Arches, Warehouses, and Word of Mouth: Where Brighton's Creatives Are Actually Working in 2024

Ask a Brighton artist where they work and you'll rarely get a straightforward answer. It might be the back half of a storage unit in Hollingbury. A railway arch tucked behind Hove station that used to house a car mechanic. A corner of a friend's warehouse in Portslade, negotiated over a couple of pints and a handshake. The city's creative community has always been resourceful, but in 2024, that resourcefulness is being tested like never before.

Rents are up. Dedicated arts spaces are shrinking. And the glossy creative quarter that Brighton likes to project to the outside world is increasingly at odds with the reality facing the painters, sculptors, ceramicists, jewellers, and independent designers who actually make it what it is. So where are they going? We went looking.

Why the Traditional Routes Are Closing Off

It's worth being honest about how we got here. Brighton has a genuinely strong history of subsidised creative workspace — organisations like the Artist-Led Initiative and various council-backed schemes have provided affordable studios for decades. But funding pressures, rising property values, and the constant temptation to convert creative space into more lucrative residential or commercial use have steadily eaten into that provision.

The result is a waiting list culture. Many of Brighton's most established studio collectives have queues stretching into years, not months. New artists arriving in the city — or local makers finally ready to graduate from a spare bedroom — find themselves locked out of the very infrastructure that made Brighton's creative reputation in the first place.

Commercial lettings, meanwhile, are rarely designed with artists in mind. Standard office or retail leases come with break clauses, service charges, and upward-only rent reviews that make long-term creative projects almost impossible to plan around. It's a structural mismatch that's pushing people towards unconventional solutions.

The Railway Arch Revival

If you want a snapshot of where Brighton's makers are landing in 2024, start under the tracks. Railway arches — those brick-vaulted spaces that run beneath the city's elevated rail lines — have become some of the most sought-after unconventional workspaces in the city. They're robust, characterful, and often cheaper per square foot than equivalent commercial space nearby.

Network Rail manages a significant chunk of these arches nationally, and their commercial arm (now operating under the Telereal Trillium portfolio) lets many of them directly. Prices vary enormously depending on location and size, but arches in less central spots — around Hove, Portslade, or the less fashionable stretches of the London Road corridor — can still represent genuine value for artists who need height, ventilation, and the ability to make noise without neighbours complaining.

Sculptor and fabricator Dom Reeves has been working out of an arch near Hove station for three years. "It took me about eighteen months to find it," he says. "It's not advertised anywhere obvious. Someone in a pub told me there was a vacancy, I emailed the right person, and somehow it worked out. The heating is basically non-existent in winter, but the space is incredible — I can work on large-scale pieces without worrying about the ceiling."

The lesson Dom draws from his experience is one that comes up repeatedly in conversations with Brighton creatives: the best spaces rarely appear on Rightmove. They circulate through networks, WhatsApp groups, and the kind of informal knowledge-sharing that happens when a community looks after its own.

Warehouse Collectives and Shared Arrangements

Further out from the city centre, industrial units in Portslade, Moulsecoomb, and the New England Quarter offer a different kind of opportunity. These spaces weren't built for artists — they were built for logistics, light manufacturing, and storage — but they're increasingly being repurposed by creative collectives who pool resources to make the economics work.

The model is simple enough: a group of makers takes on a lease jointly, divides the space according to need, and shares the overhead. It requires trust, clear agreements, and someone willing to be the named tenant on the lease (which carries its own responsibilities), but when it works, it creates something genuinely valuable — a community of practice as much as a shared rent bill.

Textile artist and printmaker Sasha Okonkwo helped set up one such collective in a Portslade unit two years ago. The space now houses eight makers across disciplines ranging from ceramics to furniture restoration. "The key was getting the agreement right from the start," she says. "We drafted a simple document covering how costs are split, what happens if someone leaves, and how decisions get made. It's not a legal document exactly, but it means everyone's clear. We've had one person leave and it was fine — we just found someone new through our network."

Sasha's advice for anyone trying to replicate the model: don't underestimate the importance of compatible working styles. "We're not just sharing space — we're sharing the experience of being in that space every day. You need people who respect each other's noise levels, tidiness standards, all of that. It sounds obvious, but it matters."

Storage Units: The Unexpected Studio

Here's one that might raise an eyebrow: self-storage units. Not as a permanent studio, but as a practical supplement to a smaller working space — or, in some cases, as a surprisingly functional workspace in their own right.

Brighton has a healthy spread of storage facilities, and some artists are using them creatively. A unit can provide secure, accessible space for materials, finished work, or bulky equipment that simply won't fit in a flat or shared studio. For photographers, it might mean storing backdrops, lighting rigs, and props. For sculptors, it could mean somewhere to keep works in progress without cluttering a living space.

Some storage providers in and around Brighton are open to discussion about how their spaces are used — it's worth asking directly whether a unit can be used for light creative work rather than pure storage. Terms vary, and you'll want to check insurance implications carefully, but it's a more flexible option than many people realise.

Negotiating Your Way Into a Space

Whatever type of space you're pursuing, a few principles hold across almost every scenario.

Be specific about what you need. Landlords and space managers respond better to clear, concrete proposals than vague expressions of interest. Tell them what you do, how you'll use the space, what hours you'll be there, and what (if any) modifications you'd need.

Understand what you're signing. Even informal arrangements benefit from a written heads of terms — a simple document outlining rent, notice periods, and responsibilities. If you're joining an existing collective, ask to see their existing agreement before committing.

Think about permitted use. Commercial leases specify what a space can be used for, and using a unit for purposes outside its permitted use can create problems — with your landlord, with planning authorities, or with your insurer. If you're converting a storage unit into a working studio, check whether that's within the terms of your agreement.

Build your network before you need it. The best spaces in Brighton circulate through word of mouth. Get involved with local creative communities — Brighton Open Houses, the Artist-Led Initiative, local craft fairs — before you're desperately searching. The lead time on a good tip can be months.

Brighton's Creative Future Is DIY

There's something both inspiring and slightly exhausting about the lengths Brighton's artists go to in order to keep working. The ingenuity is real — these are people who've turned industrial units, railway arches, and storage facilities into genuinely productive creative environments. But it shouldn't all fall on individuals to solve what is, at heart, a structural problem with how the city values creative work.

For now, though, the DIY spirit is alive and finding corners of Brighton that most people don't even know exist. If you're a maker looking for space, the answer probably isn't on a property portal. It's in a conversation with someone who already knows.