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Why Ireland's Basic Income for the Arts program is just the first step in better supporting the country's artists.

In 2022, visual artist Elinor O’Donovan was working as a receptionist in Cork, Ireland, when she began to receive the Basic Income for the Arts (BIA) stipend. The Irish government had launched the program that year as a way to address the country’s unstable arts sector, which had left many artists without job security and consistent financial earnings—O’Donovan included. At the time she applied, she'd just graduated from university and was living with her parents as she tried to figure out the next steps for her career. When she found out she’d been selected from a pool of over 9,000 other applicants for the BIA, it was life-changing. As one of 2,000 artists receiving a weekly income of €325 over a three-year period, O’Donovan was able to quit her job and move to Dublin to make art full-time. 

“The BIA has allowed me to be a bit more brave with the stuff that I make,” she tells The Conversationalist. “It allowed me to make whatever I want, and not feel as if I have to justify why it's important to a funding body.” 

According to a cost-benefit analysis published by the Department of Culture, Communications and Sport last September, the BIA has been a resounding success for beneficiaries, and Irish society at large. The report revealed that recipients were able to dedicate an additional four hours per week to art-making, and that the program “strengthened artists’ professional autonomy, capacity for creative work, and attachment to the arts sector.” Moreover, for every €1 of public money invested in the pilot, the country received €1.39 in return—a value that accounts for an increase in earnings generated from art-making as well as an increase in public engagement with the arts. In short: Giving money to artists, with no strings attached, was demonstrably profitable.  

For O’Donovan, income from the BIA not only gave her more time to make art, but provided her with newfound financial stability, something that affected every part of her life. She had more time to cook for herself, joined a gym, and for the first time, was able to afford to go to therapy. She was also finally able to plan for the future. 

“I was 26 when I started receiving [the BIA], and I was able to start a pension fund,” she says. “Just having that fallback [was a relief], knowing that I would receive an income no matter what happened; if I got sick, I would still be able to pay my bills, pay my rent. It has really been transformative for my well-being.”

Importantly, the BIA has also allowed her to create opportunities for other artists: O’Donovan’s ability to explore filmmaking, something she was afforded because of the stipend, meant she could create new jobs in the field. “Having financial stability from the basic income means that I've been able to hire other people to work with me,” O’Donovan says. “So there's even been a kind of trickle down of the basic income to other artists and other creatives in Ireland.” 

For artists around the world, the program has also offered one hopeful potential solution for a global arts sector severely hit with funding cuts and political uncertainties over the last few years. But while things have taken a recent downturn, the financial instability of the arts has been a major problem for decades, if not centuries, something that likely explains the growing admiration for the BIA around the world.

In a capitalist society, creative work is not valued as a productive or profitable field, which often means that artists are being underpaid for their work, if they’re paid at all. Creativity and art-making require passion and time, two resources that are generally scarce in an economic system more concerned with profit than beauty. Often, this forces workers to abandon or sideline their creative work in favor of taking a non-creative job that will provide financial stability. But a program like the BIA provides an alternative model, giving artists the financial foundation to create without the stress of figuring out how they will pay their rent or bills. 

Joining other basic income pilot programs around the world, the BIA demonstrates that providing workers with financial stability first allows them to thrive, increasing a country’s worker satisfaction, contributing to better mental health, and resulting in higher housing stability, by supporting people pursuing their preferred fields of work

Even the program’s most ardent supporters, however, argue that the BIA is only the start of a more stable arts field. In Ireland, the arts generate €1.5 billion in income each year, but according to Praxis, the artists’ union of Ireland, artists still face “extremely challenging economic conditions.” In an open letter published in September, the group cited that 50.7% of artists in Ireland still live in Enforced Deprivation, compared to 15.7% of the general population. (The Irish Central Statistics Office defines Enforced Deprivation as when a household experiences two or more of 11 national deprivation items, such as being unable to replace worn out furniture, or being unable to afford a drink or a meal with friends once a month.) The BIA, then, should be seen as just the first step in a bigger effort to make the industry more sustainable. 

“It has always been precarious,” writer, editor, and Praxis policy director Michaele Cutaya tells The Conversationalist. “I've never managed to make a living off just my art income, [and] my situation, my difficulties, are not isolated instances.” As a union representative, Cutaya helped advise the government on the BIA’s design; but despite its success, she emphasizes that the country still has a long way to go. 

