With the exception of household names, most people in the creative arts need a day job to make ends meet. But should artists have to work or should they be supported by the state?

Jennie Rooney is the first to admit she has something of a split personality. By day, she is an in-house lawyer for a television company. By night, she is something different altogether: a novelist.

Typically, she will cycle into the office in central London, where she spends much of her day "drawing up contracts involving production companies buying formats such as The X Factor". At 5.30pm, Rooney returns home, eats an early supper and then sits down at her laptop for four hours to write, immersing herself in the world of cold war espionage that provides the backdrop for her third book.

Rooney would like her life to be different. She'd like to be a full-time novelist and, given the success of her books (her first, Inside the Whale, was nominated for the Costa first novel award in 2008), one might expect this to be possible. But the financial reality of such a move would make her life extremely difficult. In order to make a reasonable living, Rooney finds herself juggling a full-time job alongside her artistic endeavours.

"I do feel resentful," she admits. "I don't have as much time to think or to read as I'd like. I don't dislike my job and the people I work with are really nice but, in and of itself, there's a limit to how excited I can get about selling TV programmes such as Farmer Wants a Wife to Slovenia, although," she adds, drily, "it was a ratings hit."

Is it possible, in the current economic climate, for someone working in the creative arts to make a living from it? Unless you have the good fortune to be a Damien Hirst or a JK Rowling, the answer increasingly seems to be no. For artists who are already faced with low job security and the absence of company benefits such as pensions or paid holidays, the impact of the global financial crisis has been keenly felt.

The statistics make for uncomfortable reading. Almost a third of visual and applied artists earn less than £5,000 a year from their creative work, according to a survey conducted last year by Artists' Interaction and Representation (AIR); 57% of the 1,457 respondents said that less than a quarter of their total income was generated by their art practices and only 16% of them paid into a private pension fund, raising questions about how professional artists will support themselves once they reach retirement age.

The figures are not much better for musicians. PPL, a music licensing company that collects royalties on behalf of 24,000 performers, says that 90% of them earn less than £15,000 a year. A similar proportion of songwriters and composers earn less than £5,000 a year.

Then there is the added pressure of austerity-era cuts. Local authorities anticipate cuts of 7.1% each year for the next two years and the arts are often earmarked as dispensable in comparison with "frontline organisations". This leads to an inevitable loss of commissions and grants, in a climate where competition is already rife – individuals applying for grants to the Arts Council already have only around a 32% success rate nationwide.

"Arts history is full of double jobbers," says the actress Louise Brealey, who recently starred alongside Benedict Cumberbatch as the lovelorn Molly Hooper in the BBC's hit show Sherlock. "The recession, and the government's handling of the recession, has just made it that much harder.Politicians certainly see the arts as an easy target. The arts are not obviously saving lives, but I think they improve lives."

Brealey, like many of her contemporaries, has a portfolio career. She used to juggle acting jobs with journalism and was the deputy editor of Wonderland magazine: "At one point, I was rehearsing at the Royal Court and editing a piece about Twin Peaks' 20th anniversary in my tea breaks." More recently, she has been working as a documentary researcher and has just produced a children's comedy drama for the BBC, The Charles Dickens Show.

For Brealey, the fact that jobs in the arts are underpaid and underfunded has serious repercussions. "In journalism and TV production, it's getting more difficult all the time for kids from poorer backgrounds to break in because you're expected to work for nothing in endless internships," she says. "Without someone bankrolling you, that's impossible. The upshot is that working-class voices will be heard even less frequently than they are already."

Rob James-Collier, who plays Thomas the footman in Downton Abbey, aired similar concerns in an interview earlier in the year with the Radio Times in which he claimed that working-class performers were being squeezed aside because they did not have the "comfort blanket" of a wealthy family to support them. Collier, who was raised in Stockport and funded his career by working as a bricklayer's assistant and packing frozen pasties in a factory, said that in order to get into acting, "you have to work for a year without money".

According to Equity, the performers' union, at least two-thirds of actors are out of work at any time. The union's minimum rates (£379 per week for regional repertory; £497 per week for a West End play in a 799 seat theatre; £607 in an 1,100 plus theatre) are set at a level intended to see them through the lean times of silent phones and failed auditions, but it can still be challenging to make ends meet. Authors' advances are supposed to perform a similar function but they, too, have dwindled dramatically since the days when a 21-year-old unknown called Zadie Smith received a £250,000 golden handshake for her debut novel, White Teeth, while still at university.

