Can Amsterdam do better for its artists?

I am writing this after witnessing the pain and harsh reality of some artist friends of mine in Amsterdam, a reality that became undeniable during the pandemic. In most professions, there is at least the facade of a safety net; in the arts, there is more of a deep, dark hole in the ground with poisoned spears poking upward.

The Amsterdam art scene is scattered with incredible talent from here and many corners around the globe. Artists come here and become acquainted with a rich culture of freedom, art, protest, love and community. 

After chatting with friends and peers, I was stunned to find that the primary hurdles remain the same: a total lack of affordable housing, fleeting studio spaces, and a drought of grants; there are also the hurdles of sexual misconduct or fucked up lunatic landlords, but that’s for another article. For an artist to hone their craft, they need to feel "shelter and food secure" at the very least, like we all do. The Netherlands allocates public sector housing to essential workers, and I believe there is a strong argument to be made that creatives are exactly that. 

One of the true beauties of Amsterdam is its community. I have attended countless events where artists perform for free or for a pittance, sustained only by the collective will of the people. This community is one that is so very important especially in these times, a place where people need to feel safe behind the concrete walls, within a garden that honors and offers safety, self-expression, and freedom. The collective spaces around Amsterdam provide that in a way that should not be underestimated: these spaces are the grounds where people find the inspiration and strength to open up and be themselves, either in private conversations or expressing themselves on stage as a group.
When the "struggle" is spending days and weeks, sometimes even months, applying for grants that barely help you scrape enough for a sandwich or a tram pass, the system is broken. Just by listening, I think there needs to be fundamental changes and sympathetic governing figures who recognize that art isn't just a hobby, it's a gift to future generations. It is so fucking important for all of us–in and beyond the art world.

Basak and Can are both very beautifully talented artists, and along with every other creative in this fantastical city, they deserve access to real options when it comes to funding. I asked both Basak and Can if they could give me a snapshot of their time here. 

Basak Layic
Storyteller, Writer & Theatre maker

It all began at Mezrab for me.

8 years ago, I had just arrived in Amsterdam without friends, without a stable job, and with a future that felt completely foggy. Then I stumbled into Mezrab, and to my surprise, I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. There were many people like me, feeling lost, displaced, and searching for something to hold onto. Hearing their stories, as cheesy as it sounds, made me feel less lonely. 

It took me six months to gather the courage to tell my first story. And when I finally did, nothing magically changed overnight, but something essential happened: I felt that I had a place to return to. And in that space, not only did I find community but it also gave me an opportunity to look at my life, question my desires, fears, wishes… Because that’s what personal storytelling does. As you search for material within, week after week, you begin to examine yourself from different angles. It allows you to see yourself more clearly, almost as both subject and observer.

At the same time, building a life for my craft here has come with ongoing challenges. If I had to name the biggest one, it would be language. While there is space for English in Amsterdam’s art scene, it often remains limited. The larger institutions and opportunities are still predominantly Dutch-speaking.

When I first arrived, I could barely speak it. The desire to tell stories at Mezrab became my fuel to learn, until I could write and perform full-length shows.

And alongside that, there is the constant negotiation of housing and feeling of stability in a city where both are increasingly fragile. What has sustained me through all of this is finding spaces where I can return, where I can meet others, and keep creating – keep playing.

My latest piece, ‘Home Sweet Home’, was directly inspired by the housing crisis in Amsterdam and my own experience of trying, and often failing, to find a place to live. At first, I thought the struggle was mainly practical, like not knowing where I would sleep, how long I could stay somewhere, or when I would have to move again.

But this last year, because of the after-talks I had with audiences and after some distance from the performance, I realized that the real cost is psychological.

That constant state of not knowing, of instability, affects how you think, how you relate to others, and how you see yourself. It creates a room for anxiety in your body that never really leaves. And if you think about Maslow's hierarchy of needs, it becomes clear: how are you supposed to create, to imagine, to take risks artistically, when your most basic needs are not secured?

In that sense, the housing crisis isn't just about where an artist lives. It also determines who gets to create, because precarity filters people out. It determines who has the time, energy, and mental space to develop their work, and who is constantly forced to prioritize survival. For example, I was only able to fully write and produce ‘Home Sweet Home’ once I had some form of stability. 

Can Bora
Performance Artist & Somatic Instructor

Moving to the Netherlands was simple: during my studies in Paris in my 20s, I noticed that the Netherlands provided far more funding for artists than other European countries. When I was accepted to ArtEZ University right before the pandemic and managed to secure a scholarship against the odds, I took it as a great sign.

After six years here, I’ve realized, however, that there is a stark gap between the "Dutch showcase" presented to the world and the reality on the ground. To be honest, while I am still treated with respect as an artist and an individual, I must admit these six years have aged me significantly. 

I also found that I am more accepted in communities of non-Dutch citizens. Three years ago, I performed a show called ‘Henna Night Reimagined’. For the following two years, I focused on touring other Dutch cities. But when I reached a "peak" and sent emails to nearly 70 coordinators, curators, and programmers via a Dutch PR contact, I received no more than 3 replies. This raises a painful question: Why are these emails being ignored?

Furthermore, as a freelance artist, I don’t feel supported. Housing is a nightmare in its own right, but I have been struggling desperately for four years just to cover my rent. This eventually led to a burnout, officially diagnosed by my GP. For the first time in my life, at 40 years old, I am juggling ten different tasks. I pay more taxes than many expats, yet I question if there is any true justice here. Are the struggles of a freelance artist understood?

Everything, unfortunately, comes at a psycho-social cost. Artists struggle to earn money. They are not supported. They have to give far more than what they receive just to be seen, to survive, to continue. And after a while, you hit a wall — hard — because your “fuel” runs out.

When it comes to solutions, we should first be clear about one thing: there is always a solution if there is real will. Change is possible. There are examples we can look at. In Ireland, artists were given a basic monthly income as a pilot program. Later, this support was increased. The result was clear: people produced more, and social well-being improved.

Because of budget cuts, burnout has become very real. Personally, I have never felt this low, this alone, or this disconnected from my own sense of confidence. After so much education, so much effort, and so much skill, it is painful to reach this point.

After hearing from Basak, Can, and others, I believe there must be another way to support our creatives in the Netherlands. Perhaps along with grants and subsidies, there could be a community creative fund that is set up by the municipalities and then allocated out in the form of housing allowances and living or studio expenses. Or even opening up more unused buildings across this city to free up accommodation for our artists. We vote for politicians based on their stances for animal rights, human rights, and a various range of other beautiful stances, but it would be great to add creatives to this list. After all, we all benefit, including the city itself, both short and long term, from more artistic spaces where artists can channel their art in return for social acknowledgement, better opportunities, and, ideally, financial compensation for some feeling of stability.

For centuries, this city has been a sanctuary for the beautiful and the broken, artists, anarchists, and degenerates alike. While the bureaucrats at the top believe they run the city, the real pulse of the place beats in its community.

Whether you’re a local or an expat, we’re all woven into this messy, saucy, chaotic fabric. It’s a hub for anyone who doesn't quite fit anywhere else. They say the truly insane are the ones convinced of their own sanity… In that case, Amsterdam is a gorgeous, artistic entity in total denial.