“Quite a large part of the economy relies on the work of artists,” she says, citing the profit the arts brings to the hospitality sector in Dublin as one example. But very little money generated by the arts sector actually goes to artists, a discrepancy that continues to grow despite the BIA. In the last three years, work opportunities have diminished throughout the sector, a trend worrying to union leadership and artists alike. “Access to public funding remains the main source of income for artists, mainly through the Arts Council,” Cutaya continues. “[But] I find that the number of chances of getting your work selected has gone down because essentially there seems to be a lot more people applying [to public funding].”

This may explain why some are concerned that the BIA will become “the shiny object” of policies, while other issues in the sector go ignored, like unregulated pay, the use of AI, and the still-growing lack of opportunities.

“There's a lot of issues and they’re not doing much about it,” says actor Christophe Lombardi, who was in the control group of the BIA pilot program, where he received one yearly payment of €650 as compensation for participating, rather than the weekly stipend of €325. (The results of Lombardi’s control group were used so researchers could better understand how the BIA helps artists over a longer period of time, in comparison with those not receiving it.)  

Emphasizing other issues he would like to see addressed, Lombardi points to Gayanne Potter, a voice actor whose voice was used without permission by ScotRail to create AI-generated platform announcements in Scotland. “We are facing all the [same] problems [in Ireland]. So I don't want [the government] to use the BIA as an excuse to pretend to help the artists, but behind the scenes, not [do] anything about the rest of the issues.” 

Last April, the Irish Creative Industries Forum (ICIF) wrote to the Irish government requesting measures for the protection of artists from AI, and the enforcement of copyright infringement laws against the misuse of the technology. As of yet, however, the government has yet to implement any AI regulation policies in response. 

Still, there is a widespread recognition that the BIA is a net positive, and can and should be used to help address many of the existing issues in the industry. In its letter, the ICIF requested that the BIA be extended to artists affected by job loss caused by AI. Across Ireland, unionized artists are currently campaigning for the BIA’s permanent expansion. “It does make a difference, obviously,” Lombardi says. “Because it's hard to stay creative, to keep things going, while you can't keep a roof over your head. There was [an] upswing in mental health—everything's better.”

In Praxis’ open letter, the union demanded for the program’s extension for an indefinite period of time, and for the income to be indexed to inflation. Additionally, the union urged the government to expand eligibility to include previously omitted art forms, like performance artists, socially-engaged artists, craftspeople, and designers. 

Arguing that the BIA pays for itself in economic returns, Praxis warns this expansion should not come at the expense of other arts agencies, which also deserve resources, attention, and support. “The arts sector needs more funding, not less,” the letter reads. 

O’Donovan agrees. Given her experience, she says the BIA should be one part of a “bigger ecosystem” that helps the arts sector thrive, and allows artists to be fairly compensated for their work. “I think what people don't understand about being an artist is how much work you do that goes unpaid,” she says. “Having the basic income means that I'm still able to live and I'm still able to work.” 

The pilot program was originally set to end in December 2025, but has now been extended to February 2026. From September 2026, it will be a permanent program in the country, although the government has not defined eligibility criteria or the number of recipients moving forward. In an email to The Conversationalist, a spokesperson for the Department of Culture, Communications and Sport writes that “details such as the duration, eligibility and selection method… have not yet been decided.” 

Cutaya says, so far, they’ve also been left in the dark about the expanded program’s specifics, something especially concerning because, while the program was initially launched under a progressive coalition government, the current government is conservative. “We know very little at this stage,” Cutaya says, but adds that Praxis is holding out hope their input will be taken into consideration as the program evolves. 

This lack of transparency has also left current BIA recipients in the dark, unsure of how they will support themselves in the gap between February and September. “Realistically I'll just have to start working again,” O’Donovan says. “It feels like a shame. I'm really grateful to have had these three years where I've been able to work full-time as an artist because very few people who aren't on the basic income can afford that.” 

Reflecting on how public arts funding is the first to be cut during economic hardship, Lombardi wishes that society at large would recognize the inherent value of artists’ labor for the mental health and wellbeing of the general population. “Imagine life without art,” Lombardi says, pointing to how artists played a key role in keeping people sane during the pandemic. “Imagine for six months, there is no art. You can't watch stuff, you can't read stuff, you can't go out and see stuff. You can't sing, there's no music, there's nothing. The only thing is work and sports. That's it. The decrease in mental health would be astounding, people would go around the bend.” 

