Category: creative arts

  • Side hustles, moonlighting, resting actors, and multiple jobholding in creative work

    Side hustles, moonlighting, resting actors, and multiple jobholding in creative work

    How do creatives sustain their careers?

    We used large UK datasets to map how careers work in creative occupations, showing how having a second job is twice as prevalent in key creative jobs than occupations; mixing creative and non-creative jobs is normal, especially outside London; and having a non-creative main job and a creative “side hustle” rarely leads to a single full-time creative job.

    Having multiple jobs isn’t a stepping-stone into full-time creative work. It is how creatives sustain their careers.

    Who has two jobs?

    We used the UK Labour Force Survey (2015–2021) to look at occupational and social patterns, and Understanding Society (2011–2019) for longitudinal transitions. We used the DCMS definition of creative occupations, rather than industries (so graphic designers working in retail are in, accountants working in theatres are out). We also developed a typology of multiple jobholding: portfolio (both jobs creative); main creative (creative main job plus a non-creative second job); side creative (non-creative main job plus a creative second job).

    We found that having a second job is almost twice as common for core creative workers, (arts/culture production such as music, performance, visual arts, publishing, museums/libraries, film/TV/photo) compared to the rest of the workforce (6.8 per cent, against 3.5 per cent) but less common (3.2 per cent) for non-core creative jobs (advertising, architecture, crafts, design, IT). Some roles are extreme outliers, with relatively high proportions of actors (14 per cent) and musicians (12.8 per cent) having second jobs.

    These proportions are higher than the general workforce, but they are also lower than popular discourse might suggest. This might be explained by how the data is collected (both jobs need to have been worked at during the same, specified, week). Even with this note of caution, the demographic patterns of multiple jobholding, and changes over time, give important insights into creative careers.

    The type of second job held by people whose first job is creative is important. For those with second jobs, 38 per cent of those jobs are in other core creative occupations- true “portfolio” work. A further 27.5 per cent of those jobs are professional but non-creative roles, especially teaching and corporate training. And 25.5 per cent are non-creative, non-professional roles, for example retail, hospitality and admin roles.

    Even more notable was the size of the core creative workforce whose creative occupation was a second job: there are far more people with a non-creative first job and core creative second job (about 113,000 per year) than there are core creatives with a second job (about 54,000 per year). In other words, where people have two jobs, creative work is more often the add-on rather than the main job.

    What other characteristics have an impact?

    Our analysis compared multiple jobholders to creatives with a single job, and found that combining creative and non-creative work is significantly more likely outside London. Outside the capital, sustaining a purely creative main job looks harder, and mixing jobs is more common.

    Portfolio workers are more likely to be graduates and to come from non-middle class backgrounds than are single-job creatives. Side creatives are much more likely to be employees (rather than self-employed) in their main job, suggesting that it is more about balancing income volatility than it is about enjoying the freedom of self-employment. However, main creatives are less likely to be employees—reflecting the prevalence of self-employment in core creative roles. And side creatives are more likely to be men.

    Part-time work signals both constraint and choice: creatives in multiple jobs are more likely to work part-time because they couldn’t find full-time work—but also more likely to say they didn’t want full-time, suggesting both labour market scarcity and preferences are in play.

    Covid changed things, but did not totally overturn these patterns. In 2021 the share of workers making their living only from creative jobs fell, while main and side creative patterns increased—consistent with pandemic disruption pushing creatives to diversify.

    Does a creative side-job turn into a creative main job?

    After one year, portfolio and main creatives are somewhat more likely to move to a single creative job (45 per cent and 39 per cent, respectively) than to remain in their dual-job pattern (31 per cent and 36 per cent). Side creatives mostly remain side creatives – they rarely report a single creative job after a year. After three years, the pattern hardens: side creatives are still the least likely to have moved into a single creative job. Dual-jobholding looks like a strategy for persisting with a creative career rather than transitioning fully to a single creative job.

    Policymakers should understand that dual jobholding is an endemic and long-lasting feature of creative work. It needs to be incorporated into “good work” policies, rather than removed completely from the creative economy. It can be an important counterbalance to income volatility associated with creative projects.

    This research also has implications for one of the common measures of success for graduates, which specifies a good, skilled, full-time job. Creative occupations are counted as skilled, but the LFS analysis shows how difficult it is to find full time creative work, and that creative work is highly likely to be hidden behind primary employment in a less-skilled occupation. This means that in various places, including regulatory outcomes and league tables, there is a likelihood of positive outcomes for creative graduates being under-reported.

