In a sunlit studio in the heart of New York's Tribeca district, a painter spends the afternoon laying broad swaths of crimson and emerald across a huge canvas. She pauses a moment, picks up her teacup for a quick sip, then steps back to view the work, tapping her lips in contemplation. A more idyllic occupation could scarcely be imagined.

But a closer look reveals a less than perfect picture. The artist's used brushes soak in an open jar of turpentine -- a substance that has the potential to cause chronic bronchitis, swelling of the lungs, and kidney disease -- and the studio's feeble fan is no match for the fumes. Her contaminated fingers have transferred paint and solvents to her cup and lips, from which she'll soon ingest them. To make things worse, the bold hues the artist has chosen contain lead, manganese, and cadmium -- all heavy metals that are toxic and potentially dangerous.

For those of us who romanticize the profession, the idea of the artist-as-worker facing serious occupational health risks may seem absurd. In reality, however, fine artists -- from printmakers and painters to sculptors and graphic designers -- routinely expose themselves to hazardous materials that can lead to serious illnesses.

Unfortunately, artists themselves are often ignorant of their job hazards, says Monona Rossol, founder of Arts, Crafts, and Theater Safety (ACTS), an occupational health clearinghouse and help line frequented by everyone from struggling sculptors and printmakers to occupational health officials.

"Most artists aren't sitting by a river dabbing paint onto a canvas," she says. "They need to realize they're small industrialists."

Why are so many artists in the dark when it comes to health and safety? It starts with a dearth of arts-related job health information and systems for distributing it. Most art-school classes focus on aesthetic concepts and the technical skills used to make visual images; students rarely get systematic training in safety and the preventive health practices they'll need life-long to stay healthy. Nor do they learn about their odds of contracting lung, kidney, nervous disorders, dermatitis, immune deficiency illnesses, or some cancers, all of which occur more commonly among certain artists than in the general population. (Painters, for example, may not realize that they have a higher than average risk of getting cancer and arteriosclerotic heart disease, or that male painters have been shown to have increased rates of leukemia, bladder, kidney, and colorectal cancer.)

Whether they have formal schooling or are self-taught, most artists work in studios located in their own homes. Six out of ten are self-employed and hence self-regulated. With no government inspectors on the scene, many artists forgo the health and safety measures to which industrial employers must legally adhere. Instead, studio-based creators tend to patch together a knowledge of workplace safety over time, through trial-and-error or books and seminars. Still others learn through word of mouth -- or accidents.

In the United States today, there are more than 200,000 professional artists. Only a fortunate few are able to ply their trade full time; the vast majority hold other jobs as well. Like other self-employed workers, full-time artists must buy their own health insurance. And when cash is scarce -- the average US artist earns less than $41,970 -- many forgo insurance entirely.

Nationwide, artists find data on arts-related illness and fatalities hard to come by, says ACTS's Rossol, and for good reason -- it simply isn't being collected: "Think about it: Close to 10 percent of the population is doing arts and crafts at home," she says. "The regulatory agencies just list those as household accidents."

Rossol's student days in sculpture class illustrate the widespread ignorance about job hazards in the profession. "We were taught to go to junkyards and gather old lead pipe there," she recalls. "We melted it down indoors and dripped it into molds. I never made it from the sculpture studio all the way home without vomiting. We thought there was some kind of flu going around the department." Rossol sought medical care for her chronic ailments. "[Doctors] did all kinds of tests -- gastrointestinal, everything. No one at the medical school ever asked me what I did."

Rossol finally solved the mystery for herself. As she worked toward her Master's in Fine Arts, she also had a job as a research scientist at the University of Wisconsin. "Going back and forth from the chemistry department where I worked to the art department where I studied, it finally dawned on me that we were using the same chemicals in both places -- corrosive acids, solvents, metals, pigments, dyes. The thing is, there were no safety precautions in the art department at all." The fine particles from smelting lead had evaporated and entered her lungs. After a series of tests, Rossol discovered she had acute lead poisoning.

Rossol went on to become a ferocious advocate for artists' health and safety. Her credentials and experience have made her a sought-after advisor to engineers and designers building new art school facilities, and to attorneys as an expert witness. Presently, Rossol says, legal suits against academic institutions tend to be settled out of court, often for large sums and under gag orders that prevent plaintiffs from discussing the cases. "You're never going to hear about it," she says. "At a single 'Big Ten' University, in one year, I evaluated five workers' compensation cases and provided information to lawyers on three personal injury suits -- all related to a single art department building on that campus." Most of the suits involve inhalation of toxic fumes, burns, and chemicals splashed in the eyes.