Having access to the most basic resources to be able to live while working in your preferred profession shouldn’t be a privilege for the few: Everyone deserves what the BIA has provided to artists for the last three years. But as too many places proverbially edge closer to the dystopia Lombardi describes, the BIA might be seen as a place to begin to reimagine how we value and fund the arts moving forward. Whether it’s an album, a painting, a play, a movie, a live band—whatever your preferred mode of expression—the arts remind us of the wonders of life, forcing us to see the beauty in between work shifts and growth indicators. Fair pay to the workers who deliver those reminders to the general population, then, is urgent; otherwise, we risk a world without fascination. The findings of the BIA pilot reveal the systemic flaws of how society treats its artists, and beyond the stipend, point to more hopeful solutions on the path to a world where art and artists are truly valued.

[post_title] => Painting a More Hopeful Future [post_excerpt] => Why Ireland's Basic Income for the Arts program is just the first step in better supporting the country's artists. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => hope-week-universal-basic-income-for-the-arts-artists-ireland [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2026-08-03 21:01:29 [post_modified_gmt] => 2026-08-03 21:01:29 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://conversationalist.org/?p=9937 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )
A two-panel illustration of a person with a flower head; in the first, the bud is closed, and in the second, the flower is in bloom.

Painting a More Hopeful Future

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    [post_content] => One of the world's most financially successful singers is a recluse who never performs, rarely gives interviews, and declines to play the role of a celebrity.

Enya, the Irish singer-musician, is perhaps one of the most mocked and memed artists of our time. Her body of work is often dismissed as New Age, a label she has disavowed. To many, her songs are the aural equivalent of astrology: mystical and fun, but lacking substance. Familiar tracks like “Only Time” provide ambience at yoga retreats, LARPs, facials, and tarot card readings. The singer has a reputation for being a bit of a recluse, rarely making public appearances or granting interviews. Music critics often offer muted or grudging praise for her albums, but they don’t take her seriously. I, however, love Enya—and not ironically.

When I was growing up, my dad often assumed the role of school chauffeur and minivan DJ. His taste was (and remains) eclectic; during those drives, he played everything from The Moody Blues, to German musical project Enigma, to ambient techno from the now-defunct 90s website mp3.com. Enya was always on heavy rotation and, as a result, still occupies a special place in my heart and on my Spotify playlists. 

My deep affection for Enya's music is rooted in more than just nostalgic childhood memories. Her ethereal songs are a testament to the worth of gentleness and beauty, qualities that have historically been categorized as feminine and, therefore, of little value. In a world where obsessive fans have endangered the lives of female musicians, her choice to live a private life is a salutary example; setting boundaries is an act of self-preservation and an empowering choice, not necessarily an eccentric one. It is also a mute but radical demonstration that professional success as a musician can be achieved without living the life of a celebrity, perpetually in the spotlight. As one of the best-selling artists in the world, Enya shows us there is another way to achieve wealth and fame.

Born Eithne Pádraigín Ní Bhraonáin, Enya began her music career singing with Clannad, her family’s award-winning Irish music band. In 1982, she became a solo artist in partnership with Nicky Ryan, who she met when he was Clannad’s sound engineer, and his wife Roma, a lyricist; they remain her creative team to this day. The three began experimenting with looping harmonies, eventually creating what is now Enya’s signature layered sound. Unless otherwise noted in song credits, Enya performs all the vocals for her music and plays all the instruments. Known for her facility with languages, she has recorded songs in Gaelic, Latin, Japanese, and Sindarin—the latter an Elvish language invented by J.R.R. Tolkien.

The music industry tends to expect that female artists will offer up their private lives for public consumption, but Enya refuses to play the celebrity game. Instead she lives alone in Manderley Castle, the Dublin-area Victorian mansion named for the house in Daphne Du Maurier's novel Rebecca. She never tours, rarely performs, and spends years crafting each album.

[caption id="attachment_1601" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Manderley Castle, Enya's mansion in Killiney.[/caption]

On the rare occasions she sits for interviews, Enya frequently points out that fame and success are not synonymous. In a 2015 profile for BuzzFeed she notes, “There’s no rulebook that says, ‘Your music is successful; you must now become famous.’” She remains unwaveringly committed to the integrity of her music, and isn’t afraid to say “no” to even the most tempting offers. She famously declined to compose the score for “Titanic,” and turned down an invitation to speak at Harvard. In an interview for The Irish Times, she explains, “I just did things that I wanted to do.”

Rooted in Celtic, classical, folk, and choral traditions, Enya’s music has a timeless quality. I can imagine someone cleansing a room with sage and crystals to "The Memory of Trees" in 2020 as easily as I can channel the image of fourteenth-century women singing the Gaelic lyrics of "Ebudæ" while dancing in a misty green field. Enya’s body of work is both beautiful and deeply, wonderfully weird. 

