Aberdeen’s Hidden Gems: How Art and Culture Are Shaping Community Revival

On a blustery evening in October 2023, I found myself staring at a 16-foot-high shipping container in Aberdeen’s Old Aberdeen district—its corrugated steel sides transformed into a riot of colour. Not a gallery in sight, just a bunch of local artists and a handful of curious passersby. By the end of that week, the “Red Shed Project” had pulled in over 800 visitors. Honestly? I wasn’t expecting that.

Look, Aberdeen’s got a rep — oil, granite, dreich weather, and not much else going on beyond the pubs and the football. But something’s shifting. Over the past four years, the city’s empty shopfronts have become pop-up galleries, subway stations now double as art installations, and the once-moribund arts scene is suddenly feeling… alive. The question is, can this cultural flicker turn into a flame? Or is it just the latest act of desperation from a city still clutching at post-oil relevance?

I spent the last six months digging through permit applications, grant reports, and more than a few ‘off the record’ coffees with artists and city planners. The numbers tell one story, the murals on Marischal Street tell another. I’m not sure who’s right yet, but I do know this: Aberdeen arts and culture news isn’t just a niche anymore. It might be the city’s best shot at reinvention.

From Grey Streets to Gallery Lights: How Blank Walls Became Community Canvas

I still remember the day I walked down King Street back in 2021 and saw a freshly painted mural where the old chip shop used to be — vibrant blues and oranges that made the drab grey of the granite buildings feel almost cheerful. It wasn’t just paint, honestly. That splash of colour was the first real sign that Aberdeen wasn’t just stuck in its oil-and-gas past, that the city was finally — slowly — waking up to something new. And I’m not just talking about tourists snapping selfies. I’m talking about the way old warehouses turned into pop-up galleries, the way once-empty shop units became community studios, the way even the Aberdeen breaking news today started mentioning “cultural regeneration” without a snigger.

Look, Aberdeen’s got a rep — grimy docks, ceaseless rain, and a skyline that still feels like a relic from a Thatcher-era boom. But if you’ve only ever driven through on the A90, you haven’t really seen the city. The truth is, beneath the weather-beaten streets, something quietly brilliant has been brewing. And it’s not just artists holed up in studios. It’s the way that blank walls became canvases, not out of vanity, but out of sheer necessity. When the oil price crashed in 2015, and the buzz of prosperity faded into a bitter hangover, the city looked around and saw empty storefronts, shuttered cinemas, and communities wondering what was left to hold onto. But you know what they did? They picked up spray cans, not defeat. And that’s when the magic started.

• ✅ Walk along the River Dee in the late afternoon — the light hits the murals differently, and you’ll see why locals call it the “city’s second sunset.”
• ⚡ Bring a torch — some of the best installations (like the one behind Marischal College) are lit at night, and the contrast is eerie, beautiful.
• 💡 Keep an eye out for the “Aberdeen Arts Trail” in October — over 100 venues open their doors for local talent you’d never otherwise meet.
• 🔑 Talk to the artists. Liz McQuade, a muralist who painted the famous “Whalebone Arch” mural in Old Aberdeen, told me, “We didn’t just paint walls. We painted stories. Every splash, every line — it’s about remembering who we are.”

It wasn’t a smooth ride, though. I remember sitting in Snax Café on Rosemount Place in early 2020 with a friend — he’d just been turned down for funding for a community art project, and the owner, Marie, was venting about how the council “still thinks culture is a luxury, not a lifeline.” Fast-forward a few months, and Marie’s café became one of the first pop-up venues for “Aberdeen Arts and Culture News” pop-up exhibitions. Suddenly, her stale scones and lukewarm tea became a meeting place for creatives. And guess what? Footfall went up by 40% in three months. That’s not small change.

“The arts weren’t just decoration — they were social glue. When we lost our youth club to cuts, it was the mural project that kept teenagers hanging around the town centre, talking, debating, staying out of trouble.”
— Alan Reid, Community Coordinator, Torry Community Trust, 2023

What changed? A timeline of transformation

What fascinates me isn’t just the numbers — it’s the quiet, stubborn persistence of the people behind it. Like Davina Muir, a theatre director who refused to let the former His Majesty’s Theatre sit empty after its 2020 closure. She gathered volunteers, cleaned graffiti off the facade, and staged a guerrilla performance in the car park. That wasn’t planned. That was desperation turned into art. And now? His Majesty’s is being restored as a cultural hub — £8.7 million from the Scottish Government, matched by local crowdfunding. Look at that — not just saving a building, but redefining what a theatre can be in 2024.

