The 2024 festival seemed to heed that advice. The most talked-about piece was Three Generations of Grit , a photo-text installation by Portsmouth-born photographer Jade Okito. Hung in the waiting room of a working laundrette, the series documented her mother, grandmother, and herself—three women who worked at the dockyard, the call center, and the care home respectively. It was political, raw, and deeply local. It also had a queue around the block. Beyond the discourse, the numbers are compelling. A 2023 economic impact assessment found that PAF generated £1.2 million for the local economy—not through ticket sales (most events are pay-what-you-can), but through secondary spending. Visitors fill hotels, eat at Southsea’s independent restaurants, and drink in pubs.
Now in its eighth year, the festival has matured from a plucky fringe event into a cornerstone of the South Coast’s cultural calendar. Yet its journey reveals a constant tension: Can a city built on function truly embrace the abstract? The festival’s origin story is quintessentially Portsmouth. In 2016, a collective of local artists—frustrated by the lack of dedicated exhibition space outside of the prestigious Aspex Gallery—decided to stop asking for permission. portsmouth arts festival
In the end, the Portsmouth Arts Festival succeeds because it refuses to polish the rust off its subject. It understands that this city is not a quaint fishing village or a gleaming metropolis. It is a working machine, loud and salty and a little bit broken. And on a grey October evening, when a projection of a weeping woman appears on the side of a block of council flats, and a crowd of dockworkers and students stop to stare—that is the art that matters. The 2024 festival seemed to heed that advice
PORTSMOUTH, UK – For decades, the tourist narrative of Portsmouth has been written in salt spray and steel. Visitors come for the Mary Rose , for Nelson’s Victory , and for the stoic silhouette of the Spinnaker Tower. It is a city of maritime heritage, naval might, and hard-working pragmatism. It was political, raw, and deeply local
“It’s changed the identity of the city,” says Councillor Linda Corey, the city’s cabinet member for culture. “For a long time, Portsmouth was proud of its past. The festival is making us proud of our present.” As PAF grows, it faces a familiar challenge: How to scale without selling out. The risk is that the “feral charm” of the early years gets replaced by corporate sponsorship and health-and-safety overreach. Already, some locals whisper that the festival has become too organized—that the spreadsheets have replaced the spontaneity.