    At the same time, policy must address the inequalities associated with creatives and second jobs. For example, the chances of making a living solely from creative work outside London are substantially lower, and London-centric career pathways are unrealistic for many during a cost-of-living crisis.

    For many creatives, multiple jobholding isn’t a stepping stone on the way to a single steady role, it’s their actual career. It should not be understood as a failure to “achieve” a single creative job. It is a pragmatic but unequal employment pattern, which needs to be accounted for in industrial strategies.

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  • Why ideas of graduate success need to catch up with portfolio careers

    Why ideas of graduate success need to catch up with portfolio careers

    For many graduates in the creative industries, the question “what do you do?” has never had a simple answer.

    A graduate might be holding down part-time work in a gallery, freelancing in digital design, tutoring on the side, stage managing in the summer, and selling their own work online. It’s a patchwork, a blend, a portfolio.

    And yet when we measure their success through Graduate Outcomes, the official data collection exercise on graduate employment, they’re told to tick a single box. The reality of hybridity is flattened into the illusion of underemployment.

    This is not a trivial issue. Policymakers rely on Graduate Outcomes (and reports based on the collection, like this year’s What do graduates do? out today) to make judgements about which subjects, courses and institutions are “succeeding” in employability terms. Yet in the creative arts, where portfolio working is both the norm and, in many ways, a strength, these categories misrepresent lived reality. The result is a story told back to government, employers and students in which creative graduates appear more precarious, less stable, and less successful than they often are.

    Portfolio careers are current and they’re the future

    The creative economy has been pointing towards this future for years. In What Do Graduates Do? , the creative arts overview that Elli Whitefoot and I authored, we found repeated evidence of graduates combining multiple sources of income, employment, freelancing, self-employment, often in ways that nurtured both security and creativity. The forthcoming 2025 overview by Burtin and Halfin reinforces the same point: hybridity is a structural feature, not a marginal quirk.

    This hybridity is not inherently negative. Portfolio work can provide resilience, satisfaction and autonomy. As Sharland and Slesser argued in 2024, the future workforce needs creative thinkers who can move across boundaries. Portfolio careers develop precisely those capabilities. At the Advance HE Symposium earlier this year, I led a workshop on future-proofing creative graduates through AI, entrepreneurship and digital skills, all of which thrive in a portfolio setting.

    Policy writers and senior leaders need to wake up quickly to realise that creative graduates are early adopters of what more of the labour market is beginning to look like. Academic staff, for example, increasingly combine research grants, teaching roles, consultancy and side projects. Tech and green industries are also normalising project-based work, short-term contracts and hybrid roles. In other words, the creative industries are not an outlier; they are a preview.

    Why measurement matters

    If the data system is misaligned with reality, the consequences are serious. Universities risk being penalised in performance frameworks like TEF or in media rankings if their graduates’ outcomes are deemed “poor.” Students risk being discouraged from pursuing creative courses because outcomes data suggests they are less employable. Policymakers risk designing interventions based on a caricature rather than the real graduate experience.

    As Conroy and Firth highlight, employability education must learn from the present, and the present is messy, hybrid, and global. Yet our data systems remain stuck in a single-job paradigm.

    The wider sector context is equally pressing. Graduate vacancies have collapsed from around 180,000 in 2023 to just 55,000 this year, according to Reed. Almost seven in ten undergraduates are now working during term-time just to keep going according to the latest student academic experience survey. And international graduates face higher unemployment rates, around 11 per cent, compared with 3 per cent for UK PGT graduates. The labour market picture is not just challenging, it is distorted when portfolio working is coded as failure.

    Without intervention, this issue will persist. Not because creative graduates are difficult to track, but because our measurement tools are still based on outdated assumptions. It is therefore encouraging that HESA is taking steps to improve the Graduate Outcomes survey questionnaire through its cognitive testing exercise. I am currently working with HESA and Jisc to explore how we can better capture hybrid and portfolio careers. These efforts will help bridge the gap in understanding, but far more nuanced data is needed if we are to fully represent the complex and evolving realities of creative graduates.

    So what should change?

    Data collection needs to become more granular, capturing the combination of employment, self-employment, freelancing and further study rather than forcing graduates into a false hierarchy. Recognising hybridity would make Graduate Outcomes a more accurate reflection of real graduate lives.