Debs Paterson, who directed her first feature film, Africa United, last year to considerable critical and popular acclaim, found that the money she was paid as a novice director "spread pretty thin". "I was paid properly and I felt very lucky; I've got no complaints," she says. "But it represents a year-and-a-half of work, plus the exhaustion, plus the time we've put in before that getting it off the ground."

Paterson worked in a cinema, directed corporate videos and designed websites to raise money for her first short film. "A film is basically like a high-risk start-up," she says. "It can work brilliantly or it can be a total disaster and there's a weird alchemy behind whether it's going to work or not. Nobody knows."

Even established artists find it hard to make ends meet. In March, Susan Hill took to her Twitter page to claim that, despite the film adaptation of her bestselling book The Woman in Black having grossed more than £100m worldwide, "I am still broke".

Likewise, when Hilary Mantel won the Booker prize in 2009 for Wolf Hall, the £50,000 went – rather unglamorously – on reducing her mortgage. "I had been publishing for over 20 years and although the reviewers had been consistently kind, I had never sold in great numbers," Mantel wrote last year. "It is hard to make a good income from fiction alone."

It was ever thus. Gillian Wearing used to be a telephone market researcher while Billy Bragg once worked at an all-night petrol station. Emma Chaplin, the guitarist and keyboard player from the five-piece indie rock band the Long Blondes supplemented her income by working in a Leeds library. Calvin Harris made his debut album while stacking shelves in the Dumfries branch of Marks & Spencer.

In other countries, there are different approaches. In Denmark, selected artists are awarded life-long annual stipends. In Sweden, the government offers five- and 10-year arts scholarships. Interestingly, however, the majority of people I spoke to in the UK prefer to maintain their artistic independence rather than taking money from the state.

"I think it's amazing there are public subsidies," says Paterson. "But I think there's a danger to it as well. Nobody owes me a living and if I'm going to spend someone's money, I want to be able to give it back to them. Obviously it would be nice to go on holiday a bit more often and not be worrying about money, but I have this whole theory that when people get too comfortable, they become rarefied.

"If you have a computer and a degree, you're already in the top 1% of the planet, so why should I get to float around without having to earn a living? I want to earn my stripes. I don't want anyone to say, 'You don't deserve to be here.'"

Rooney agrees: "It's been alarming to see how much grants have been cut, but I've always thought I'd wait until I really needed them to apply. I can have these two jobs at the moment, but if I were to have a kid, for instance, I couldn't.

"I've seen Arts Council grants and subsidies as being there for people who really require them: if you've been a writer for 10 years and there's nothing else you can do and you can't get another job, for instance. For me, it's similar to unemployment benefit really."

And there is an added advantage to getting out and working in the real world. Although the romantic notion of a penniless artist living in a garret has plenty of cultural precedence, it does leave said artist without much in the way of day-to-day inspiration (plus, they almost always end up addicted to absinthe or dying of consumption). Having a day job, says Rooney, can feed back into your work: "I was a history and English GCSE teacher for a while after the publication of my first book and there's nothing like teaching a class of 15-year-olds to make you realise what holds the attention. I got better at the 'talking' part of writing and at how to present a book in a way that keeps people's interest."

As someone who is a full-time journalist and also writes novels, I tend to agree. My job as a journalist means I'm privileged enough to meet people from all walks of life and ask them nosy questions, which is one of the best insights into the human condition anyone could ask for. And as Rooney puts it: "Having another job does drive me on more because I know I only have a certain amount of time to write, so I get on with it."

But whether such a lifestyle continues to be feasible as the years go by is a moot point. Louise Brealey says that she knows "a lot of people who've stopped acting because they were paying the bills with temping and telesales and in the end it ground them down. It's hard to stick with it if you're breaking your heart in TFI Friday's every night," she adds. "That's fine when you're starting out, but after a decade it can get a bit wearing."