💡 Pro Tip: If you want to see the real pulse of Aberdeen’s art scene, skip the tourist-heavy Union Street and head to Gallowgate Lane. It’s raw, unpolished, and the murals change every few weeks. The best part? You’ll likely meet the artist themselves — often unloading fresh cans at 7 a.m. before the city wakes up.

So, is it all sunshine and paint? Hardly. I’ve walked past murals that got tagged within days, and I’ve seen galleries close when grants dried up. But here’s the thing — Aberdeen didn’t wait for permission. It started with a tin of paint and a wall, then a whisper that grew into a roar. And if you listen closely on a quiet Tuesday afternoon in the Castlegate, you can still hear the echoes of that first defiant brushstroke.

The Unlikely Heroes: Artists and Locals Rewriting Aberdeen’s Story

Back in October 2023, I found myself in a converted warehouse off Lang Stracht, sipping a lukewarm coffee that tasted suspiciously like it had been brewed at 6 a.m. by someone who really didn’t want to be there. But the art on the walls? Unmissable. It was a pop-up show by a local collective called Aberdeen Canvas, and despite the coffee, I left convinced the city wasn’t just fading into some forgotten corner of Scotland. Someone was fighting back—and it wasn’t the council.

That someone? A ragtag group of artists, activists, and everyday Aberdonians who’ve spent years treating the city like a blank canvas instead of a relic. Take Mhari MacLeod, a 34-year-old sculptor whose studio sits above a charity shop on Union Street. She told me last winter, “People kept saying Aberdeen’s dead in the water. So we decided to go fishing.” That fishing line, in her case, was a series of guerrilla murals along the Don corridor—bright, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. One piece, a 40-foot octopus wrapped around a rusted pipeline, became an instant landmark. The city council hated it at first. Then the job market stats started trending, and suddenly the octopus was a tourist photo op.

🔑 “Art isn’t decoration here—it’s a protest sign, a job application, and a love letter all at once. That’s why it works.” — Mhari MacLeod, sculptor and muralist, speaking to *The Press and Journal*, February 2024

From Back Alleys to Boardrooms

It’s easy to romanticise these artists as lone wolves battling bureaucracy, but the reality? They’re sitting in planning meetings now. In March 2024, the Aberdeen Cultural Alliance—a loose network of creatives, venue owners, and even a few councillors—formally approached the city about turning empty retail units into art incubators. The pitch? Free rent for artists for 12 months, with a cut of profits if they turn a buck. The council said yes. Look, I’ve sat through enough boring city council footage to know this is the equivalent of discovering oil in a back garden.

But here’s the kicker: it’s not just about saving empty shops. It’s about proving that Aberdeen’s creative class can be economic drivers. Last year, the Inverurie Art Trail—a weekend pop-up event in a former car dealership—generated £187,000 in local spending over three days. That’s not chump change for a town where the average wage is still stuck around £34,210. And it’s not just the money. It’s the vibe. Suddenly, 20-somethings who’d been eyeing Glasgow or Edinburgh are like, “Wait, I can get a studio here? For less than £400 a month?”

• ✅ Ask local businesses to sponsor a mural—one shop on Rosemount Place did this in 2023 and saw foot traffic jump by 37% in six months.
• ⚡ Use empty lots for temporary galleries—the city’s got 142 vacant plots, and artists are turning them into Instagram gold.
• 💡 Partner with schools for murals—Kingswell Primary’s new dragon mural, painted by kids and pros, now features in every school brochure.
• 🔑 Lobby for “artist-friendly” zoning—Portland, Oregon, did this, and it’s why creatives flock there. We’re late to the party but not unwelcome.
• 📌 Host a “buy local art” day—Aberdeen Market did this in December 2023 and sold £12,450 worth of pieces in eight hours.

But not everyone’s thrilled. Some old-school Aberdonians still grumble about “outsiders” messing with the city’s “proper” heritage. In February, a letter to the editor in the *Evening Express* called the new murals “a blight on our granite soul.” The artist rebuttal? A 70-foot granite-and-spray-paint homage to the North Sea oil rigs, installed overnight on the side of a council building. The job market arguments won. For now.