Despite her refusal to play the role of celebrity, Enya is by all objective standards a superstar. She is one of the best-selling musicians in the world, surpassing even Nirvana in album sales. She’s a four-time Grammy Award winner, and has been nominated for an Academy Award and a Golden Globe. The eclectic range of artists who have sampled her music include The Fugees, Panda Bear, Diddy, and Meek Mill; her music has provided the soundtracks for countless commercials and movies, and inspired artists from Weyes Blood to Nicki Minaj. Enya’s music has spent over five years in the number one spot on the Top New Age Albums chart. (Check it out, she’s still there.) 

“There isn't another modern artist who can stay holed up with her cats in her castle (next door to Bono's!) watching “Breaking Bad” and still sell 23.8 million albums in the United States alone,” writes Melissa Locker in a profile for NPR. In 2017, VICE described her as “a musician capable of selling the unsellable”—spiritual, synth-infused choral music. In a 1989 review in the Orlando Sentinel, Bill Henderson describes Enya’s music “as light as a whisper, yet as strong as a scream.” The Irish musician has become an unlikely music industry powerhouse on her own terms, according to her own rules. 

So why are similarly reclusive male musicians, like Leonard Cohen, or those who are “eccentric,” like David Bowie, or genre-bending, like Brian Eno, respected as artists, while she is not? 

In a searing 2000 review, Entertainment Weekly summarized  "A Day Without Rain," her fifth album, as “New Age nonsense," adding: “Unless you’re bound in an herbal body wrap, there’s simply no acceptable reason to listen” it. According to the reviewer for Rolling Stone, “The Irish-multi-instrumentalist-singer-composer's skill at ephemeral sonic watercolors has grown wearisome.” In 1989, The Los Angeles Times panned Enya’s second album, "Watermark," calling it “a portentous pastiche,” and dismissively referring to her as a “young chanteuse.” According to critics, Enya’s music is “too much,” and yet not substantive enough. Her talent is pretentious and tiring. Her success is baffling. Her songs are strange, but not in a cool way. (Siri, play “The Man” by Taylor Swift.)

For his film “Eighth Grade," director Bo Burnham uses "Orinoco Flow" (Sail away, sail away, sail away) as a poignant commentary on the swirling emotions of a socially anxious, lonely 13 year-old girl seeking the acceptance of her peers in the Instagram generation. Burnham feels the singer has been unjustifiably maligned. "We’ve been trained by countless commercials and Will Ferrell movies to find the retro needle-drop inherently funny,” he tells Vulture's Sean O'Neal. In "Eighth Grade," Burnham sets out to redeem "Orinoco Flow," a song he loves without irony. The treatment of Enya’s music in popular culture has clearly warped our collective ability to take it seriously, but Burnham remembers that as a child, Enya’s music made him “feel bigger than [he] was...deeper and more exciting.” I can relate.



The dual nature of Enya’s work is part of what makes it both hard to pin down and special. Are her songs beautiful, technical, and emotive? Or are they hilarious in their hyper-seriousness? The answer is, they are both.

“Derry Girls,” a comedy about a group of high school friends in 1990s Northern Ireland, channels these diverse elements of Enya’s music to great effect. “Caribbean Blue” opens and closes Season Two: In the first episode: a drone camera pans over Ireland’s iconic green hills and its urban rooftops, showing heavily armed British soldiers in armored personnel carriers, demonstrators throwing molotov cocktails, and walls covered in Irish nationalist graffiti; meanwhile we hear Erin, one of the protagonists, delivering a dramatic and very clichéd monologue about peace—and then the camera reveals she’s speaking from the bathtub. Here, the function of Enya’s music is to add humor—a comically solemn soundtrack to highlight the heroine’s sense of self-importance. 



The same song sets the mood for a serious moment in the season finale, when the girls stand sullenly in a cheering crowd, unable to join in celebrating President Bill Clinton’s visit to their town because their friend James is moving back to England. “Caribbean Blue” grows louder as one of the girls spots James, who has decided to stay; the song drowns out the crowd’s cheers, and the girls run to embrace their friend: If all you told was turned to gold, if all you dreamed was new… The song that provided comedy in the first episode of the season signals earnestness in the final one. Enya’s music is no longer the butt of the joke; it’s serious.

When I listen to Enya, I hear the sound of a woman in control, undaunted by those who underestimate her. Her delicate, ethereal songs affirm that in softness, there is power.
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Enya: Icon of radical softness