Raymond Biesinger’s “9 Times My Work Has Been Ripped Off”
I'm on a tour with my new book, the international bestseller Enshittification: catch me next in Miami, Burbank, Lisbon! Full schedule here (New dates just added in San Diego and Denver!).
Raymond Biesinger's new book 9 Times My Work Has Been Ripped Off is a masterclass in how creative workers can transform the endless, low-grade seething about the endless ripoffs of the industry into something productive and even profound:
https://drawnandquarterly.com/books/9-times-my-work-has-been-ripped-off/
Biesinger is an iconic designer and illustrator whose instantly recognizable style and entrepreneurial hustle have allowed him to achieve the coveted and elusive status of full-time, economically secure(ish) artist. But over the years – and even in recent times – Beisigner has found himself in the all-too-common and endlessly frustrating circumstance of being owed money by people who refuse to pay it. The sums involved are typically small by the standards of corporate budgets, but it's what Biesinger calls "needed money" – money that makes a huge difference to the life of the artist to whom it is owed.
Speaking from personal experience, getting stiffed is one of the most embittering things that can happen to a creative worker – or any worker (as the tradespeople who've had their wages stolen by Trump can attest). I remember every time I got shafted by a client and often find my mind returning to those humiliating, frustrating moments.
There was the "friend" who hired me to do some work and then just decided never to pay me the $150 we agreed on. There was the university prof who asked me to speak to his class and promised me reimbursement for the taxi and then stiffed me for 20 quid. There was the international magazine who commissioned a short story from me, accepted it, then tried to cram a bullshit contract down my throat and refused to discuss any modifications to its terrible terms, finally stiffing me for the $500 they owed me.
There was the largest publisher in the world, who commissioned a novella from me for an anthology, promising me tens of thousands of dollars, who accepted the novella, and then "discovered" they hadn't ever finalized the contract for the anthology and canceled it, stiffing me in the process. The fact that I went on to sell that novella several times over, both in book form and as a graphic novel, and for film rights (twice!), making far more money in the process, doesn't make me any less angry about these fuckers who just screwed me without a second thought.
Objectively speaking, there is no reason for me to dwell on these little humiliations. It doesn't do me any good. It doesn't make the dickheads who screwed me feel bad. It is, as the proverb goes, "drinking poison and hoping your enemy dies." But I can't help it.
Neither, it seems, can Biesinger. But unlike me, Biesinger has found an incredibly productive – and inspiring – way to deal with that otherwise pointless seething. In 9 Times My Work Has Been Ripped Off, Biesinger reflects on the nine titular ripoffs, telling the story of how he got ripped off, what he did to get his own back, how he felt about it at the time, and how he feels about it in retrospect.
The book's subtitle ("An informal self-defense guide for independent creatives") sets up this book as a kind of manual for navigating these situations in your own life, and there's plenty of that in here – successes and failures for the rest of us to learn from. These stories are often very satisfying, as the little guy gets the justice he deserves. But the most interesting part of this book is Biesinger's reflections on the meaning of the different ripoffs he confronted, and how they relate to his own work.
Because – as Biesinger will tell you – he rips stuff off, too. All artists do. "Good artists copy; great artists steal." (said Picasso) (who was ripping off Faulkner) (or Stravinsky) (or Eliot) (or Trilling). He carefully parses through the muddied ethics of lifting elements for collage, for inspiration, and just because you forgot that you weren't supposed to. Much of Biesinger's early work was collage, and (as a collagist myself), and you can't do that work without developing complicated feelings about creative ownership.