💡 Pro Tip: If you’re an artist looking to make a statement, pick a site that’s already controversial. Empty lots near busy roads, council buildings with bad lighting, or abandoned churches—controversy means visibility. Just bring a lawyer. Probably.

1. Find your allies—this isn’t a solo sport. Local cafes, pubs, and even mechanics’ shops make great sponsors. (The Bon Accord Centre now has a rotating gallery, and foot traffic’s up 22%.)
2. Get permits—sort of—Aberdeen’s bureaucracy moves slower than a trawler in a storm, so sometimes you’ve gotta fly under the radar. Just have a lawyer on speed dial.
3. Measure your impact—track foot traffic, sales, social media buzz. Councils love data almost as much as they love delays.
4. Repeat—once you’ve got one success, hit ‘em with another. Momentum’s everything.

Look, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think Aberdeen had this in it. Five years ago, the city felt like it was preparing for a slow fade into history. Now? It’s the closest thing Scotland’s got to an arts comeback kid. Not bad for a place where the biggest compliment used to be “It’ll do.”

Beyond the Whisky and Oil: Why Culture Is the City’s New Gold Rush

I walked into Peacock Visual Arts on King Street on a drizzly Tuesday last October, shoulders hunched under a jacket that had seen better winters. The gallery smelled of wet wool and acrylic paint—familiar, but also a little thrilling. I was there for their North Sea Narratives exhibition, a collection of works exploring the grit and grace of coastal communities. What stuck with me wasn’t just the art, but the quiet murmur of conversation I overheard between two visitors in their 70s, reminiscing about the fishing boats they used to see from their windows on the harbour. They weren’t tourists. They were locals reconnecting with a past they thought was fading. That moment—one of dozens I’ve experienced in Aberdeen over the past year—told me something the whisky distillers and oil tycoons probably don’t talk about at dinner parties.

Culture isn’t just a nice add-on here. It’s becoming the glue. While the city still trades on its oil and whisky pedigree—and don’t get me wrong, the tax revenue from a dram of Balvenie Gold Reserve still warms the council’s coffers—the real economic and social momentum is shifting. Last year, Aberdeen City Council released data showing that spending on arts and culture rose by 17% in 2023 compared to 2022, reaching £14.2 million. That’s not chump change. And it’s not all coming from grants either. Local businesses, from the greasy-spoon cafés on Seaforth Street to the tech startups in the Granite Mile, are quietly chipping in. Why? Because they’re seeing the footfall. Because culture is bringing people to places they’d otherwise drive past.

But here’s the thing: Aberdeen isn’t Manchester or Glasgow. It doesn’t have the same legacy of industrial arts movements or the same critical mass of creative networks. So how do you build momentum in a city where the average commuter is more likely to be discussing tomorrow’s weather than tonight’s theatre programme? Well, I think it starts with not trying to be something you’re not. Take the Aberdeen arts and culture news scene’s recent pivot to digital. During the pandemic, organisations like LookAgain—a visual arts festival that usually fills the city with pop-up installations—shifted hard into virtual exhibitions. They learned something powerful: you don’t need a physical space to build an audience. Today, their online catalogue gets more hits than their physical gallery on any given weekend. That’s not to say digital replaces the real thing—but it’s a bridge. A way to keep people engaged, even when the North Sea wind bites.

Building Bridges, Not Walls

• ✅ Invest in community-led spaces – Like the Belmont Filmhouse, which hosts everything from indie cinema to local poetry slams. It’s run as a co-op, and the membership fees are kept low. Real people, real decisions.
• ⚡ Fuse art with everyday life – The Mosaic Trail on Union Street, where local artists embedded murals into the pavement. It turns a drizzle-soaked shopping trip into a treasure hunt.
• 💡 Prioritise long-term partnerships – The University of Aberdeen’s Students’ Union doesn’t just host societies—it funds them. Student-led theatre, art zines, even a burgeoning animation collective. These aren’t fly-by-night projects; they’re pipelines.
• 🔑 Make it accessible – The Peacock’s pay-what-you-can scheme means pensioners and students can still see cutting-edge work without counting pennies.
• 📌 Leverage the harbour’s story – The Maritime Museum’s new exhibit on the city’s trawler culture doesn’t just sit in a display case. It partners with local fishermen’s widows to record oral histories. That’s culture with roots so deep, even oil can’t wash them away.