    One complicating factor is that students who do not complete a creative programme, for example, those who transfer courses or graduate from non-creative disciplines but sustain a creative portfolio, are even less likely to record or recognise that work within Graduate Outcomes. Because it isn’t linked to their area of study, they rarely see it as a legitimate graduate destination, and valuable evidence of creative contribution goes uncounted.

    We also need to value more than salary. The “graduate premium” may be shrinking in monetary terms, but its non-monetary returns, civic participation, wellbeing, and resilience, are expanding. Research from Firth and Gratrick in BERA Bites identifies clear gaps in how universities support learners to develop and articulate these broader forms of employability.

    Evidence must also become richer and longer-term. The work of Prospects Luminate, AGCAS CITG and the Policy and Evidence Centre on skills mismatches shows that snapshot surveys are no longer sufficient. Graduates’ careers unfold over years, not months, and portfolio working often evolves into sustainable, fulfilling trajectories.

    Beyond the UK there are instructive examples of how others have rethought the link between learning and employability. None offers a perfect model for capturing the complexity of graduate working lives, but together they point the way. The Netherlands Validation of Prior Learning system recognises skills gained from outside formal education, Canada’s ELMLP platform connects education and earnings data to map real career pathways, and Denmarks register-based labour statistics explicitly track people holding more than one job. If the UK continues to rely on outdated, single-job measures, it risks being left behind.

    Beyond the creative industries

    This is not an argument limited to art schools or design faculties. The wider labour market is moving in the same direction. Skills-based hiring is on the rise, with employers in AI and green sectors already downplaying traditional degree requirements in favour of demonstrable competencies. Academic precarity is, in effect, a form of portfolio career. The idea of a single linear graduate role is increasingly a historical fiction.

    In this context, the creative industries offer higher education a lesson. They have been navigating portfolio realities for decades. Rather than treating this as a problem to be solved, policymakers could treat it as a model to be understood.

    The full beauty of graduate success

    When we collapse a graduate’s career into a single tick-box, we erase the full beauty of what they are building. We turn resilience into precarity, adaptability into instability, creativity into failure.

    If higher education is serious about employability, we need to update our measures to reflect reality. That means capturing hybridity, valuing breadth as well as salary, and designing policy that starts with the lived experiences of graduates rather than the convenience of categories.

    Portfolio careers are not the exception. They are the shape of things to come. And higher education, if it is to remain relevant, must learn how to see them clearly.

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  • Making creative practice research visible

    Making creative practice research visible

    I still remember walking into my first Association of Media Practice Educators conference, sometime around the turn of the millennium.

    I was a very junior academic, wide-eyed and slightly overwhelmed. Until that point, I’d assumed research lived only in books and journals.

    My degree had trained me to write about creative work, not to make it.

    That event was a revelation. Here were filmmakers, designers, artists, and teachers talking about the doing as research – not as illustration or reflection, but as knowledge in its own right. There was a sense of solidarity, even mischief, in the air. We were building something together: a new language for what universities could call research.

    When AMPE eventually merged with MeCCSA – the Media, Communication and Cultural Studies Association – some of us worried that the fragile culture of practice would be swallowed by traditional academic habits. I remember standing in a crowded coffee queue at that first joint conference, wondering aloud whether practice would survive.

    It did. But it’s taken twenty-five years to get here.

    From justification to circulation

    In the early days, the fight was about legitimacy. We were learning to write short contextual statements that translated installations, performances, and films into assessable outputs. The real gatekeeper was always the Research Excellence Framework. Creative practice researchers learned to speak REF – to evidence, contextualise, and theorise the mess of creative making.

    Now that argument is largely won. REF 2021 explicitly recognised practice research. Most universities have templates, repositories, and internal mentors to support it. There are still a few sceptics muttering about rigour, but they’re the exception, not the rule.

    If creative practice makes knowledge, the challenge today is not justification. It’s circulation.

    Creative practice is inherently cross-disciplinary. It doesn’t sit neatly in the subject silos that shape our academic infrastructure. Each university has built its own version of a practice research framework – its own forms, repositories, and metadata – but the systems don’t talk to one another. Knowledge that begins in the studio too often ends up locked inside an institutional database, invisible to the rest of the world.

    A decade of blueprints

    Over the past few years, a string of national projects has tried to fix that.