詹妮·鲁尼（右图）第一个承认自己有些人格分裂。白天，她是电视节目公司的律师，晚上，她从事着完全不同的职业：小说家。

她每天骑车到位于伦敦中心的办公室，一天的大部分时间都忙于“起草关于制作公司购买《X音素》（The X Factor）节目”之类的合同。到了下午5：30，鲁尼下班回家，早早吃了晚餐后就开始抱着笔记本电脑写小说，一写就是4个小时，将自己整个沉浸在冷战间谍的世界里——这是她第三部小说的背景。

鲁尼希望她的生活能有所不同。她希望能当一个全职小说家，从她作品的成功来看，这是可能的（她的首部小说，《在鲸鱼的肚子里》（Inside the Whale）2008年被提名Cost小说处女作奖）。但如果做这样的职业转换，从经济上来看，她的生活将变得非常艰难。为了有个体面的生活，鲁尼发现自己得在全职工作和艺术理想间小心平衡。

“有时候觉得挺生气的，”她承认。“我不能按照自己的意志花那么多时间去阅读和思考。我并不是不喜欢现在的工作，和同事相处的也挺好，但就这工作本身来说，把《农民要老婆》（Farmer Wants A Wife）这样的节目销售到斯洛文尼亚并不能让我有成就感，”她面无表情地补充道，“当然，这节目确实很火。”

在当下的经济氛围中，靠创意谋生可能么？除非你运气好到能成为达米恩·赫斯特（Damien Hirst）或是JK·罗琳（JK Rowling），否则这个可能性是越来越渺茫了。不仅工作没有保障，艺术家还缺少退休金、带薪假期这样的公司福利，所以全球经济危机一来，他们就强烈地感觉到了。

统计数字不容乐观。根据艺术家互动和代表协会（AIR）去年的一项调查，差不多三分之一的视觉和应用艺术家每年从创意工作中得到的收入不到5000镑；1,457名受访者中57%表示他们艺术实践上的收入只占其总收入的不到四分之一，只有16%的人将钱存入私人养老基金，让人不得不担忧职业艺术家一旦到了退休年龄将怎样生活。

对于音乐家的统计数据也没好多少。PPL是一家音乐专利授权公司，代表24,000名演奏家收取版税，他们的数据显示其代理的90%演奏家一年的收入不到15,000镑。同样比例的流行歌曲作者和作曲家一年的收入不到5,000镑。

同时，紧缩政策给这种情势雪上加霜。地方政府预测未来两年每年将削减7.1%的预算，而艺术和其他“前线机构”相比，又是最容易被舍弃的。全国范围来看，个人向艺术委员会申请经费只有32%的胜算几率——在竞争已经激烈的条件下，政府拨款的削减，致使经费和佣金的损失不可避免。

“艺术领域很多人都是两份工作，”路易斯•布瑞丽（Louise Brealey，剧中扮演Molly Hooper，暗恋Sherlock）说到，她刚刚参演了由本尼迪克特•康伯巴奇（Benedict Cumberbatch）主演的BBC热门剧集《神探福尔摩斯》（Sherlock），“经济衰退，以及政府对衰退的处理，让世道变得更艰难。政客当然视艺术为最容易舍弃的对象。艺术当然不能救人的命，但我认为艺术可以改善人们的生活。”

布瑞丽，和她的很多同龄人一样，是个工作多面手。她曾经同时从事表演和新闻工作，是Wonderland杂志的副主编：“我一度在皇家剧院彩排的时候，在茶歇的空档里为双峰（Twin Peak）的20周年纪念做编辑工作。”最近，她一直在做纪录片调研的工作，并刚为BBC制作了一部儿童喜剧，《查尔斯·狄更斯》（The Charles Dickens Show）。

布瑞丽认为，艺术工作的低报酬和资金不足事实会带来严重的后果。“对于背景贫困的孩子来说，新闻和电视制作行业，长期以来都是很难以进入的。因为这样的行业意味着你会在看上去无止尽的实习生岗位上一直工作，且没有报酬。如果没人在经济上资助你，这是不可能的。”她说，“结果就是来自工薪阶层的声音会更少，虽然现在已经够少的了。”

曾在《唐顿庄园》（Downton Abbey）扮演男仆托马斯的罗伯·詹姆斯-克里尔（Rob James-Collier，右图），在今年早些时候的Radio Times采访中曾表达了相同的担忧。他表示工薪阶层的演员由于没有来自富裕家庭的支持，已经被挤到一边儿去了。克里尔在斯托克波特长大，靠着给砖瓦工当助手，和在工厂里包装冰冻面点资助自己的演艺事业。为了进入表演行业“你必须免费的工作一年。”他说。

根据演员工会Equity的统计，随时都有至少三分之二的演员是处于失业状态。工会制定的最低工资标准（地方剧团每周379镑，西区799以下座位剧场每周497镑，1100以上座位每周607镑）是为了帮助演员度过没有工作电话和试镜失败的困窘时期的，但要应付开支还是非常困难。作者的预付稿费制度也是基于同样的目的，但自从21岁的无名小辈扎迪·史密斯（Zadie Smith）以其处女作《白牙》（White Teeth）获得250，000镑预付款以来，这样的情况也急剧减少，史密斯本人还在大学里。

