For a few decades in the late 20th century, squatting was a critical avenue enabling artists, musicians, filmmakers and writers to start out, compromising on secure housing for time, finances, space and community. It’s easy to pull up a long list of famous former squatters, from the Clash to Annie Lennox. For members of communities outside of the dominant culture, later household names or not, occupying unoccupied buildings was often both an act of necessity and resistance. For some, squats blurred the lines between living and arts spaces, like the KLF’s Trancentral studio in the basement of member Jimmy Cauty’s Stockwell squat (1979-1991) or the self-managed art gallery and community space Gallery 491 in Leytonstone (2001-2013).
Then, in 2012, Section 144 of the Legal Aid, Sentencing and Punishment of Offenders Act made squatting in residential properties a criminal offence. Framed as protection for homeowners – particularly from the horror (i.e. paranoia) of returning from a holiday to find your home overrun with anarchists – the policy was broadly popular. A 2011 YouGov poll found 82 per cent of people supported criminalisation. The twelve years since have revealed another legacy: reducing avenues of access to the arts for people from lower socio-economic and working-class backgrounds.
Today, the broke-artist lifestyle is increasingly out of reach. Record rents, crackdowns on alternative approaches to housing and dwindling arts funding are forcing would-be creatives into full-time work just to pay the rent. And creativity is suffering.
Crushing creativity
The 2012 Act, pushed by then-housing minister Grant Shapps despite heavy criticism from housing law specialists, threatens squatters in residential properties with a criminal record and up to six months in prison and a £5,000 fine. It remains legal to squat in non-residential properties.
Thus, despite an estimated 700,000 vacant homes in the UK, people looking to squat can only avoid punishment by occupying buildings unsuited to living. The rising numbers doing so reflects the state of housing desperation across the country. The current situation is a far cry from 1970s and 80s squatting culture, when communities made use of empty housing stock, built creative networks and often made their homes for years before eviction.
The number of arts workers from working-class backgrounds has collapsed by half since the 1970s. The barriers to access are numerous and interconnected, from low wages to reduced public funding and the increased cost of education. Many of those problems have been exacerbated by decades of austerity, but others, such as expectations of free creative labour, are longstanding.
When reflecting on starting his career in the 1990s, writer and filmmaker John Rogers sees continuity today, but says, ‘You could at least squat then.’ For Rogers, living in a squat allowed him to take on the unstable and often unpaid work necessary to build up the elusive ‘experience’ required to start a career in the arts.
For others, squatting was less about experience, more about creative risk-taking. ‘Not having to make money had a massive impact’ on Matthew Stone, the artist says of his early 2000s stint in the !WOWOW! collective. He could get by comfortably on only a few thousand a year and dedicate time to creativity rather than profit – a luxury now well beyond the reach of all but the wealthy.
Doling out opportunity
In 2022, Chardine Taylor-Stone – former drummer of working-class black feminist punk band Big Joanie – stressed the difficulty of making music: it takes time. Having time relies on having some degree of financial security, be it the dole or a day job, and making sacrifices like living in, in Taylor-Stone’s words, a ‘shit place’.
Dole money was integral to the careers of artists as distinct as Joy Division, Orange Juice and Franz Ferdinand. UB40’s name and discography are undisguised references to the benefits system. For a period, musicians could sign on and spend a couple of years gigging for little to nothing while dedicating time to practising, touring and writing, sometimes also living in squats to further cut costs. Such creative time is categorised as unproductive and wasteful under capitalism. Access to benefits became harder thanks to cuts made under Thatcher and more recent Tory austerity.
While New Labour’s ‘workfare’ policies shared a distaste for ‘idle’ time and kept benefit sanctions and conditionalities, the party offered one light for artists. The New Deal for Musicians (1999-2009) – while still making access to benefits conditional on studying or job seeking – did at least recognise time spent rehearsing towards those requirements.
The scheme drew criticism for making exceptions for artists on one hand, while close supervision limited creativity on the other, but estimates suggest it helped 4,000 British artists, from The Zutons to Soweto Kinch.
In their heyday, the dole and squatting were a means to an end for artists – temporary measures used to carve out time and space to develop creative projects. Now, for many, any opportunity to spend time in ‘unproductive’ ways, regardless of the eventual output, is strangled by the need to pay rent, with time spent working or job seeking.
No compromises
Rent and security of housing is a particular pain-point for emerging musicians and artists. Lily Fontaine of indie band English Teacher noted last year that she was forced to sofa surf even after signing to a major label and touring regularly – traditional markers of ‘making it’.
Artists, writers and filmmakers are also struggling to find the time and money needed for their creative work. The isolating private rental market also makes community formation much harder.
In the 2010s, guardianship housing became another means of finding cheaper rent. That arrangement is frequently framed as mutually beneficial: owners get ‘protection’ for the building; guardians get low rents. It is essentially squatting – but in a way that still generates profit for property owners.
Artist Philomène Hoël previously lived in a guardianship in London, turning it into a living and gallery space known as Flat Deux. Now, they tell me, there is simply ‘no point’ doing guardianships: the prices are nearing private rents, without security of tenancy.
Comparing the state of the arts now to 30 years ago, growing demands on time and resources for young creatives stand out. Eking out an existence in squats and on the dole might have meant ‘you lived badly’, says John Rogers, ‘but now you’ve got people living to the same standard while working full time.’
