On being an artist (however you got here)

Artist is a word we all use, but it means something different to everybody. A ramble on degrees, self-taught makers, hobby artists and claiming the title.

Artist.

It’s such a loaded little word, isn’t it? It sounds like it should mean one thing, but it really doesn’t. It means something different depending on who’s saying it and how they hold it.

For some people, artist feels like something you earn. Something official you step into once you’ve got the credentials, exhibitions or backing.

Don’t get me wrong, having an art degree is awesome. Learning your craft properly is a privilege. But the degree on its own doesn’t automatically make someone creative.

Creativity isn’t a certificate. It’s something you practise. It’s how you notice things, how you think and how you keep coming back to making even when you’re not sure it’ll work.

And that’s why there isn’t one version of an artist.

Some people are self-taught, natural-born creatives working on pure instinct with no rulebook. Some make art as a hobby, a joy or a release. Some squeeze it into evenings and weekends, slowly building something out of scraps of time.

Some people support themselves fully through their work, and that deserves saying properly because it’s not a dreamy, floaty existence. It’s hard graft. You’re creating, yes, but you’re also doing the admin, selling, showing up, taking risks and constantly pushing forward. Making a living as a full-time artist is work. Proper work.

And then there are people making absolutely unreal things who still won’t call themselves an artist at all. They’ll say “I just do a bit” or “I’m not a professional”, as if the word belongs to somebody else.

That’s the bit that gets me.

Being an artist isn’t one path, one background or one kind of person. You make things. You see the world differently. You keep coming back to it and grow something out of nothing.

I keep thinking of it like gardening. You turn up, make a mess, try things, lose things and keep going. Then one day something has grown.

Except art is stranger because the plants and flowers already exist. The art doesn’t. Somebody has to pull it from their mind into the real world.

Artist is the title. The reasons are all over the place.

And thank god for that.

No beige. No gatekeeping. Just people making things because something in them needs to.