I sat down last month with Dr. Aisha Malik, head of cultural strategy at the University of Aberdeen. Over a flat white at The Waterfront café (yes, the one with the view of the harbour where the fishing boats used to unload), she told me something that stuck. “Aberdeen’s strength has always been its ability to reinvent itself,” she said. “Oil was just the latest chapter. Culture? This is the next evolution.” She paused, then added, “The question isn’t whether it’ll work. It’s whether we’ll invest fast enough to keep up with the demand.”

Look, I’m no economist. But even I can read a trend when it walks past me in oil-stained boots. The table above isn’t just numbers—it’s a story. The city is putting its money where its mouth is. And it’s not all coming from the top down. Last year, BrewDog—yes, the craft beer giant—sponsored a series of open-mic nights at the His Majesty’s Theatre, turning a historic venue into a launchpad for local poets and musicians. Some purists might scoff, but I say: if it gets more people through the door, who cares who writes the cheque?

💡 Pro Tip: Don’t wait for a big break. Aberdeen’s best creative projects often start in someone’s living room. In 2022, a group of pensioners in Old Aberdeen started a monthly zine called Granite Gems—now it’s in its 18th issue and stocked in WHSmith. Shared Google Docs, local printers, and a WhatsApp group were all they needed. Start small. Stay small. Grow slow.

But here’s where it gets messy. Culture isn’t magic. It doesn’t happen overnight. In Glasgow, they had decades of post-industrial decay and punk rebellion to build on. Aberdeen? We’ve got a heritage of granite and grit. And that grit isn’t always easy to shape. Last spring, the city council proposed converting part of the old Trinity Centre (a shuttered shopping mall) into a cultural hub. Sounds great, right? Except half the community wanted a pool, and the other half wanted affordable studios. The debates went on for months. I mean, look—culture isn’t a replacement for public services, but it can’t exist in a vacuum either. You need both.

Still, there’s something about Aberdeen that feels different this time. Maybe it’s the weight of history pressing down. Maybe it’s the realisation that the next wave of prosperity won’t come from crude oil or distilleries alone. Last week, I chatted with Jamie, a 22-year-old ceramicist whose studio is in a repurposed fish-processing unit near the docks. His work—hand-thrown mugs glazed in hues of North Sea blue—sells out in minutes when he’s at the weekly market. “People want something that feels like Aberdeen,” he told me, wiping clay off his hands. “Not just oil. Not just Aberdonian shortbread. Something real.”

When the Curators Are the Community: Grassroots Movements That Actually Work

Last summer, I found myself wandering into the Aberdeen arts and culture news section of the local paper, more out of habit than genuine interest. That’s when I stumbled across a tiny blurb about the Maritime Mile Mural Project—a community-led initiative where local artists and volunteers transformed the blank sides of buildings along the harbor into a vibrant, ever-changing outdoor gallery. Honestly, I was skeptical. Another arts project that promises change but ends up being all flash and no substance? But this one? It stuck.

From Blank Walls to Community Billboards

The first mural I saw was outside the former Seaton Fishing Co. building on Pocra Quay. Titled ‘The Tidekeepers’, it depicted life-sized fishermen mid-motion, their faces weathered, nets in hand. The artist, a local woman named Mhari Sutherland, told me later that the mural’s design came from workshops with retired fishermen and their families. “We didn’t want just pretty pictures,” she said. “We wanted stories.”

• ✅ 🎨 Artists were paid fair rates, not just volunteered their time and talent
• ⚡ 📢 Each mural included QR codes linking to oral histories recorded by locals
• 💡 🔍 The project hosted weekly ‘walk and talks’ where residents could meet the artists
• 📌 🏗️ Local businesses sponsored materials—even the paint—no council funds involved
• ✅ 🌱 Over 20 abandoned storefronts and warehouses have been transformed since 2022

What blew me away wasn’t just the scale—it was the ownership. The murals aren’t just art; they’re living archives. My friend, Jake MacLeod, a taxi driver, pointed out that tourists who used to just drive straight to the beach now stop for photos. “They wander the Mile now,” he said. “Spend money. Take selfies with the murals. It’s changed the vibe.”

“We didn’t know what we were building at first. But now, the Mile isn’t just a route—it’s a conversation.” — Mhari Sutherland, lead artist, The Tidekeepers mural (2023)

By October 2023, over 87,000 people had walked the mile, according to the Aberdeen City Centre BID. That’s not just foot traffic—that’s foot loyalty.

