“Get a real job.”
For many actors, musicians, writers, dancers and artists, those three words are painfully familiar. Sometimes they are spoken casually. Sometimes they are said with genuine concern. But behind those words is often a misunderstanding of what it means to dedicate your life to creativity.
Because the reality is simple: Being a working artist is a career. It requires talent, discipline, training, commitment and resilience. But unlike many professions, the creative world rarely offers a straightforward path. For thousands of artists across Britain, success is not only about ability. It is also about survival.
The romantic image of the artist is often one of extremes – either the performer who achieves fame, secures a major television contract, lands a West End role or appears in successful films, or the struggling creative who cannot make ends meet. The reality is much more complicated. Most working artists exist somewhere in between. They pay mortgages and rent. They raise families. They worry about household bills and everyday responsibilities. The difference is that their chosen profession often comes without guaranteed security.
One contract can change everything. A television role, a theatre production, a film or a major creative opportunity can provide valuable income. Then suddenly, the work ends. The phone stops ringing. The next opportunity could arrive tomorrow – or months later. That uncertainty means artists have become experts in resilience, adaptability and reinvention.
Where the flame began
My own passion for performance began in a working-class home on Merseyside. My parents loved entertainment. At weekends they looked forward to dressing up and going to local social clubs and pubs where music brought people together.
Sometimes there would be a keyboard player and a drummer. My dad would introduce the acts and entertain the audience, while my mum would sing her country and western songs. Then my dad would perform songs made famous by Tony Christie. Those moments were filled with music, laughter and community.
Looking back, I realise that was where my own ambition began. It was not about fame. It was about connection. It was about the ability to make people feel something. As a child, I faced my own challenges. I was hyperactive and had speech difficulties, but eventually performance became the place where I found my voice. The stage gave me confidence. It gave me a purpose. It lit the flame.
“The journey begins”
I will never forget leaving Merseyside to train at Richmond Drama School. I remember sitting on the National Express coach with a small diary in my hand and writing: “The journey begins.”
I was terrified. I was leaving everything familiar behind and travelling to London to follow a dream. The biggest question was: How was I going to survive?
Funding drama school was incredibly difficult. I was fortunate to receive some support from friends, family and organisations, but the reality is that opportunities for working-class students to access training can be extremely challenging. I arrived in London in my twenties with around £75 for a very small hotel room.
Those early years were about survival. There were times when I slept on floors. Times when I did not know where the money was coming from next. Friends at drama school helped when they could. Family sent postal orders to support. People sent food. I remember walking into Tesco looking for the cheapest food I could buy because that was all I could afford. I was incredibly slim during those years because I simply was not eating enough.
People often imagine drama school as glamorous. For many working-class students, it is anything but. Some of my fellow students worked exhausting hours alongside their training simply to pay their fees. They were not chasing fame. They were chasing a dream.
The struggle does not end after graduation
Graduating with my Oxford Diploma in Acting was a proud moment. But leaving drama school does not automatically create a sustainable career. Finding an agent, gaining professional recognition, securing an Equity card and building consistent paid work can be incredibly difficult.
Like many actors, I experienced quiet periods. I returned to Jobseekers Allowance and found other ways to support myself, including commercial/BBC radio training at St Helens College, which helped me develop new skills. I worked waiting jobs. I worked at Iceland. I did whatever honest work I could while continuing to pursue acting.
Before social media transformed the industry, I would buy The Stage newspaper from WHSmith, circle casting opportunities and send my CV out. I spent hours in libraries reading about Shakespeare and acting. Eventually, that persistence paid off when I secured my first paid touring role in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The candle was still burning.
When creativity meets survival
There were many unexpected chapters along the way. After graduating, I was offered work promoting Orange Mobile. I remember standing outside during a freezing London winter wearing an orange jacket, orange trousers, an orange cap and carrying an orange billboard while singing and dancing to promote the company. It was not Shakespeare. It was not film. But it was performance. It kept me connected to creativity.
I also worked with MTV Europe, dressed as a reindeer alongside other performers. The money was not always the motivation. Sometimes it was simply about staying creative and keeping the passion alive.
The shop floor and the stage
When I returned to Merseyside and married my wife Pauline, I continued building my acting career. I worked in television and theatre, playing roles including CID officers, parents and patients. But like many actors, there were periods when the phone stopped ringing. And during those times, I worked outside the industry.
I have worked at Currys, Marks & Spencer, Sainsbury’s, Morrisons and ASDA. There is absolutely no shame in honest work. But emotionally, it can be challenging. Imagine spending years training, performing Shakespeare, creating characters and moving audiences – then finding yourself on a shop floor waiting for the next opportunity.
I remember standing at Morrisons thinking about advice given to me by David Grant, who had been one of my teachers. After performing at the London Palladium alongside David and Carrie Grant, David put his arm around me and said: “Sometimes you have to do a job you hate in order to move forward and get something you love.”
Those words have stayed with me. Because they are true. A second job does not mean you have failed. It means you are protecting your dream.
The modern creative must be multi-skilled
Today’s artist often has to become multi-skilled. An actor may also become a writer, director, producer or teacher. A musician may teach. A dancer may coach. A painter may deliver workshops. A writer may create work for others.
This is not because their passion has disappeared. It is because their passion is strong enough to survive. The second job is not the opposite of being an artist. For many people, it is what allows them to continue being one.
The world becomes your classroom
One thing I have learned throughout my career is that an actor never stops training. Even when working outside the industry, creativity continues.
I watched people. I listened to conversations. I studied how people walked, spoke and reacted. I kept notes. Every person has a story. Every conversation can inspire a character. The shop floor became another form of training. Life itself became research.
The reality behind the passion
My story is not unique. Across the North West and beyond, thousands of creatives are navigating the same challenges. Actors, musicians, writers, dancers and artists are finding ways to continue their careers in an industry where opportunities can be unpredictable.
Many are working multiple jobs. Many are developing new skills. Many are finding different ways to keep creating. Their journeys may be different, but the passion is often the same. The second job does not define the artist. The passion does.
Never let the candle go out
Art changes lives. A song can take someone back to a moment they will never forget. A painting can change how someone sees the world. A performance can make an audience laugh, cry or question everything they believe.
Artists are storytellers. We preserve memories. We challenge ideas. We connect people. The journey is not always easy. There are dry seasons. There are moments of doubt. But the passion that drives a creative person is powerful.
The candle may flicker. It may burn low. But we must never allow it to go out.
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