While Rossol says that many academic art schools have a long way to go before health and safety get the attention they deserve, a few are setting impressive examples. Boston's School of the Museum of Fine Arts, for example, requires students to undergo a "hazard communication" training course meeting standards from the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) for employees likely to face exposure to hazardous chemicals.

To play it safe, artists should take heed of the three ways that toxins enter the bloodstream: inhalation, absorption through skin contact, and ingestion. While it may seem hard to believe that one could eat, drink, or "smoke" toxic materials unwittingly, in the artist's studio, it occurs frequently: Hands smudge toxins on food and cigarettes, tiny particles settle on dishes.

To smell a substance is to inhale it; airborne chemical fumes enter the lungs and from there diffuse into the bloodstream. Then won't a telltale noxious odor alert an artist to potential danger? Not always, since some hazardous materials don't give off any detectable odor. Certain solvents actually deaden the sense of smell; others, like the hazardous chemical toluene, have an agreeable scent.

Studio toxins are not always of the exotic variety. Even ordinary household substances can become dangerous when combined, and artists must learn to mix substances only when they know it's absolutely safe to do so. The printmaker's traditional method for cleaning metal plates involves washing them with ammonia, then scrubbing them down with chlorinated household cleanser. Mixed, these two substances may produce a highly toxic gas which, when inhaled in a poorly ventilated space, can be lethal. Rinsing the plate in water between cleanings is essential.

It was women artists working in university and industrial studios in the 1960s and '70s who first began to press for occupational health information and safety measures. Concerned about the possibility that chemicals used in their daily work would affect their reproductive systems and future children, they called for immediate improvements in ventilation and protection from toxic exposure.

Over the years, arts advocacy groups fought for labeling, and in 1988 Congress passed the Hazardous Art Materials Act, which requires manufacturers to spell out all chronic and acute effects of the chemical contents in art products. But appearances can be deceiving. Labels that say a given paint contains no lead, for example, or is "lead free," may disguise the fact that it contains other toxic substances. While the term "nontoxic" seems to imply purity, legally, all it means is that the contents are not yet known to be harmful.

One manufacturer has actually raised the bar on truthful labeling: New York-based Golden Paints. Rather than simply using the "nontoxic" wording as permitted under the law, Golden gives a more accurate account. The labels on its tubes and jars explain that the product contains no material in quantities known to be toxic or injurious to humans, or to cause acute or chronic health problems. The distinction is important, says Golden's Ben Gavett: "The science of toxicology is not static. We're always finding out that substances once thought to be safe, such as arsenic in brake shoes, are not. They haven't exhaustively tested all chemicals for their toxic effects." The company also lists safe handling practices. "We use relatively safe materials. But you certainly don't want to eat [this paint], or do body painting with it -- we get calls about that all the time."

While painters and graphic artists often work alone, sculptors, printmakers, and art students typically work in foundries or large arts co-ops. "Working in a community studio is like living on a lake," one printmaker explains. "The majority of those living around it may be considerate and keep the water clean. But just one person can pollute the whole thing."

Because of the hazardous chemicals used in printing, the print studio, in particular, is a potential toxic disaster zone. But over the last decade a number of group facilities around the country have made headway in cleaning up their act. Among them is the KALA Art Institute, a large community-based printmaking studio in Berkeley, California. The transition to safer art-making methods has been slow but encouraging, says studio manager Kazuko Watanabe, who watched the changes over 15 years.

Watanabe unlocks the door to the acid room, now separated from the studio workplace, and points out spray booths and safety masks now in regular use. Gone are the days, Watanabe says, when printmakers, ignorant of the health effects, doused their plates liberally with hazardous solvents without protecting their hands and faces. Today such substances are forbidden at KALA. "Somebody came by and brought in a big donation for the studio. It turned out to be xylene. We had to call them up and say, 'Thanks, but no thanks. We don't use that anymore. Come back and take it away.'"

-- Diana Reiss Koncar is an artist and freelance writer living in Berkeley, California. She has written for Hippocrates, Vibe, the San Francisco Examiner, and other publications.

Further Resources

Arts, Crafts, and Theater Safety http://www.caseweb.com/acts/ 212/777-0062

Consumer Product Safety Commission http://www.cpsc.gov/

Rochester Institute of Technology Health Hazards in the Arts Information for Artists, Craftspeople, and Photographers http://wally.rit.edu/pubs/guides/healthhaz.html

References

First published December 20, 2000
Last updated March 6, 2008