I Got My Degree… What Now?

Four years ago, I left Beijing to pursue a MA at Royal College of Art (RCA) in London. During my years there, I lived in a cramped flat with two fellow alumni, right in the city centre, surrounded by all the buzz and creative energy that comes with it. But when I graduated in the summer of 2022, reality hit: what now?

Up till that point, my work experience had been mostly assisting at design companies in China. Sure, these are technically “creative” positions, but it feels like a 9 to 5 corporate role, with tasks handed down to me to everyday, and a steady paycheck arriving each month. And the thought of spending another decade of my life executing someone else’s (often questionable) vision, just so I could climb to a position where I can work on projects I actually cared about – sent me into a spiral of panic.

Even now, looking back, I realised my decision to pursue an MA in the first place was a form of escape. So with graduation approaching, I started having this recurring thought: What if I tried to make a living off my own art? Just for a little while? I was in my twenties, with no kids, no mortgage, no serious obligations. If I was ever going to take a risk, it had to be now. The worst-case scenario? I’d struggle for a few years, then pivot back to a “stable” job by thirty, admit defeat, and live like everyone else.

But in order to start, I had to solve the obvious problem: money. More specifically, how do I stretch mine enough so I can spend all my time pursuing art? And not just any art, but my own art.”

Making Digital and Moving Out of London

To keep my costs low, I made two decisions:

1. Go completely digital. From now on, everything I created had to be made with just my laptop. No studios, no fancy equipment. This way, I could work anywhere  with power socket, which leads to decision number two…

2. Leave London. London is a great city, but the cost of living was eating me alive. Rent, bills, transports—even just breathing felt like it came with a price tag. Staying in this so-called “creative capital” didn’t mean much if I couldn’t afford to actually create much. Plus, I’d barely explored the art scene outside London,  I figured it was time to see what the rest of the UK (and maybe beyond) had to offer.

So, in September 2022, I sold most of my belongings, squeezed everything else into four medium-sized boxes. I stuffed them into the cheapest storage unit I could find in central London, for £40 a month.

Then, with just a 28-inch suitcase and a backpack, I set off, thinking I’d be on the move for a few months before settling down again. But I was wrong. I ended up living out of that suitcase for a year and a half.

Making My Own Rules for Work, Travel, and Routine

Leaving London behind, I started bouncing around the UK, feeling a bit lost and chaotic as I tried to create art. People often romanticise self-employment as a life of spontaneity and freedom, as if there’s no one around to dictate the rules anymore. But in reality, that just means you have to take on two jobs at once and become both the manager and executor, and take on the full responsibility of your professional career path.

Without a traditional job anchoring me, I no longer had to follow the usual pace of workdays – weekends – bank holidays – annual vacations, which is both a blessing and a curse. As I slowly settled into this nomadic life, the manager part of myself starts designing her own set of rules to keep both of myself sane.

Rule 1: 35 – 40 of real working hours per week, no matter the schedule

I will time myself to work at least 35-40 hours of work each week, these 35-40 hours has to be actual working hour, excluding breaks, and time i accidentally zoned out. The idea is no matter how and when I spread that 35-40 hours out in a week, the total working time needs to either meet or exceed the equivalent of the workload of a full-time job.

My work hours can only be dedicated to art projects or applying for art opportunities. And all the projects and application I spend time on has to align with my practice.

I could do whatever I want outside the working hours. On the days I really don’t feel like working, i’ll go on a 2-3 days mini vacation nearby.

Rule 2: move to a new location every four weeks

I usually follow a four-week cycle for moving around different accommodations —usually via a mix of Airbnbs, and occasional short-term rentals and hostels.

This timeframe is deliberate: four weeks is long enough to settle in but not so long that I can’t pivot for last-minute projects that require relocation. Plus, 28-day stays are the most affordable option on Airbnb (more in the resource section).

When I move, sometimes I have a clear destination, especially when it’s for a commission or residency. But often when i’m in between projects and there’s no clear requirements on where I should be based, I wound choose a beautiful spot on a whim.

Each cycle unfolds the same way.

I would usually arrive in a new city in the afternoon, i’d check in, unpack everything. Then, i’d start mapping the locations I could use as my “temporary studio” all across the city map. Local libraries are my go-to. I also note down cafés and other spots to ensure I have a workspace, even on Sundays or holidays when the libraries shut down. With a network of free workspaces mapped out, I move between them with my laptop in tow. when i’m not in the mood for work, I’d give myself a day off, explore, galleries, museums, cemetery, and interesting shops in the area.

