In a world where the news is mostly bad, where reality often feels harsher than imagination, art remains one of the most profound forms of survival. Faced with a toxic reality marked by collective trauma, social media overload, and political and climate crises, art becomes a space for healing.

It is no coincidence that in the darkest times, people have always turned to creativity. On canvas, in film, in poetry, in theater — we seek not only to escape reality, but to take a part of it and transform it. While art cannot solve everything, it allows us to live with the unsolvable. At least for a while. And sometimes, that is more than enough.

But what happens when art itself begins to tire us as creators?

For many artists and cultural workers, especially in the Kosovar context, summer is not only the season of cultural festivals, but also the season of overload, endless work hours and constant pressure to create “magic” under minimal conditions. Festivals like Anibar, EtnoFest, DokuFest, HAPU, FemArt, and many others are the cultural heartbeat of the Kosovar summer, bringing our cities to life for a few days.

Yet behind the scenes, an exhausting reality often prevails: volunteers working non-stop, artists traveling at their own expense, organizers emotionally drained as they struggle to make something happen without adequate institutional support. Ironically, the very spaces meant to heal society can end up harming those who create them.

Many festival organizers and artists in Kosovo know the feeling that sets in as soon as the party is over: the halls empty, the streets fall silent, but body and mind are left in ruins. It is a lingering exhaustion, invisible from the outside. The audience only sees the smiles, the stage lights, the bursts of energy — but not the sleepless nights, the pressure to ensure nothing goes wrong, the small talk that must be managed with a smile.

This exhaustion is a form of creative burnout. After weeks or months of pouring out every ounce of energy and imagination, many artists find themselves drained. They lose the desire to create, feel disconnected from their work, and often begin to question their abilities or self-worth. For some, it takes a physical toll: insomnia, anxiety, minor illnesses caused by accumulated fatigue. Many describe it as a terrifying silence inside the mind, where not even the smallest idea has space to be born. And sometimes, this silence lingers for months after the festival ends.

Often, this exhaustion hides behind a festival smile, unacknowledged, as artists convince themselves they are simply “burning out” in the name of passion or love for art. In a system that undervalues artistic work — both financially and emotionally — many fall into the trap of self-sacrifice.

To truly support artists through creative burnout and honor their love for art, we must build a culture where creative work is not taken for granted or treated as temporary, but is institutionally supported, fairly paid, where time off is respected and where emotional support is offered to those who keep this ecosystem alive.

We must normalize saying: “I’m tired. I need help. I can’t do it all.” Burnout should not be glorified as passion. Only then can art remain a space of healing rather than exhaustion. Art has the power to sustain us — but only if we take care of those who create it.

This is not a criticism of festivals; on the contrary, they are among the most valuable oases of cultural life in Kosovo. But no festival is worth the health of the people who make it possible. If we want festivals to survive and remain true spaces of healing, we must begin to talk about care: for ourselves and for one another in the cultural sector. This is not a luxury, but a necessity. Only then can art remain what it is meant to be: a genuine space of healing, for everyone.

Feature image: A painting from Alsea Ymeri.

This blog was published with the financial support of the European Union as part of the project “Informed Democracy: Promoting a Diverse and Sustainable Media Ecosystem”. Its contents are the sole responsibility of Kosovo 2.0 and do not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union.

Want to support our journalism? Become a member of HIVE or consider making a donation. Learn more here.