How to survive as a full-time artist on an island

Part 1.

Hey there! I hope you're having a great day, and if not, I hope I can make it better with this newsletter. Today, I want to talk about something slightly different than usual: how does an artist survive on an island in the middle of nowhere, creating art only?

My album cover “In my garden” - the photo was shot in Madeira island.

For whoever is a newbie here, let me reintroduce myself first (everyone else, feel free to skip this part!). My name is Bri, and I'm an artist and performer with synesthesia. It means that while I'm listening to music, I see colours. It’s a neurological condition, considered a neurodivergent aspect of the brain. After hiding it for a few years, my friends encouraged me to share it as much as possible and to see it as a gift. And so I did! I’ve performed at the Venice Biennale (2019), Tate Modern London (2022), and I've been featured in a documentary on Sky Arts TV (2023). What do I do? I sing, paint, and play my canvas simultaneously on stage. This is made possible by installing small piezo triggers on the back of each canvas, connecting them to a laptop, and assigning each artwork to a different sound, activated by painting. Canvases are my orchestra, and I’m the link between the music and the art. I'm currently touring with "Fluttering Colours." The show immerses audiences in the perspective of a butterfly through innovative technology and projections, exploring themes of adaptation, resilience, and the impact of climate change. The performance combines live singing, painting, spoken word, music, and visual effects to deliver a powerful message of environmental consciousness and the interconnectedness of all life forms. I also paint off-stage and sell a variety of products inspired by synesthesia. I take on commissions for projects like mural art, offer private workshops, and sing whenever and wherever I can. If you didn’t follow me yet, click here —it means a lot to me!

A glimpse into my IG page

A few years ago, I took a leap of faith and moved to an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean—Madeira, Portugal—after spending almost 10 years in London.

Why did I do it?

My lockdown experience was pretty tough: I was in London, unable to travel home while my father was slowly deteriorating from a neurodegenerative illness. I couldn’t sing or perform because everything was shut down. I also didn’t have a strong social media presence and wasn’t focusing on selling my work online.

Something positive did come out of it, though: I took the time to write my album In My Garden, collaborating with producers overseas and producing it online. I even signed with Virgin Records. But then things took a downturn—my contract and collaboration with the label fell through due to Covid, as funds were redirected to more urgent matters (like saving the jobs of their employees).

I was also supposed to open for Dido in her big return to the stage for the anniversary of her career. Just when it seemed we were emerging from the shadow of Covid, I wasn’t confirmed for the tour due to safety concerns, as they were reducing staff involvement as much as possible.

I lost my father.

Those were terrible years for me. I suffered extreme, unspeakable pain, and it felt like everything was crumbling around me. I felt alone, lost, disposable, and completely heartbroken.

Painting my pain away in my London apartment.

In addition to all that, London after the lockdown felt unrecognizable to me. Everything had become insanely expensive, and it seemed like no one knew how to be together anymore, adding a dystopian vibe to a city already known for not being the friendliest. Before, I never found London unfriendly or cold, but at that time, it no longer spoke to me.

I lost the apartment I adored because the rent skyrocketed and the landlord wanted more than I could afford—I hadn’t worked for months because of Covid! I had to find another place and ended up in a council apartment in Greenwich. The area was fantastic, a dream, but the neighbors? Not so much. But that’s a story for another time.

And then my agent, that saint of a man, told me about this island—Madeira. A friend of his had an apartment there, and he said it was a place where nature reigns, a place I would probably love. He suggested I go there for a few days, see if I could spend a month on the island to recharge, find myself again, and eventually return to London.

And so I did. The flight was cheap, and I soon landed on the island.

The first time I arrived on the island I saw all this.

Curious to know how it went and how do I survive as a full-time artist on an island?

Part 2 is coming soon.

B.