The fantasy lifestyle of an artist is ever-compelling. To disappear to a nature retreat to put the final touches on a painting, nestle into a library corner for days on end to write, or travel the world to inspire works of poetry is a dream for many, and some do live those lives. But many artists who have a deep commitment to their work have to choose different paths to make ends meet.
Those alternate options don’t mean art or creativity on the whole is off the table; quite the opposite. Though they might hold a nine-to-five, a five-to-nine, or any assortment of freelance gigs that don’t have to do with their craft, these figures hustle to support their passion.
Butch Quick is a design consultant based in Norwalk, Conn. When we met at a coffee shop a town over, our conversation was almost immediately diverted when he spotted someone across the shop grabbing sugar packets before slipping out the door. Quick caught the man moments before he made his exit. A warm smile, earnest conversation, and a few compliments on the man’s tattooed arms led to the extension of a business card and a simple ask: “Can I take your picture?”
The stranger cycled through different expressions in a matter of seconds; initial surprise turned to suspicion before settling on faint enchantment. He agreed to the photo.
Street photography is Quick’s passion – in his words, his ‘side hustle.’ According to him, the work takes guts, from stopping someone in the middle of their errand to whisking out a camera, knowing there are only a few seconds to get the shot. But he wasn’t always the type to talk to strangers.
“As a kid, I was shy, very shy,” he said, taking off his black cap and settling further into his booth seat. “I knew at the age of seven that I was going to be an artist, period, and that was my entire goal.”
But Quick didn’t turn to photography at first. Growing up with his parents in Queens, New York, he said he remembers drawing the cartoon character Astro Boy on the cardboard inserts of his father’s dress shirts. Because he wasn’t very talkative, drawing helped him feel seen by the people around him.
That artistic thread did follow him to college in Farmingdale State College on Long Island. Once again, he was pulled in a direction different from photography. He learned design, and immediately began working in the field as a consultant after graduating.
It wasn’t until well into his career that he made his first steps into the photo field at 60 years old. He was used to snapping shots of people for work—not of their faces but rather of their outfits.
“It was the patterns and the textures and how they were combining these things. It would inspire me for color palettes, for projects that I was working on,” he said.
Without meaning to, Quick said his iPhone camera shifted upwards. He was surprised at how natural it felt to ask someone if he could photograph them.
“It was really easy just to [say], 'Hey, I love what you have on. Can I get a shot of you?'"
Since then, Quick has taken his photography beyond Connecticut, regularly shooting around the country and, according to him, solidifying his love for the art in Cuba.
Throughout our conversation, Quick repeatedly highlighted that he has so much more to learn and that there’s a lifetime of skill-building ahead of him. He said he embraces the feeling of being an ‘amateur’ in this work—to him, it’s a positive feeling that introduces a certain freedom, excitement, and newfound confidence that he said is mandatory for the work.
He said the need for confidence is partially for logistical reasons, to keep himself safe, like when he photographed parts of the South where he didn’t necessarily feel welcomed.
“You know, I'm a big Black guy, approaching a whole stranger in a busy street… How you approach them, that energy that you have to have, I think, is what I give out.”
The energy that Quick chooses to give out in those interactions is a calm kindness.
“If you project fear, it's like animals in the wild – they know hunters and predators. But if you project your kindness. I truly believe that's everything for me, I mean, especially in these trying times of today. What I found is you can get so much with a handshake and a smile.”
That confidence is also used as a signpost that makes someone stop in their tracks, pausing their day. If someone is approached by another person who seems unsure of their own intentions, Quick reasoned, the person being stopped in the street will say anything to be on their way. A feeble approach elicits a strong rejection.
“If you approach someone with hesitation, like, 'No, move. [You] see me walking here. What are you doing? Out of the way…' You must have confidence in yourself. You have to be sure of what your abilities are and what you can do.”
According to Quick, his self-assurance when approaching a potential subject is a departure from his own feelings about his place in the world of photography.
“I've struggled with calling myself a photographer as well. When people ask, I'm not quick to respond. I'm really not,” he said.
It’s when others say the title first that he obliges. “The viewer is the one that's calling me a photographer, and then I accept. Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Many artists don't have the luxury of naming their craft as their main occupation, and it can be difficult to own the title without attaching monetary gain to it. Studies from around the world show people who work in the creative industry are more likely to need other sources of income. Data from 2018 in the U.K. shows that 60% of performers have a second job to pay the bills.
“It's a life that I think so many want to have,” said Quick. “They have this fantasy vision of the artist's life, and they're in this beautiful cottage studio surrounded by just beauty and inspiration, which is, that's cool, that's great… [But] I have a mortgage, I got kids, you got electricity, you have regular bills.”
But just because photography is his side hustle, it doesn’t mean it matters any less. Quick said he doesn’t photograph for the payout. Rather, he takes pictures of other people in the frenzy of their busy days to create a brief moment in which they feel seen, the same way he felt when he would draw cardboard Astro Boy as a kid in Queens.
“Everybody wants to be seen, whether they want to consciously acknowledge that or not, to be recognized,” he said.
“The people that I see, they're themselves. How they dress, however unique, outlandish or fabulous that might be, that's them… I see that, and it just pulls me in, the awesomeness of that.”
Whatever title Quick takes on – designer, photographer, grandfather, amateur – he’s an artist.
