Today I feel like a little dog huddled in a corner while a person towers over me waving a big rolled up newspaper. He is saying something to me but it all comes out like garbled nonsense (ala the charlie brown adult-speak). All I know from the tone of his voice that I have done something wrong or been inadequate in some way.
It is tax time.
The person waving the newspaper is my accountant.
The communication chasm that exists between an artistic and an number cruncher couldn't be any greater. The lingo doesn't line up. Like an italian speaking to a japanese there may be a lot of hand waving but not much gets through. Honestly I think this is why some artists don't do well in business or don't even attempt to. Maybe they are the smart ones.
Don't get me wrong. I keep track of finances and am actually pretty anal about it, but the science of accounting is at the very bottom of my skill mix. Off the chart actually. And so the effort involved in keeping up that part of a business takes mountains of energy. Like walking with your feet duct-taped together.
So I endure the yearly lashing with words like "chart of accounts", "deprieciated assets", and "aging detail" while doing my darnedest to learn what these things mean in account-speak.
I am sure my accountant finds artist-speak nearly as frustrating except this time of year he has an advantage. He is in control. This is his time to do what he does best on my behalf. The thing is he lets me know it and won't let me forget it. This is humbling almost to the point of humiliation which sort of ticks me off.
But put a paint brush in his hand and he wouldn't be able to paint his way out of a wet paper bag.