Artists Need Holidays Too

It came as a shock, sometime mid-August, to realise that I had not taken a holiday in four years. Sure, I had been away: I had gone to theatre festivals, taken weeks off work for R&D projects and writing courses, usually in lovely relaxing locations. I had spent the months post-university and pre-London in the comfort of my parents’ home with sunshine and farmland to walk through, but even this was in a perpetual state of unemployment panic and artistic angst.

The life of an artist, stereotypically and characteristically, affords no holidays. No weekends, only occasional evenings off and lunch breaks staring mindlessly into space, usually only provoked out of necessity because our brains are so damn fried.  Why? Why do we do this to ourselves? Ideas and urges strike at incalculable times, and it is first and foremost a passion, hobbie, identity and way of being. It is the lens through which we see the world. Also, it is a competitive field, and for a new artist in particular, work is driven by impatience: the harder you work, the quicker you produce something that might get noticed, the quicker you can start running with your career.

It feels, as a playwright and critic and all-round theatre lover, like a travesty to have not made it to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this year. It’s a rite of passage, I know, and there was plenty going on that I was desperate to see and do, and that would have been useful for my career. I watched tweets scroll, reviews get published, friends’ shows receive critical acclaim. The article that really rubbed salt into the wound was Lyn Gardner proclaiming that a theatre company basically won’t make it unless they go to Edinburgh. Which of course is absolute bollocks and I hope I have simply misread the article, because A) it depends what you want to achieve with your work, and B) if this is true, we clearly need to do something about a culture that excludes anyone who can’t afford to take a show to Edinburgh, and take five weeks out of paid employment. (On this, Lyn has since somewhat redeemed the argument.) 

Amidst that anger, amidst that frustration, instead of throwing my money at a trip to Edinburgh, I flew away to Stockholm. I hung out with my sister and brother-in-law, I watched boats float in and out of a harbour. I spent an entire Sunday thinking of nothing and walking in whatever direction my gut told me to. My mind was so quiet of thought that my brain couldn’t handle it, and I was bombarded with ABBA-based earworms ranging from Voulez-Vous to Nina, Pretty Ballerina. Above all, I watched this civilisation of calm and peaceful people go about their envious work/life balance with style and effortless cool, and remembered that it’s okay to wait at a pedestrian crossing for the green man to show, whether a car is coming or not. 

Upon my return, plunging straight back into work has been unappealing. This is mainly because of the state my work was in before I left, and of course, no plays or ideas have written themselves out of discombobulation in my absence. But also, I have returned with a healthier attitude to 14 hour days and 7 day weeks. If my career takes longer, or if I fall behind my contemporaries for taking my foot off the gas, is that really such a terrible thing? If I spend more time with friends, family, and watching a full moon glisten over Scandinavia while flying 30,000 feet in the air, am I really missing out? 

I just think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We’re churning out theatre and reviews as if we’re responding to our society before an event has even happened. We’re pre-empting a dialogue, desperate to be ahead of the curve. Quite simply, we’re J-walking, and I’m nervous that it means our theatre and our art is as quickly consumed as a cappuccino with cold milk and burnt espresso.

Undoubtedly, Britain’s work receives international acclaim, and people travel from far and wide to indulge in its colourful scene of arts and culture. But we have such variety and such quantity that we teeter on saturation point. I agree that everyone should have the opportunity to realise their creativity, have access to arts and be provided with a voice through which to communicate and express themselves. But would be so awful to do it a little more leisurely?

Time is expensive, rehearsal time is short, and this ends up being an article begging for the upkeep and proliferation of the Arts Council. I might go so far as to suggest that a lack of financial investment in the arts is what perpetuates an artist’s lack of holiday time. If you work in the arts and get paid time and a half for working a bank holiday, my God, congratulations. If you’re freelance, just forget it. But as individuals, we can look after ourselves a little better. If we want to accurately portray our city, our country and our world, we need to get out of it and achieve a bird’s eye view. Otherwise, the echo chamber prevails, and art is only for those who don’t take the time to sit on a sun lounger with a mojito. It risks becoming solely an artist’s view, rather than a human view.

That image of the moon over Scandinavia seen from a Boeing 737-300 is an experience I will never forget. From that height, I could see the moon entirely reflected in the waters of the baltic sea. We were flying fast, and flying high, but with enough distance to see our world as it really is. Now, I’m sure winter will fall, and my addiction to my work will absorb me once more with all the anti-social apologies to my long suffering friends. But I’ll try to remember that image, and that a holiday or a day off is not going to end my career. No matter how many times you push the button at a pedestrian crossing, the green man will not come any faster. It’s fine to wait, it’s fine to be patient. It is healthy to be calm and we will invariably produce better work as a result, probably with happier dispositions.

On that note, anyone for fika?