德比丝·帕特森（Debs Paterson）去年执导了她第一部故事片《球动非洲》（Africa United）叫好又叫座，她发现作为新晋导演得到的报酬“被摊的很稀薄”。“我得到的报酬很合理，我也觉得非常幸运，我没什么可抱怨的，”她说，“但这报酬代表的是一年半的工作，各种体力透支，以及我们前期准备花费的大量时间。”

帕特森在电影院工作，执导公司宣传片和设计网站为其第一部短片筹钱。“一部电影就像一个高风险的创业公司一样，”她说。“可能非常成功，也可能变成一个灾难，造成这两极的背后有种诡异的魔力，谁也说不清楚。”

就算是有名的艺术家也发现很难收支平衡。三月的时候，苏珊·希尔（Susan Hill）在推特上宣称，尽管由她的畅销书《黑衣女人》（The Woman in Black）改编的电影全球总收入已经有1亿英镑，“我仍然是破产的。”同样的，当希拉里•曼特尔（Hilary Mantel）在2009年以《狼厅》（Wolf Hall）获得布克奖后，她相当不文艺的将这50，000镑奖金全部用来还了房屋贷款。“我这20多年来都一直有书出版，虽然评价都不错，但从未有书大卖过，”曼特尔去年写到，“仅仅写小说是很难有很好的收入的。”

情况总是这样的。吉莲·维尔林（Gillian Wearing特纳奖获奖艺术家）曾是个电话市场调查员，而比利·布拉格（Billy Bragg摇滚歌手）曾在通宵加油站工作过。五人独立摇滚乐队the Long Blondes的吉他和键盘手艾玛·查普林（Emma Chaplin），平常在利兹图书馆工作来补充收入。卡尔文·哈里斯（Calvin Harris）出首张专辑的时候还在玛莎百货邓弗里斯店打工。

在其他国家，有不同的做法。在丹麦，挑选出的好的艺术家会被授予终身的年薪。在瑞典，政府提供5年和10年的艺术奖学金。不过有趣的是，我在英国交谈过的大部分艺术家宁愿保持艺术独立性，也不愿意从国家得到资助。

“我认为公共补贴是很棒的，”帕特森说。“但是我也觉得这有些风险。没有人欠我什么，如果我要花别人的钱，我想有能力偿还。当然如果能多休休假，不用担心钱是很好的。但是我总觉得人如果过的太舒服，就会脱离现实。如果你有一台计算机和一个学位，你已经属于人类那前1%里的了，所以我为什么还要没有生存压力的随波逐流呢？我希望能自食其力。我不希望别人说，‘你不该有今天的地位。’”

鲁尼也同意帕特森的看法，她说：“看见这么多的经费被砍确实令人担忧，但对于我来说，不到万不得已是不会申请经费资助的。我现在还可以兼顾这两份工作，但如果我要孩子的话，可能就不行了。我认为艺术委员会的经费和补贴是为确实需要的人提供的：如果你已经当了10年作家而还是除了这个别的工作都找不到，对我来说，这补助就真的和失业救济一样。”

走出来在真实世界里工作也有优势。虽然住在阁楼里一文不名的艺术家听上去浪漫，纯粹，但也少了日常的灵感触发（更不用说，他们最后都苦艾酒上瘾，或者死于肺病）。鲁尼说，有一个日常工作，也能对你的工作有反馈：“出了第一本书后我当过一段时间历史和GCSE英语老师。没有什么工作比教一个班的15岁孩子更能让你认识到什么能保持注意力了。之后我在写作的“对话”部分和怎样才能让人保持兴趣方面做的更好了。”

作为写小说的全职记者，我很同意这个说法。我记者的身份意味着可以问各行各业人八卦的问题，这是一种你能想到最好的洞见人们状态的方式。并且如鲁尼所说的：“有其他的工作可以更加鞭策我，因为我知道用于写作的时间是有限的，所以就会更加好好干。”

但这种方式随着时间的流逝是否一直可行还是有争议的。路易斯•布瑞丽说她知道“很多人最后放弃表演都因为他们一直是用打零工或者电话销售的钱来付账单，这最终压垮了他们。如果每天晚上都在星期五餐厅打着零工黯然神伤，这确实很难坚持，”她补充说，“一开始你觉得还好，但是十年后呢，确实会觉得身心疲惫。”