Are you an artist when you're not ART-ing?

We were struck recently by a post on social media from a brilliant performer, endlessly creative, filled with ideas. But now she has a baby. Life has changed. Her days are full of love and noise and care, but not of art. “Am I still an artist,” she asked, “if I’m not producing something?”

It made us wonder about the identity of the artist. A fragile, intangible thing. Are we an artist when we are not ART-ing? It’s a question that echoes inside so many of us, especially in those long, quiet, in-between times. Times of survival. Times of transition. Times of grief. We know that feeling. We've lived it. At some point or another, most artists have found themselves asking that same question.

An artist can’t be just an artist

In today’s world, being an artist often means wearing dozens of hats. You’re not just living a life of inspiration and wonderment, creating endlessly satisfying work. You have to hustle. You’re the producer, the entrepreneur, the manager, the marketing department, the social media coordinator, the grant writer, the PR team, and the customer service desk all rolled into one. You’re the one pitching to venues, selling tickets or paintings or stories or poems, chasing invoices, updating websites, chasing trends, deciphering analytics, all while trying to preserve the fragile, flickering core of the work itself.

There’s empowerment in that, of course. An artist relies on independence. It means you get to own your vision, shape your path, build something on your terms. There’s real joy in making a life around your art. Committing your life to art is not an easy choice but it suggests you have a little luxury in your life. You have the opportunity to carve out a niche for self-expression in a world that often swallows individuals whole. Maybe you made this opportunity for yourself, but it is still a privilege not afforded to everyone.

But the truth is, not every artist is built to be a businessperson. That’s not a failure. Most of us didn’t get into this to master spreadsheets or SEO or sales funnels. We started because we had something to say. Yet the pressure to succeed in these roles can make us feel like failures if we fall short. When ticket sales are low or social media is quiet, it’s easy to believe the art isn’t good enough. But that’s a false equivalence. The success of your entrepreneurial hustle does not define the success of your art. Yes, economics matter. But art isn’t just an economic transaction. It’s emotional. Spiritual. Communal. Intimate. There are many ways to measure meaning and some of the most important ones don’t show up in a balance sheet.

Having talent as both artist and entrepreneur is a blessing. But it’s not always a natural fit, and that’s okay. You’re not less of an artist because the business side feels hard. You're not less of a professional because you’d rather write a poem than a pitch deck. The real work is finding a rhythm that allows the art to breathe, even amid the hustle.

When Life Interrupts Art

We've experienced this struggle first hand. In 2022, our Artistic Director Roland Reynolds was caring full-time for his dying father. He was planning to direct his latest play at the time, called The Childless Land, a poetic exploration of grief, legacy, and belonging adapted from the myth of Medea. It was programmed to go up at theSpaceUK in Edinburgh that summer.

Anastasiya Zinovieva in The Childless Land, 2022

But the emotional and physical demands of care were all-consuming. It had to be cancelled. The loss of that production was deeply painful. It felt like being cut off not just from work, but from identity. He had to step away from directing entirely during those three years of care. Instead, he focused on writing. Even if he only had half an hour to spare during the day, he tried to commit himself to using that half hour to continue the art in the smallest way.

He wondered whether he could call himself an artist in that time, when he felt as though he wasn't "producing" work, or at least, not in the way he wanted. In that process, he realised that the definition was up to him. No-one in the outside world cared whether he was an artist or not. The identity came from within. It was important enough to hold onto, even in those darker days. Now, some years on from that period, we are able to make work the way we want again.

The Myth of Constant Output

We live in a culture that values visibility. If you’re not constantly creating, constantly sharing, constantly performing, you slip out of the wider consciousness. You wonder whether you are even real if you're making no impression on the world. That you are falling behind. Social media, industry expectations, even our own internal voices reinforce the pressure. Show up. Post. Perform. Sell tickets. Get published. Get likes. Get funding. Get seen.

But this pressure can be dangerous. Sometimes you need to take a step back. Cultivate patience. Allow the art to breathe. Creativity doesn’t work on a clock. And life, real life, doesn’t wait for artistic schedules. If you're in a season of silence, it doesn’t mean you’ve lost your voice.

Art is Potential as much as Product

Art is often tied up with delivery. But the final form is only part of the picture. The real miracle all artists share in common, whether they’re in technical rehearsals before an opening performance or simply waking up in the middle of the night to note down some flash of inspiration, is the potential. The spark that exists no matter your phase of life or level of productivity.

That creativity lives inside you, even when it lies dormant. Even if you're changing nappies or working a job you hate or caring for someone who needs you more than the page or the stage does right now. You are still an artist, even in stillness.

That principle applies to all art. Art at its finest can boil down to an interchange between two people. It can live in the smallest room, the smallest gesture, the quietest thought. If your creativity leaks out in how you cook a meal, how you speak to a child, how you write a birthday card, you are still creating.

Art is not always the explosion. Sometimes it’s the ember.

One Person Is Enough

We always return to Peter Brook's observation that theatre exists when an actor walks across an empty space while observed by a spectator. That’s it. No stage lights, no budget. Just a person and a witness. We say this to ourselves, again and again: if your work reaches just one person, it is enough.

That one person might be a friend, or a stranger in the audience. But it might also be you.

Art doesn’t need to go viral to matter. It doesn’t need to make money to be valid. It doesn’t need to “succeed” in the way we’ve been told to measure success. It just needs to be an attempt to communicate something truthful.

11.04.25