    PRAG-UK, funded by Research England in 2021, mapped the field and called for a national repository, metadata standards, and a permanent advisory body. It was an ambitious vision that recognised practice research as mature and ready to stand alongside other forms of knowledge production.

    Next came Practice Research Voices and SPARKLE in 2023 – both AHRC-funded, both community-driven. PR Voices, led by the University of Westminster, tested a prototype repository built on the Cayuse platform. It introduced the idea of the practice research portfolio – a living collection that links artefacts, documentation, and narrative. SPARKLE, based at Leeds with the British Library and EDINA, developed a technical roadmap for a national infrastructure, outlining how such a system might actually work.

    And now we have ENACT – the Practice Research Data Service, funded through UKRI’s Digital Research Infrastructure programme and again led by Westminster. ENACT’s job is to turn all those reports into something real: a national, interoperable, open data service that makes creative research findable, accessible, and reusable. For the first time, practice research is being treated as part of the UK’s research infrastructure, not a quirky sideshow to it.

    A glimpse of community

    In June 2025, Manchester Metropolitan University hosted The Future of Practice Research. For once, everyone was in the same room – the PRAG-UK authors, the SPARKLE developers, the ENACT team, funders, librarians, and plenty of curious researchers. We swapped notes, compared schemas, and argued cheerfully about persistent identifiers.

    It felt significant – a moment of coherence after years of fragmentation. For a day, it felt like we might actually build a network that could connect all these efforts.

    A few weeks later, I found myself giving a talk for Loughborough University’s Capturing Creativity webinar series. Preparing for that presentation meant gathering up a decade of my own work on creative practice research – the workshops I’ve designed, the projects I’ve evaluated, the writing I’ve done to help colleagues articulate their practice as research. In pulling all that together, I realised how cyclical this story is.

    Back at that first AMPE conference, we were building a community from scratch. Today, we’re trying to build one again – only this time across digital platforms, data standards, and research infrastructure.

    The policy challenge

    If you work in research management, this is your problem too. Practice research now sits comfortably inside the REF, but not inside the systems that sustain the rest of academia. We have no shared metadata standards, no persistent identifiers for creative outputs, and no national repository.

    Every university has built its own mini-ecosystem. None of them connect.

    The sector needs collective leadership – from UKRI, the AHRC, Jisc, and Universities UK – to treat creative practice research as shared infrastructure. That means long-term funding, coordination across institutions, and skills investment for researchers, librarians, and digital curators.

    Without that, we’ll keep reinventing the same wheel in different corners of the country.

    Coming full circle

    Pulling together that presentation for Capturing Creativity reminded me how far we’ve come – and how much remains undone. We no longer need to justify creative practice as research. But we still need to build the systems, the culture, and the networks that let it circulate.

    Because practice research isn’t just another output type. It’s the imagination of the academy made visible.

    And if the academy can’t imagine an infrastructure worthy of its own imagination, then we really haven’t learned much from the last twenty-five years.

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  • Creative higher education isn’t a skills pipeline, it’s a cultural force

    Creative higher education isn’t a skills pipeline, it’s a cultural force

    Creative education is not a conveyor belt. It’s a crucible.

    In the UK’s industrial strategy, the creative industries are rightly recognised as a pillar of national growth. But this recognition comes with a familiar risk: that education will be seen merely as a supplier of skills, a passive pipeline feeding talent into pre-existing systems.

    This is a pervasive attitude, which so strongly influences the possibilities for students, they can be anxious about being “industry ready” before they’ve had the chance to explore or define fully what kind of practitioners they want to become. This is a reductive view and one we must resist. Creative higher education is not a service department for industry. It is a cultural force, a site of disruption, a collaborator and a generator of futures not yet imagined.

    Partners not pipelines

    Creative education does not simply serve industry – it co-shapes it. Our job is not just to deliver talent into predefined roles, but to challenge the boundaries of those roles altogether. We cultivate new forms of knowledge, artistic practice, and cultural leadership. As Michael Salmon has noted, HE’s relationship with the industrial strategy needs rethinking – we think especially in fields where “skills” are not easily reduced to training targets or labour force projections. Education is not just about plugging gaps; it’s about opening space for new kinds of thinking.

    Christa van Raalte and Richard Wallis have called for “a better quality of conversation” about the skills agenda in screen and creative sectors. Their point that simplistic, linear approaches to “skills gaps” are not fit for purpose should land hard within our own walls too. We need a better quality of conversation around the creative skills agenda. Narrow, supply-side thinking is not only reductive, it risks cutting off the very dynamism on which the industry depends.

