Episode 120 'The Upcoming Landscape for Artists'

That's quite a foreboding episode title, right? And perhaps something quite serious for the likes of me to explore, and yet I felt compelled to write something about it as careers and livelihoods are at stake! My mind weighs heavily upon such things, you see, but not necessarily all in a negative light. There is curiosity and hope peppered throughout, so let's see how this unravels.  

    This perspective will, of course, be from my own personal journey, but it might be something that other artists are facing on a daily basis and can relate to. What does the future hold for any of us?

So where do I begin?

The artist's will to cope and adapt to the creative climate has been something that has gone on for decades, centuries; as long as art has been recognised there is a chance that it reflects that current period. It's a combination of emotional turmoil, social standing and technological advances (to name but a few). But has there ever been a balance of these things? 

    We remember revolutionary art movements led by artists and designers, paving the way for younger generations. However, why was that particular piece of art made in the first place? What was it trying to tell us? What was the message? Was it an socio-outcry or rhetoric against politics or the system? Or was it a genuine work of art created out of passion and influence from the environment one might find themselves in? 

I guess what I am questioning at this early stage is what motivates an artist? And has it always been full of challenges, failures and misunderstandings?

Can there still be hope, despite the chaos and the pain?

When I left Manchester, for greener pastures, I had no idea that my path would lead me back to animation, having quit my position in the art department of Factory Create. I had taken nought but my sketchbook, pencils and the notion that I'd have to change my career entirely to make this new venture work. The decision to leave the UK (period) was that of a crazy whim; full of young love, ambition and unwavering dreams. The reality that followed was unexpected, to say the least, but still gave me a relative purpose for a time.

    It seemed that fate had me tied to the animation industry, even if I were to embark upon this journey alone. Sardinha em Lata in Lisbon has been good to me, providing me with ample work for when I needed it. And even when Portugal was experiencing a lull in stop motion, I somehow found projects and opportunities to help pay my dues. In true freelancer fashion, I would continue to bumble my way from one project to another, hoping for the best. 

So was this it? Had I made it? I often think of the chaotic mindset that partners up with that of a self-employed individual. Can we call it a lifestyle, where one might never have full financial security, foundation or stability because the jobs come and go so haphazardly? I have never had a five year plan. I don't even have a five month plan. It's impossible. There was a moment in my life where I thought that I had balanced the career, house and finances rather well, ready to support a potential future with someone. But whether COVID happened or not, it may have always been a rocky hypothetical future with various job opportunities (or lack of) that spanned the country and beyond. Many of my friends had expected me to leave the UK may years before I finally did. That might be the closest thing to a portent or an omen I've ever had. 

However, at this moment in 2026, it feels like no matter where you are in world there will always be that agony of the unknown. Creatively speaking, the climate that we currently live in feels more under threat than in any other decade or period. Humanity is getting lazy, even desperate and this offers a strange modern day ultimatum for artists. Do we fight and stake our claim in the creative field by making a name for ourselves, proving that the world needs art? Or do we fold, lay down our cards and accept defeat?

Surely stop motion cannot be the only industry experiencing a quiet period? I bump into colleagues and friends who once bore arms and constructed, painted, sculpted, filmed, directed and produced some truly ground-breaking animated films or shows, and now, alas, struggling to make ends meet. But is this the risk we all take as an artist? Or are many industries/companies that once relied on tactile, physical labour from an art department simply turning their hiveminds to other means? Perhaps there is a darker, more sinister reason for such a quiet period? What is the cheapest, fastest option? some might say.

One question still remains; how sustainable is it to actually be an artist? 

When people ask what do you do for a living Tommy? I frequently alter my job title depending on the present company. I don't do this to fool anybody or create falsehoods, however it's not as simple as declaring that you are an accountant, engineer or lawyer. The term Artist is incredibly broad and vague, yet would receive an immediate response or passive judgement before you've even explained yourself. 

    I might say that I am a watercolour artist, but it's not my main job. Or a carpenter, but mostly for stop motion productions. I am also a writer, but only for my passion projects. I have been an art director, but only for children television shows. I could even say that I am a teacher, having led animation workshops at schools and festivals. Which do I choose? 

    Some might say that is an amazing feat to have such a variation of job titles, skills, trades and projects to work on; and most of the time I would agree. But there is a stigma that can sometimes come with this, and I shall express this in a personal statement - I have never been taken seriously as an artist by anybody other than my fellow peers, colleagues or friends within the industry. 

    It is quite a bold proclamation, one that I would not commit to lightly. And yes, this includes my closest friends and family. A commonly used phrase in such company might be when are you going to get a real job? Heck, even a family member recently said to me, don't worry Tom, you will make it one day!

    I don't want the focus of this blog post to be about this in particular, but it might help to understand why such a landscape (for artists) can be chaotic and challenging. It is a mental undertaking that not many people will ever understand, and with it comes a sense of collateral damage that would ironically become good source material for the artist in question to then express themselves. It's a gloriously tragic catch 22. 

But the truth is, my life as an artist has never been about success, promotion, or financial stability. Each of the aforementioned are certainly a positive, but for a creative they can have a completely different meaning. Success might be to showcase their first art exhibition in a small coffee shop, inviting friends and family to see their achievement. To be promoted might be to lead an art department and build a phenomenal world for one TV show (that's actually a pretty good promotion). And financial stability could mean having enough to merely pay rent and buy a train ticket to the beach now and again. 

    Someone recently gave me another perspective on the 'climbing the ladder of success' analogy and it has reassured me with some of the choices that I have made. It's not necessarily how far up the ladder you climb, but to be sure that it's leaning against the correct wall. The ladder represents progress, the wall represents your values and destination. 

