Disabled Artists Deserve More Than Just Access—They Need Real Opportunities

What's Missing in Inclusion

When I first heard about the growing number of disabled artists making waves in Bristol, I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. This city has always prided itself on being progressive, and it's heartening to see that sentiment reflected in its cultural offerings. But here's what I've come to realize: access is one thing, opportunities are another.

Take Cathy Mager, for instance—she's not just navigating the art world with a deafness that often means her work gets pigeonholed as 'special interest' or 'diversity content.' Instead, she's creating immersive installations that challenge the very definition of public space. Her project Spectroscope, which started with a simple projection on a neighbor's house during lockdown, has grown into something far more ambitious—a platform for disabled artists to collaborate, share stories, and build careers.

"Most arts organisations are committed to accessibility but there's a difference between access and showing work by deaf and disabled people," Mager told me.

Mager's words struck me like a punch in the gut. Because while many institutions may offer wheelchair ramps, captioned events, or sign language interpreters, few seem ready to invest in the artistic potential of disabled creators themselves. We're still asking the wrong question: How do we make the system accessible? We should be asking: How do we empower those who already live within it to create and thrive?

The Real Problem Is Leadership

This is a critical issue, and I believe it stems from one simple fact: There's a noticeable lack of leadership from within the disabled community in these spaces. We've seen so many wonderful initiatives emerge, but they're often led by allies or administrators who, though well-meaning, may not fully understand what it means to be an artist with a disability.

That's why I was thrilled to meet Raquel Meseguer Zafe, whose journey from dancer to performance artist is nothing short of inspiring. She's been working with chronic pain for years and found that traditional artistic environments—where standing all day and moving nonstop are expected—weren't compatible with her life.

So she did what any creative person would do: she redefined the parameters. Her project A Crash Course in Cloudspotting invited audiences to lie down together, listening to audio of disabled people's experiences. It's a quiet revolution, really—an invitation to rest, to connect, and to see accessibility not as a barrier but as an artistic choice.

Music That Breaks Barriers

And then there's Jess Douek, frontwoman of the alternative metal band Mallavora. Her story is a powerful testament to how innovation in touring and event planning can open up new possibilities for disabled musicians. Fibromyalgia made conventional touring impossible for her, but rather than giving up, she and her band restructured their approach—hiring support staff, choosing accessible venues, and even designing custom seating for performances.

Douek recently secured funding to build Bristol's first fully-accessible grassroots music venue. It's a dream project, one that will allow emerging disabled artists to experience the same rite of passage that most musicians take for granted: getting your name out there through live shows and networking opportunities.

But despite these promising steps forward, systemic issues remain. As Raquel noted, cuts to the government's Access to Work grants have made it harder for disabled artists to afford basic necessities like transport or support workers—a stark reminder that access is only as good as the infrastructure that supports it.

The Need for Cultural Infrastructure

What I'm hearing from these three artists is clear: there's an urgent need to shift our perspective on inclusion. It's no longer enough to simply say, “We're welcoming,” when we really mean, “We've made some accommodations.” What we need are intentional systems that ensure disabled artists aren't relegated to the margins—but instead, become central figures in shaping our cultural future.

I think of the Watershed and Arnolfini, which have been trailblazers in this area by providing beanbags, yoga mats, and even resting spaces during performances. These aren't small gestures; they're symbolic acts of care that signal a commitment beyond compliance. Yet these are exceptions rather than norms.

For the sake of creativity, diversity, and real representation, I believe our city—and cities everywhere—need to do better. Not just by making things easier for disabled people, but by ensuring they have platforms, resources, and voices that shape how those spaces evolve.

Looking Forward

If there's one thing this story taught me, it's that the future of arts in Bristol—and indeed, across the UK—isn't about tokenism or feel-good accessibility programs. It's about building a culture where disabled artists aren't just present—they're leading.

So as we move into 2027 and beyond, I'll be watching closely to see whether these artists get the opportunities they deserve. Because if Bristol can lead the way in truly inclusive creativity, then maybe we can all begin to see how art itself can become a tool for healing, connection, and empowerment.

And honestly? That's something worth celebrating every single day.