    Our graduates don’t only “enter” the creative industries. They redefine them. They found new companies, invent new formats, challenge power structures, and expand what stories get told and who gets to tell them. To conceive of specialist creative HE as mainly a workforce provider is to misunderstand its essence. Our institutions are where risk-taking is possible, where experimentation is protected, and where the creative freedoms that industry often cannot afford are made viable.

    Resistance from within

    The danger isn’t just external. It’s internal too. Even within our own institutions, we sometimes absorb the language and logic of the pipeline. We begin to measure our worth by the requirement to report on short-term employability statistics. We are encouraged by the landscape to shape curricula around perceived “gaps” rather more than emerging possibilities. The pressure of metrics, league table and reputation help us to believe that our highest purpose is to serve, rather than to shape.

    This internalisation is subtle and corrosive. It narrows our vision. It makes us reactive instead of generative. And it risks turning spaces of radical creativity into echo chambers of industry demand. It is a recipe for sameness and status quo, a situation many call to change.

    We must be vigilant. We must ask ourselves: are we designing education for the world as it is, or for the world as it could be? Are we opening access, nurturing the disruptors, the visionaries, the cultural architects — or only the job-ready?

    When creative institutions start to measure their value predominantly through short-term employability metrics, or shape curriculum mainly around perceived industry gaps, we lose the distinctiveness that makes us valuable in the first place.

    We risk:

    • Designing education around current norms, not future needs
    • Prioritising technical proficiency over critical inquiry
    • Favouring students most likely to succeed within existing structures, rather than supporting those most likely to change them

    If we define our purpose only in terms of industry demand, we abandon much responsibility.

    From pipeline to ecosystem

    What we need is a new compact: not “education as service provider,” but “education as ecosystem partner.” A pipeline feeds. An ecosystem nurtures, nourishes and grows.

    This approach:

    • Recognises specialist creative HE as a site of research, innovation and values-driven practice
    • Treats industry as a collaborator, not a master – collaboration is especially present in research activity and creative projects led by industry professionals
    • Encourages co-creation of skills agendas, not top-down imposition
    • Embraces long-term thinking about sector health, sustainability, and inclusion – not just short-term workforce readiness

    The creative economy cannot thrive without imagination, critical thinking, inclusion, and cultural complexity; all things specialist institutions are powerfully placed to nurture. But this can only happen if we reject limiting narratives about our role. The industrial strategy may frame education as an economic lever to support the growth in the creative industries, but we must resist being reduced to a lever alone. Meeting the opportunities in the strategy is both an invitation to engage with sector needs, help shape the future and a challenge to the cultures of training, pedagogy and research whose long roots exercise power in specialist HE.

    If we want to protect and evolve the value of creative higher education, we must speak with greater clarity and confidence to government, to industry, and to ourselves. This is not about resisting relevance or rejecting partnership. It’s about ensuring that our contribution is understood in full: not only as a supply chain, but as a strategic and cultural force.

    Importantly, we must acknowledge that our graduates are not just contributors to the UK’s creative economy – they are cultural ambassadors on a global stage. From Emmy, Oscar and BAFTA winning actors to internationally celebrated designers, technical artists, writers and directors (and so much more) UK-trained creatives shape discourse, aesthetics, and industries across the world. To frame their education in purely national economic terms is to limit its scope and power.

    Because the purpose of creative education isn’t just to help students find their place in the industry. It’s to empower them – and us – to shape what that industry becomes.

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  • Getting students drawing can help belonging and mental health

    Getting students drawing can help belonging and mental health

    Empowering students to develop a creative skillset in response to curriculum-based tasks facilitates experimentation and exploration.

    Increasing creativity supports problem-solving and innovation in a range of academic disciplines. Developing these skills, students acknowledge improvements in their mental health and wellbeing. At De Montfort University, our drawing centre gives students opportunities to develop drawing skills, not only to improve visual communication, but to enhance creativity more broadly.

    Our students say that this ability to design and create improves their confidence to become more imaginative in their studies, developing a confidence that transcends beyond the ability to be creative, enabling more holistic engagement in studies and the wider university experience.

    A centre for creativity

    The drawing centre – part of the central Library and Student Services directorate – offers an inclusive studio environment in which students are supported in a non-assessed way to develop individualised approaches to the creative process.