But what if that wall suddenly comes crashing down because everything that you stand for as an artist, as a creative, is questioned. The ladder falls away, you hit the ground and ask yourself, where does my purpose lie? This has happened to me on several occasions, but when I look back at those moments of insecurity or self doubt, they have, in fact, made me stronger. 

And yet, the strength to continue still has its setbacks. 

Every time I post a piece of artwork I am in constant fear of how obsolete and meaningless it becomes. And this is, ultimately, the most demoralising feeling an artist can have. So how do we navigate through this? How can we safely showcase our work without feeling that looming threat of artificial generative thievery? The short answer is that we can't. Until genuine regulations are put into place to help safeguard AI and it's programmed will to steal, copy, regurgitate and claim then the hesitation for an artist to create will remain.

And in a world of continuous chaos, corruption, doom and gloom, I have to believe that the input of any artist will remain invaluable. We see art everyday, even in the mindless reels that have been tailored to our ever depleting attention span. It is sad to see how artists have to fight for that time slot, negating what we once stood for to gain but a few extra seconds of screen time. As I said before, humanity is getting lazy. 

     But, as we know, artists are constantly adapting to their surroundings. Each decade offers a new revolutionary tool that can aid our creative process. It's not always welcomed, at first, and can scare half the artist' population with its new-fangled advancement. But inevitably, with all change, acceptance and evolution it finds its place in the world. The radical 3D printer might rock the boat for a period of time, with sculptors freaking out over job risk, yet soon come to realise that a harmony can be restored. The 3D printer is a tool, not a replacement, and we can benefit from its existence.

    The speed of which these changes are happening, however, has increased exponentially going from the 20th century in to the 21st. As a millennial (a label I still hold with some distaste) we have seen the tape cassette player evolve into the CD Walkman, then mini-disc player, MP3 player, iPod, digital streaming and now utterly everything is available on your touchscreen phone; a miniature computer in your hand. What an incredible example of how technology can advance, right?

    This same handheld device is now our personal platform to showcase anything we like. Social media has certainly ramped up the accessibility for artists to display their work; it has literally become like an online exhibition. But there are pros and cons. There is a constant pressure to create content in order to be noticed or to build a following. To me, this is when art becomes undone. 

    Even I have found myself painting something with the sole reason to post it on Instagram because I am getting FOMO, after scrolling through thousands of videos and seeing other watercolour artists create beautiful pieces. I feel left out, unproductive, shamed by my peers (unbeknownst to them) that I have not produced a painting or illustration to post in the last week or two. The landscape, ladies and gentlemen, is a fucking minefield, whichever way you look at it. 

And now we have to deal with AI? Are you actually kidding me?

Competing with fellow artists is natural. We encourage and revel in our own personal journeys, where our own style is sculpted by the inspiration of others. Every artist has absolutely copied another artist' style in their lifetime, whether they knew it or not. This is not plagiarism (although, in some cases, obviously it can be) in my eyes, as it simply reflects the ongoing cycle of creation. Art is everywhere, subjective and accessible. But the most beautiful thing to remember, when it comes to your own work of art, is this: 

Nobody will ever paint the same painting as you. The unique expression from a unique individual is something that universally and categorically cannot be reproduced. Whereas in science; if Newton didn't discover gravity, somebody else would have. But with a painting like Starry Night or a piece of music like Beethoven's 9th symphony, if these artist had not created these... nobody would have. I need to thank Neil deGrasse Tyson for his take on the Unique Power of Art vs. the Precision of Science for that one. But isn't that fascinating? And hopefully encouraging. 

Art versus science. Art versus technology. Art versus the establishment. 

You can begin to see why Art and AI will never be on the same page, canvas or even screen. Not truly. AI is not a curious young boy tracing around the illustrations of Quentin Blake to help better his drawing hand. AI is not a brave art student paying homage to Henri Matisse with their final piece. And AI is certainly not a young director working on their first film in the style of Hitchcock, as it was his cinematic influences that inspired them to embark upon that journey to film school. 

AI steals, pillages, warps and regurgitates original pieces and claims ownership.

AI has no place in the world of art. It tricks and lies to you, not for abstract effect (like a beautiful optical illusion) but for profit and gain. I physically cringe each time someone sends me an AI generated video that re-imagines a Star Wars scene but with 'added comedy'. It's utterly disgusting. But unfortunately AI has become a normality for anybody who has a mobile phone. Even something as simple as a Google search is AI generated (an annoying function that I cannot disable). Some might call me a dinosaur, or to get with the times, but I know my where my morals and ethics lie. 

And this, my friends, is where I stand with such a quandary. I shall repeat a question I asked earlier; how sustainable is it to actually be an artist? Such a demoralising outlook on the future, I know, but with the ever shrinking creative world, it is absolutely feasible for an artist to become disillusioned. Should I change career? Ought I learn new skills? The short answer is yes, for sure; but this should be done with curiosity and eagerness, without panic or pressure, and not because your very livelihood is threatened.  

Is the upcoming landscape bleak? You're goddamn right it is. 

Epilogue 

The artist's way is forever changing, evolving and adapting. I see it every day with dear friends and colleagues of mine. Animators who learn crochet in their spare time, making wonderful plush creatures and selling them at market stalls. Carpenters who (once associated only with stop motion) take their trade to the next level and work on a blockbuster movie set, constructing and painting on a much larger scale. The closing of successful animation studios (like Factory Create in Manchester) leads to the formation of smaller workshops, preserving those traditional skills and important bonds that were made in artistic fellowship. A set designer might transition from children's television to theatre production. A director might become a teacher, passing on their knowledge to the next generation. Heck, even I am trying my luck at writing my first fictional novel. 

We are all connected. We are all artists. We just have to keep making real art. 

Until the very end. 

Because death is the ultimate deadline.