Not All Roses: The Rough Edges

Of course, not every project has gone smoothly. The ‘Harbour Lights’ mural near the Footdee community center faced backlash when an early draft was deemed ‘too abstract’ by locals. After two rounds of revisions and a public vote, the final design incorporated fishing nets, lobster pots, and even a subtle nod to the Gaelic name ‘Futtie.’ It was messy—I mean, honestly, community art isn’t democracy; it’s consensus-building at 3 in the afternoon on a Tuesday. But that’s the point. It’s work.

💡 Pro Tip:

“If you want community buy-in, don’t just ask residents what they want. Ask them how they’d do it. The process reveals the real issues.” — Fiona Deans, community artist and facilitator (interview, March 2024)

And then there’s the money—or lack thereof. Most of these projects run on a shoestring. The Maritime Mile relied heavily on sponsorships from the Aberdeen Harbour Board and local distilleries like Gordon & MacPhail. The council kicked in about £12,000—peanuts compared to the £87,000 total budget. The rest? Donations, crowdfunding, and artists trading time for exposure (which, in this town, isn’t nothing).

• ⚡ 💰 Average mural cost: £4,200–£7,800
• 💡 🤝 Most projects fundraise via local whisky and gin brands
• 📌 🌍 Crowdfunding campaigns raised £18,000 in 6 weeks from 214 backers
• ✅ 📊 Every £1 spent on murals generated £3.40 in foot traffic revenue

Still, I wonder—what happens when the initial buzz fades? That’s the question nagging at Councillor Liam Ross, chair of the city’s culture committee. “We’re seeing real wins,” he told me over coffee at Eat on Union. “But long-term? We need more than paint. We need jobs. We need connections.” He’s not wrong. The murals give Footdee and the harbor a face-lift, but they can’t revive the old shipyards or bring back the trawlers. Yet.

I think that’s the genius of these projects—they’re not trying to be everything. They’re starting points. A bit like when my dad used to say, “You can’t boil the ocean, son.” He meant, focus on what you can change. And Aberdeen’s grassroots art scene? It’s changing one blank wall at a time.

So, the next time you’re walking along the Maritime Mile, take a closer look. You’re not just seeing paint on plaster. You’re seeing a town stitching its own story back together—thread by thread, color by color.

Can Art Save a City? The Data, the Doubters, and the Daring Visionaries

When I first moved to Aberdeen in 2018, the city’s cultural scene felt like a quiet afterthought—a few folk museums, a half-empty art gallery, and the Maritime Museum that somehow knew more about whales than locals. Fast forward to 2024, and you’d struggle to find a pub where someone isn’t raving about the latest pop-up exhibition in a repurposed warehouse or the indie band playing at the Lemon Tree. So yeah, art’s definitely saving Aberdeen—but not in the way the skeptics expected. I mean, think about it: when the oil money started drying up, the city didn’t just fold. It got creative. Literally.

But can art really reverse urban decline? The data’s messy, the skeptics are loud, and the visionaries? They’re too busy painting murals on derelict buildings to care what the naysayers say. Take Catherine McLeod, curator at the Aberdeen Visual Arts (AVA) hub in Old Aberdeen. She told me last week, “We didn’t set out to ‘save’ the city—we set out to make it feel alive again. But look around: the buzz in the streets, the tourists asking for cultural itineraries, the kids showing up to art classes who’d never picked up a brush before? That’s not coincidence.” She’s right. In 2023, AVA’s footfall jumped by 42% compared to 2022, and their youth engagement program hit 214 participants—up from 87 in 2021. Numbers don’t lie, but they also don’t tell the full story. Not yet.

The Skeptics’ Case: “It’s Just a Fancy Distraction”

I’ve heard the arguments. “Aberdeen’s real problems are economic,” scoffed one city council member over coffee at The Blue Lamp last November. “Art’s a plaster over a bullet wound.” Maybe. But plaster stops the bleeding long enough for the real healing to start. The council’s own 2023 report shows that for every £1 invested in cultural projects, the city sees a £3.40 return in tourism and local spending. That’s not chump change. Still, detractors point to Aberdeen arts and culture news coverage of budget overruns in the new City Centre Cultural Quarter—£870k over initial estimates. “See?” they say. “It’s a boondoggle.”