    Many students first enter the drawing centre thanks to timetabled sessions aligned to curriculum content, others bravely wander in to see what’s happening, and some come along as a supportive friend but soon find themselves engaged and wanting more. Located at the very heart of our Leicester campus, the centre is visible from outside – its interior attracts many to come in and embrace creative development, in an environment designed to support wellbeing.

    The centre is led by experienced arts teacher Chris Wright, who recognised the decline in student confidence and associated mental health and sought to address it. Knowing the importance of a students’ ability to engage creatively, to explore creativity in a nurturing, non-judgemental environment, Chris championed the establishment of a space to develop creative design thinking, doing this to facilitate preparedness for study from a place of perceived mental safety.

    A starting point for the centre was research indicating that mainstream education appears to marginalise art and design subjects in favour of STEM disciplines – a point which echoed Chris’s 20 years of experience teaching arts disciplines, where he witnessed a diminishing focus on craft, experimentation, and creativity, leading to a decline in critical thinking and the negative impacts of this on the student experience.

    Realising the need to develop student confidence in drawing and mark-making, the drawing centre was established in 2018 to provide bespoke support to a small selection of courses at our university. It has grown to become a core part of university activity with provision for multi-modalities of learning for all four faculties, engaging over 2,600 student visits each academic year.

    Confidence

    Many providers seek to understand and support incoming students during that key period of transition into higher education.

    As part of our approach, we invite new students to engage in a self-evaluation exercise. Findings have indicated that high proportions of students start their higher education journey with little or no confidence in visual expression (the ability to express oneself through visual media), visual literacy (the ability to work with visual media), and visualisation (the ability to think in a visual way). The drawing centre aims to address this, based on the principles that with support and in the right environment all students have creativity that should be developed. We offer the chance to develop drawing, visual and creative skills to students who clearly recognise alignment between creativity and their academic studies, as well as to those who don’t.

    Through non-assessed creative activity, exploration and play, students are challenged to explore stimuli and tasks in different ways. They are taught about physical and visual representation, examining how changes in design approaches can impact processes and outputs. Doing this in a “fun” environment, students also share their experiences, often exploring and expressing deeper concepts than purely the physical medium in which they are working or in response to the task set.

    Echoing the mental health benefits of playful approaches to learning, students develop confidence in their creative abilities and recognise the impact of this on their studies. Chris’s student self-evaluation research identifies where visual acuity confidence is lacking and allows for a bespoke curriculum to be designed with course teams to meet student needs. Extracurricular sessions encourage students’ confidence, alongside coaching for staff to embed creative play within assessed activity.

    Power of community

    Some 96 per cent of drawing centre users recognise this as an important learning community, acknowledging creative skill development, and beyond that, resilience. Students feel more confident in approaching academic studies, using the skills developed through creative exploration, adapting these approaches for use in their disciplines. The non-assessed approach is considered non-judgmental, the learning environment is recognised as one in which students develop a toolbox of skills for use in any task and preparing them for lifelong learning.

    Community building within student cohorts supports the development of a sense of belonging, and is considered an increasingly important factor in a student’s sense of wellbeing within the learning environment. Belonging impacts the student experience and attainment, therefore providing students with a physical space in which they feel safe and supported to creatively explore delivers positive benefits beyond the development of creative skills.

    An ongoing process

    We hope to shine a light on the power of developing creativity during study, particularly to improve mental health and support engagement with study. The drawing centre is an experiential learning environment, one that invites the exploration and empowers a community. Students are encouraged to use creative enquiry, informing criticality within their studies.

    We encourage others to consider student support from a creative perspective. Practical guides outline approaches to student belonging, recognising the ways in which this can be approached and benefits it brings. From our experience, creative exercises and opportunities to explore in a non-assessed environment at the heart of campus enable students to develop confidence and lifelong learning skills.

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  • Working-class students feel alienated from their creative arts degrees – here’s how to help

    Working-class students feel alienated from their creative arts degrees – here’s how to help

    Social class inclusivity is a problem in UK higher education.

    Research demonstrates that working-class students report being less likely to apply to university than their middle-class peers – and when working class people do enter higher education they may face discrimination and social exclusion. This is exacerbated in creative arts subjects.

    We interviewed students currently studying creative arts subjects at a Russell Group university to hear more about their experiences of social class inclusivity. Speaking to ten undergraduate and eight postgraduate students studying a range of creative fields including music, drama and film, we found that working-class students find it difficult to attend class, are disadvantaged in terms of accessing the cultural resources needed to succeed on their course, and feel excluded from social life on campus.