Then, once the 28 days is up, I’d pack up again, head to the next city, and repeat the cycle again.

Rule 3: Return to homebase (storage unit) every 3 to 4 cycles

Every three or four months, I return to London for a quick reset. I’d crash at a friend’s for a day or two, visit my storage unit to swap out clothes for the new season, collect my letters and packages from the past 3-4 month, stock up on living essentials, refill shampoo and body wash into travel bottles, and hit the road again.

What I learned from being a nomadic artist

One surprising advantage of being a nomad that I hadn’t considered is how it opens up more opportunities when applying for open calls. Many open calls require artists to either be local or willing to relocate. Since I don’t have a fixed address, I can apply to opportunities all across the UK and Europe, and easily adjust my travel plans based on where I’m accepted. I don’t have to worry about relocation costs because, in a way, I’m always relocating.

Of course, there are also disadvantages, but that’s more to do with the art industry than being nomadic.

Before working as a full time artist, I had heard about how notoriously unstable and underpaid artists are, but it wasn’t until I started living this way that I got a concrete understanding of just how underpaid artists can be. Another thing that surprised me is the vast amount of time I spend writing applications compared to actually creating art.

While I was traveling sifting through artist opportunities became a weekly, if not daily, ritual. I’d gather all the ones I needed to apply for into an Excel sheet—art competitions, grants, exhibitions, residencies—then note down their requirements and offerings. I’d rank them by application deadlines and work through them systematically, often at a pace of writing 2-3 applications a month.

Each application was different. Some took just a few hours to complete, while others—especially those for substantial funding with multiple interview rounds—could eat up two weeks of work.

By my estimate, between September 2022 and March 2024, I’ve written 44 applications, spending a total of 503 hours (roughly the equivalent of three months of full-time work). Since most open calls don’t offer compensation for freelancers’ time spent on applications, I’ve only been paid £300 for around 20 hours of work by two open calls. This means I’ve carried out 483 hours of unpaid labour.

From Nomadic to Semi-Nomadic

After 12 cycles of moving from one city to another, a peculiar fear has started to settle in. Despite now knowing and living through the many disadvantages of being a nomadic artist, I’ve found myself increasingly anxious about the prospect of stability. I worry that once I find a stable job—even a part-time one—I might become tied down, too comfortable, and lose the drive to chase new opportunities with the same intensity.

Just around that time, I crossed paths with an older Spanish artist. She graduated from the Royal College of Art a decade before I did and had spent over 20 years living solely off her art. I shared my thoughts with her, and she nodded knowingly, recounting her own struggles. “Every artist,” she said, “no matter how established, wrestles with this. Some turn to teaching arts, others take on commercial projects to sustain their practice financially, but I can’t do it. The moment I have an alternative, I know I won’t invest all my energy into my art,” she confessed. “When I have money, I live in expensive places. When I don’t, I retreat to a cheap village in Spain and wait for the tide to turn.”

It was reassuring to know I wasn’t alone in this masochism. But it also saddened me a bit to learn that someone so established, with solo shows in major venues and multiple awards to her name, is still navigating the precarious balance of financial survival through art.

By January 2024, after 16 months of living out of a suitcase, I finally returned to a more stable lifestyle.

There were a few reasons for this shift. For one, my constant moving meant my body has to constantly adjust to the new environment, which had worsened my allergies. My doctor strongly advised me to stay in one accommodation for at least six months to a year to stabilise my health. That, plus the fact that I’d built a network in Bristol after spending a significant chunk of time there, convinced me to settle down— at least for now.

That said, my time as a nomad left its mark.  Even in this fixed address, I’m still on a monthly rolling contracts. As of now, I’m still working full time on my art on a freelance bases. Minimalism has also become a way of life. While I no longer live out of a suitcase, I can confidently say all my belongings fit into six medium-sized boxes. If necessary, I could pack everything I own in under two hours and move to wherever I need to be.

I often find myself torn between the idea of getting a more stable part-time job and continuing to focus solely on my art, which comes with irregular income and unpredictability. At this point, I’ve accepted that I’m likely to continue living in this “semi-nomadic” state. Life, after all, requires balance. Perhaps I’ll live nomadically for a couple of years, then settle down for a year or two in one place, only to uproot myself again when I start to feel restless. I suspect this pattern might continue for the next few years, and I’m okay with that.