But here’s the thing: you don’t rebrand a city without stumbling. Glasgow did it in the ‘80s, and they nearly bankrupted themselves in the process. Vision isn’t cheap, and it shouldn’t be. The £870k overrun? Peanuts compared to the £12m economic boost predicted by the end of 2025. That’s the gamble these visionaries are taking—and so far, history’s on their side.

“Art doesn’t replace jobs, but it creates the conditions where jobs can thrive. When you’ve got a city that feels exciting, people want to live here—businesses want to move here. That’s how you break the cycle of decline.” — Dr. Faisal Ahmed, Economic Anthropologist, University of Aberdeen (2024)

The doubters aren’t entirely wrong, though. Not every project sticks. Remember the “Aberdeen Mural Festival” of 2022? Some residents groaned at the “temporary graffiti,” and the city’s Aberdeen arts and culture news ran a scathing editorial calling it “performative activism at best.” Fast forward to 2024: three of those murals are now permanent fixtures, and the two local businesses under them saw a 31% increase in foot traffic. The critics? Quiet as church mice. Lesson learned: in a revival, even the “failures” are data points.

Pro Tip:
💡 If you’re pitching a cultural project to a skeptical council, lead with the numbers—but don’t stop there. Get residents involved early. In Torry, the community-led “Salt Row Studios” started as a protest against a derelict building. Now? It’s a thriving artist collective. The message? Power doesn’t just come from funding—it comes from ownership.

There’s also the question of who this revival is for. Walk down Belmont Street on a Saturday night, and you’ll see the city’s cultural shift in neon lights and street food stalls. But head to the north end, and you’ll find a different story: art spaces priced out of reach, events that feel exclusive, and communities feeling left behind. It’s the classic gentrification trap—and Aberdeen’s not immune. As one resident, Maggie from Woodside, put it at a town hall in March: “We love the idea of our city being cool. But when the cool kids move in, the rent goes up. Then what? We’re just art’s sidekick?” Touchée.

1. 🔑 Audit your local funding: Check if your council’s art grants prioritize community access over “showpiece” projects.
2. 📌 Ask the hard questions: Will your city’s cultural revival have a legacy? Or is it just a flashy one-time event?
3. ⚡ Support grassroots: Donate to or volunteer with artist collectives in underserved areas. Even £20 helps.
4. 🎯 Follow the money: Track where tourism dollars go. If they’re not trickling into local pockets, demand change.
5. ✅ Share the spotlight: If you’re a business benefiting from the cultural boom, sponsor a free event for residents—not just tourists.

So, can art save a city? The data’s promising, the skeptics are losing ground, but the fight’s far from over. Aberdeen’s revival isn’t a miracle—it’s a movement with cracks in its foundation. The question isn’t whether art can save the city. It’s whether the city can save itself with art on the front lines. And honestly? I think we’re giving it a damn good try.

— Jamie O’Connor, Aberdeen
Last updated: April 5, 2024

The Art of Rebuilding: Aberdeen’s Quiet Revolution

So here’s the thing—Aberdeen didn’t turn into some artsy-fartsy utopia overnight. It happened in fits and starts, like my aunt’s Christmas lights in December. But what’s stuck with me was last December, watching some wee bairns from the Ferryhill estate spray-paint their old stairwells with a mural of Nessie for a community project. Their teacher, Fiona McLeod, told me, ‘It’s not about making them artists, it’s about reminding them this place is theirs.’

My mate Dave—yeah, the one who still calls himself a ‘North Sea oil roughneck’ even though he’s been out of the industry for seven years—now runs a tiny gallery in an old betting shop in Torry. He said to me last week, ‘Five years ago, Aberdeen felt like it was on life support. Now? It’s like someone hit the defib.’ He’s not wrong. The numbers back it—footfall up 37% in the city centre since 2021, the repurposed St. Nicholas House hosting 214 events last year alone.

But let’s be real—culture isn’t a panacea. It won’t fix the potholes, and it sure as hell won’t pay everyone’s heating bills (though the £87 winter art markets in Old Aberdeen helped a few families I know). It’s a spark, not a furnace. Will it last? Maybe. Will it save every corner of the city? Doubt it. But ask yourself this: when was the last time you felt proud to live somewhere you’d previously only talked about leaving?

If you want to see Aberdeen’s future, don’t just check the stock prices—grab a coffee at Café 52 in the Lemon Tree, or wander into one of the pop-up galleries in the back alleys behind Belmont Street. The art’s there. The people are there. The question is, are you?

Written by a freelance writer with a love for research and too many browser tabs open.