    Economic disadvantage presents a considerable barrier to students completing arts subjects at university. To be inclusive, university staff may have to adjust teaching and learning. We would like to make the case for those working in higher education to consider what classed assumptions are made about students in our institutions and accordingly reassess our expectations of those studying the creative arts.

    Many of the disadvantages or challenges that working-class students face are connected to wider structural inequalities that are deeply entrenched in our society. At the same time, there are still meaningful interventions that staff can make to support working-class students. We suggest four ways in which university staff can make their practice more inclusive to working-class students.

    Discuss working-class stories as present and live

    Universities are middle-class spaces. In creative arts subjects, students often make work referring to their class identity. This can be at odds in institutions where middle-class experience is the “norm”.

    Class diversity must be present within teaching. More working-class mentorship and role models would help students to feel like they belonged at university – including visiting working-class creatives. Our participants also advocated for contemporary working-class experience in the curriculum, in academic texts, and in the artworks discussed.

    Staff must maintain a supportive and safe space when discussing issues pertaining to social class. Staff should also recognise that not everyone wants to talk about their background or experience. Additionally, staff must be aware of social class-based stereotyping that might exist in other students’ creative work, and be prepared to intervene when necessary if (often unintended) prejudices around work, class, accent, or lifestyle emerge.

    Adapt teaching to the multiple demands on working-class students’ time

    More and more students are undertaking part-time work alongside their studies. It is difficult to devise our curricula for only those students who can commit all their time to studying, when significant numbers are balancing their studies with multiple part-time, temporary and precarious jobs, or with care responsibilities.

    Working-class and carer students may be commuting considerable distances to engage with their studies. This is creating a two-tier system of engagement, and many of the students we interviewed felt that teaching and learning on their courses was not flexible enough to support their participation. The same issues are present when students try to engage in extracurricular and cultural activities.

    Working-class students asked for more online resources and access to course materials immediately at the start of modules, alongside concerns over early starts and late finishes and travel costs. They wanted permission to speak to staff about part-time work without feeling like they were “doing something wrong” or not taking their studies seriously. The normalisation of working alongside studying is something that staff may have to accept and work with, rather than try to push against.

    Early intervention is important

    The early stages of the student’s degree are a key time when social class difference and disadvantage is felt, with high levels of anxiety around finance and budgeting in comparison to more affluent peers.

    Working-class students asked for the university to provide information to support their transition into economic independence. Examples include advice on budgeting, lists of free resources, inexpensive alternatives and free access to cultural resources.

    Peer support plays a huge role in the transition to higher education. Working-class peer support groups and mentorship are as significant interventions to help.

    Adjust assumptions and reassess expectations

    University staff can make a difference to the experience of working-class students through simple adjustments of the assumptions we make.

    Interviewees believed staff made assumptions about what creative arts students should know, or the kind of experiences they should have had prior to university. These assumptions corresponded with a more middle-class experience, for example knowledge of university life, or access to (and the ability to afford) cultural resources or engagement with extra-curricular activities. Participants were particularly frustrated by assumptions from staff that students could afford to pay for learning resources not available in the library.

    Extra work is also needed to ensure that working-class or other marginalised students feel comfortable and entitled to ask for help from staff.

    Because many students now must work alongside studying, students may have less time to complete their work outside of class. Stronger steers on the amount of time to complete activities and prioritisation of reading, and the removal of blame for those struggling to balance time constraints of working whilst studying can all be effective.

    Working-class creatives

    Class inclusivity means students feel like they belong on their course, alongside having the financial security to take the time and space to study.

    This is particularly important in the creative arts because the more time and space students have to engage with their course or with extracurricular activities like arts societies, the more working-class stories will be represented in the creative work they make. Creative arts subjects must better support working-class students to engage fully with their studies – and not to be disadvantaged by financial pressure, lack of resource, or through feeling like they don’t belong on their course.

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  • Curtain call on traditional time-intensive drama training

    Curtain call on traditional time-intensive drama training

    Recent closures of renowned actor training courses, including the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School’s undergraduate provision and the abrupt collapse of the Academy of Live and Recorded Arts, have laid bare a crisis in drama training. This isn’t only about funding shortfalls; it’s about the very structures and traditions of training, which risk shutting out those able to succeed.

