts. I do not wish to disguise my envy and, now, Schadenfreude, base sentiments both, regarding that phoney of phoneys, Damien Hirst, who, although a multi-millionaire "can no longer afford" to pay his pill-making employees in Peckham (maybe also others that to assemble his diamond encrusted skulls, mummify his fish in tanks). See:
Hirst lays off workers - Telegraph

There is a huge mismatch of status and income between us literary translators, learning all our lives and building up knowledge about a country or two, their realia, history, geography, politics, and so on, and a man who buys diamonds for ?70 million as raw materials, then sells the "finished product" for about ?200 million. My raw materials are packs of printer paper, a computer, an internet connection, and a number of dictionaries. I too would like someone to lend me ?70 million so I can buy better equipment, drink champagne and eat caviar every day...

The credit crunch and malaise in the world economic situation will have one very positive effect: it will reduce such phoneys, bring artistic skill and prowess back into the arts, instead of jobs and subsidies "for my friends", the old pals' act. People will again start consuming that low energy, low cost product, the Book, and shun and ostracise the Hirsts of this world. Goody!

Me? A moralist? Dead right I am!

[spooooool]

Hirst's "contribution" to the Beckett on film project was complete tosh, and the industry around and about him is likewise, the purchase of diamonds and such is jaw dropping, but i've read a few bits and pieces that at least betray him as a better thinker than at first appears

[Mirabell]

i've read a few bits and pieces that at least betray him as a better thinker than at first appears

same here.

[Sybarite]

'Look how clever I am; I help "Brits to have access to major works of European literature" ? anyone who gets more money than me, for doing something that I don't personally like or appreciate, is obviously a 'phoney'.'

[Eric]

When I wrote the above, I hadn't a clue that the Guardian had Damien Hirst's diamond skull on the front page. (I only bought the print copy this afternoon.) As my old friend Jason Syckoe-Pathe said in his two-page, somewhat self-indulgent, self-congratulatory and lurid spread in a British tabloid when reacting to this abject atrocity against art and diamonds:

...as I believe in human rights, I thought it rather cruel and infradig of [Hirst's] purportedly sacked pill-makers to very sadistically saw (not even with a chain saw, which is practised elsewhere in the world, and is relatively quick and painless) Damien Hirst's head off in grotesquely un-British revenge, then flaying it and sticking a thousand paste diamonds on with Bostik, before placing it for all to see atop a spike, as in the olden days of hung-draw-quarter executions for the slavering crowds, near the railings of the Tower of London. This act of rather unpleasant revenge is not sexy, but just silly and over the top.

One does wonder, however, when the antics of John Sergeant will be replaced by something more crowd-pulling, such as similar treatment for the girlishly gorgeous Russell Ross and the lispingly short-tongued Jonathan Brand. Such executions would be crowd-pullers par excellence, well worth the six million pounds paid annually to the BBC Public Executions Department, for the promotion of thrilling and wholesome TV.

[Sybarite]

... but i've read a few bits and pieces that at least betray him as a better thinker than at first appears

Well, he winds up Eric.