Dan le Man: Field Notes

Lessons from 20+ years on stage and in startup rooms. What works, what doesn't, and why it matters, no guru stuff.

Let me be clear from the start: we artists aren't inherently bad at business. I say that because I am living proof of that myself.

And just look at some obvious examples of the absolute contrary, Andy Warhol to mention a huge one. Or take Circus du Soleil a bunch of street performing stilt walkers, jugglers and fire breathers. Bad at business? Clearly not. 

Artists are not less intelligent, less capable, or less strategic than anyone else trying to build a sustainable career.

But the system they're operating in?

The system that educates them?

That system might just be designed to keep them bad at business.

And until we talk honestly about why, nothing changes.

1. Lack of Career Planning

When I graduated from circus school, I had no idea what I wanted to do.

We did our final showcase. There were bookers and producers in the audience. I even got one offer to perform at a circus the following summer.

Great. Except it was September. The offer was for the next summer. That meant I had an entire winter to get through with no work, no plan, and no money.

I was already out of the building. Bags packed. Boom. Bye-bye.

And I realized: Oh shit. I need to pay rent. I need to eat. I need to survive.

So I said yes to every gig I could get. And none of those yeses helped me achieve anything resembling a career. They just kept me afloat.

Eventually, I got comfortable. I was making money. But I still didn't know what I actually wanted.

Most artists don't.

They have big, broad, brush-stroked dreams: "I want to change the world."

Okay. How? What does that look like? What are the steps? What are the indicators of success?

Crickets.

Because nobody taught them to think like that. Nobody taught them career planning. Nobody taught them to break big goals into small, graduated steps.

So they try to take giant leaps immediately after graduating. Big budgets. Big shows. Big funding.

And when it doesn't work, they blame the system, the gatekeepers, the lack of opportunities.

But the real problem is they don't know where they're going.

2. Business Skills Are Ignored at University Level

Most artists graduate with zero business education.

Not "a little bit." Not "the basics." Zero.

I've spoken to people who run arts universities, people in positions of real power and influence, and they've told me directly: "It's not our responsibility to prepare performers with business education. Our job is to teach them how to make a show. Not how to sell it."

Read that again.

They will spend three years teaching someone to create something extraordinary. Then they'll push them off a cliff with no map, no plan, and no understanding of how to turn that skill into a livelihood.

And when those graduates struggle? When they can't pay rent? When they give up after two years because they can't figure out how to get work?

The institutions shrug and say, "Not our problem."

This design of education is institutional negligence dressed up as artistic purity.

Not everyone does it like this, if you read last week’s newsletter you know that already.

But too many do.

3. "Business" Is a Toxic Word in the Arts

Here's the third problem: even if someone tried to teach business skills in arts education, half the students might reject it outright.

Because in the arts world, business has sinister connotations.

Talk about making money from your art, and suddenly you're not a "real artist" anymore. You're entertainment. You're commercial. You've sold out.

The purist ideal is that you should be free to create without the distraction of financial viability or success. That caring about money contradicts what it means to be an artist.

"I'm not a capitalist. I'm an artist. I'm not part of this world."

Fine. But let me ask you this: Do you use the health service? Do you expect roads to be maintained? Do you benefit from public infrastructure?

Because all of that is funded by taxes. Taxes that come from people making money and contributing to the economy.

So you can perform your show for seven people once a year, funded by a grant you applied for, and tell yourself you're above capitalism.

But you're not. You're just living off someone else's labor while contributing nothing back.

Here's the uncomfortable truth: the artists who think business is toxic are usually the ones living entirely on subsidies.

The ones who've figured out how to be entrepreneurial? They're the ones getting no funding and no recognition.

And that's backwards.

4. It's Easier to Blame Someone Else

Artists, tend to play the victim whilst posing as hero.

"The world is a horrible place. The system is broken. I'm going to change the world with my art."

No, you're not.

Because changing the world requires understanding how the world works. And if you're spending all your energy blaming other people for your lack of success, you're not in control of anything.

I get it. The system isn't ideal. The funding structures are broken. The gatekeepers are biased. The industry is unfair.

All of that is true.

But you're still here. On this little rock hurtling through space. With a limited amount of time to make an impact.

So you can spend that time complaining about how things should be different, or you can take control of what you can actually control: how you position yourself, how you communicate your work, who you build relationships with, and what opportunities you say yes or no to.

These are all issues we tackle head on inside the Creative Combinator.

Taking responsibility is hard. Blaming someone else is easy.

Many choose easy.

5. Funding Mechanisms Reward Creation, Not Sustainability

Here's how arts funding works in most of Europe (and honestly, most of the world):

You apply for a residency program. You get accepted. Over the course of a year or two, you do four residencies in four beautiful cities across Europe. You're paid to create. You're given space, time, support.

You develop your show. You perform it three times.

Nobody picks it up. It doesn't tour. It doesn't make money. But you've fulfilled your contractual obligation, so that's fine.

What do you do next?

You go back and apply for funding to create a new show.

Because that's where the money is. In residencies. In creation grants. In development funding.

There's no funding for touring. No funding for marketing. No expectation that the money invested should ever see a return.

The entire system is designed to produce work that nobody sees.

And that's a tragedy.

Because having a great show is not that difficult. Having an extraordinary show, a one-percenter that changes everything, yes, that's hard.

But having a show that's good enough for people to pay to see? Not difficult.

The reason people don't get bums in seats isn't because their shows are bad. It's because nobody knows their shows exist.

And there's no support, financial or educational, to help artists understand that marketing, visibility, and audience-building are just as important as the work itself.

The funding model should work like a startup accelerator: "Here's £5,000. Make it work. You're not getting more."

Instead, it works like this: "Here's £5,000 to make a show. Please ask us again in six months when you want to make a completely different show with the same company."

That doesn't build careers. It builds dependency.

The Way Forward

None of this is the artists' fault.

But it is their responsibility.

If the institutions won't teach you business, teach yourself. If the funding system is broken, stop relying on it. If you don't have a career plan, make one.

And if you believe your art deserves to be seen, if you genuinely think it can change the world, then treat it like it matters.

Market it. Promote it. Get it in front of people. Build the skills you need to make it sustainable, and that is exactly what the Creative Combinator is for.

Because creating something extraordinary and then letting only 100 people see it for your entire life isn't noble.

It's disrespectful to your own work.

Business for the Culturally Bold,
Dan le Man

Ready to build a sustainable career?

If you're an artist, performer, or creative professional trying to figure out how to turn your work into a livelihood, or if you're preparing to pitch, speak, or communicate your ideas in high-stakes moments, book a 15-minute discovery call.

No guru stuff. Just practical tools to help you take control.