    The financial strain on institutions is undeniable. The historical freeze in undergraduate tuition fees and the high-intensity delivery required in drama and other forms of intensive arts training like dance and music education have made traditional models almost unsustainable. Specialist institutions, unable to cross-subsidise, have stretched themselves to the limit – expanding course offerings, increasing intakes, internationalisation and growing postgraduate provision, where costs can be better covered. Meanwhile, government support through welcome specialist funding streams such as Institution Specific Funding have proven insufficient to address the root challenges.

    These efforts, while necessary, have unintended consequences. Over-speedy expansion creates great challenges for the quality of the learning experience, while institutional survival strategies rarely address the deeper, systemic issues at play. The question is not just how to survive in this increasingly precarious environment, but how to rethink the system entirely.

    The hidden barrier of time poverty

    The financial barriers to entering drama training are well-documented, but there is a more insidious form of exclusion that demands urgent attention: time-poverty.

    As highlighted in a recent Unipol and HEPI report, the average cost of student rent in London now exceeds the maximum maintenance loan, leaving students struggling to make ends meet. This financial reality forces many to take on part-time work, but the intensive nature of traditional actor training – 30-40 hours a week, often with irregular schedules – leaves little room for paid employment. The result? Only those who can afford not to work can afford to train.

    Traditional training models require high levels of physical presence and stamina. While these methods have been celebrated for their rigour, they exclude those with caring responsibilities, disabilities requiring time flexibility, or the need to support themselves financially. This isn’t just a financial issue – it’s a fundamental inequity in how time is valued in training.

    Addressing time-poverty isn’t about making marginal adjustments; it requires a paradigm shift. Drama schools must reimagine training models to prioritise accessibility and sustainability without compromising quality. Flexible delivery methods, guaranteed non-contact periods for work or rest, and rethinking the necessity of long, traditional schedules are all potential starting points. If we are to be equitable in the way almost all drama schools claim as a value, we must redesign what “intensity” in training means for excellent students who do not arrive with the economic means required. The current system is exclusionary.

    Some institutions are already leading the way. Identity School and Access All Areas have successfully adapted their training processes to accommodate a broader range of students. The Collective Acting Studio excels at balancing time pressures with rigorous training, redefining how intensity can be delivered. These organisations boast impressive alumni who are actively working successfully in the industry. Notably, Sally Ann Gritton, Principal of Mountview, emphasises in her book, The Independent Actor, that long, gruelling days are neither effective nor beneficial for students. These examples prove that change isn’t just possible – it’s essential if we want the arts to become more inclusive.

    Why it matters

    The stakes couldn’t be higher. The creative industries contribute over £100 billion to the UK economy annually, with drama training forming the backbone of the talent pipeline. Rose Bruford College alumna like Jessica Gunning, who recently won Emmy and Golden Globe awards, or Sara Huxley, whose work on Mr. Bates vs. the Post Office catalysed governmental action, exemplify the global impact of British arts education.

    However, the arts are more than an economic driver – they shape how we see ourselves, societal narratives, build empathy, and are key in defining our cultural identity. If access to training is restricted to the privileged, the stories we tell become narrower and less representative. Equity in the arts is not just an educational issue; it is a societal imperative.

    Nearly a decade ago, calls for greater class diversity in the arts sparked important conversations. In 2016, a report from the London School of Economics revealed that only 27 per cent of actors came from working-class backgrounds. While this discussion was absorbed into the broader issue of societal inequality, solutions remained vague and largely limited to the idea of increased funding. Today, with budgets tighter than ever, this approach feels increasingly out of reach.

    In recent years, established actors, including household names like Julie Walters and Christopher Eccleston have voiced concerns that they would no longer be able to afford the cost of training. Their warnings highlight a system where financial barriers stifle talent, despite the well-meaning calls for bursaries and other competitive financial support. The result? A cycle where potential is lost, and the arts grow less accessible.

    We need bold leadership across the sector. Institutions must collaborate to share best practice, experiment with alternative training models, and advocate for systemic support. There are innovative models, and we must deal with the friction preventing them from spreading. Policymakers and trainers must recognise that funding is only one part of the equation; addressing time-poverty is critical to ensuring a truly inclusive arts education.

    The arts are at their best when they reflect the richness of society. It’s time to move beyond tradition and reimagine drama training for a new generation—one where potential, not privilege, determines success.

    Anyone interested in being part of this conversation is welcome to contact the authors directly.

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