May 26, 2018 Comments Off on “Art is medicine.” Art, radio, and the power of welcome.
In February I made a journey to Spain, through France, retracing (in reverse) my father’s exile journey at the defeat of Spain to the Fascist dictator Francisco Franco in 1939. It was to make a BBC Radio 4 programme called, The Art of Now: Return to Catalonia, which has now aired twice and is available on iPlayer on the link above.
What emerged from this collaboration with Overtone Productions was an extraordinary piece of radio art, which honours my father’s story, and acts as an immersive sound poem with documentary elements – but which is not ‘presented’ in the conventional manner. I feel this is probably a unique piece of work – uncompromising and avant guarde – it is a challenging listen.
Not following convention is something of a trademark for me as I am autistic – my DNA won’t allow me to be conventional. Increasingly, I’ve come to feel this as a badge of honour, and in this case it is especially so.
Joyfully, the second broadcast occurred during a community workshop this week (part of a series I’m currently leading) and so we played the programme through loudspeakers as we worked on our group installation. That was a kick and half! Yet, I must admit the listening became even more challenging as the sound quality wasn’t great once amplified – but I loved the intense focus in the room as people tuned in to my voice, and then how they relaxed into the sound giving in to the layers as they carried on working. This programme can wash over you like the sound poem it is – it’s not like Pokemon – you don’t have to catch it all.
The title for our workshops is, Lost Property: belonging and belongings, and comprises of a responsive multiform approach to storytelling around significant objects. Each participant has been encouraged to create an individual response which will form part of a whole piece. I’ve been excited by the responses and how this community has embraced my art practice, and how by extension they have embraced me too.
Welcome is also a theme in my programme, and through it I have learned that the power of welcome cannot be overestimated. Acceptance and generosity are embedded in most acts of welcome – and this is what I want to capture in our final piece in which we will celebrate the multiple stories and identities that have come together in the workshops. Between us we have generated a sense of belonging through the emotional oxytocin that is welcome.
Genuine welcome is not conditional, and so it has been with our programme. I’m thrilled that it was chosen to be broadcast again, and that it sits on iPlayer so that it can be tapped into at any time.
I’m incredibly grateful to the commissioning editor James Runcie, for the opportunity to develop my art piece for the programme, and to carry out this important emotional repair work in Spain. The programme will have an impact on many people – it already has – and will lead to other projects (currently in the planning). It is a unique contribution to the recovery of historical memory of exile after the prolonged attempt at official erasure by the Franco regime, and the subsequent pact of forgetting agreed on the transition to democracy.
The programme was commissioned and made in just 8 weeks. The focus and dedication involved was legion. It will take time to absorb it’s full impact, it will (I know) continue to reverberate. The power of this work is not contained in a single listen.
The impact of making it continues to flow through me (generating more creative power.)
With the help of my wonderful collaborators and by the power of the BBC my father’s memory has been honoured and enshrined.
And I take strength from Overtone Production’s reading of my work too. If I can convey such a powerful sense of resistance (which I feel they captured in the programme) I am succeeding.
This programme is for anyone who has lost a father, for all those who wished they’d had those important conversations before it was too late, and for anyone who has suffered at the hands of political oppression.
One of my workshop participants nailed it after listening to the programme. Art is medicine, he said, and he would know as an artist and a person in exile himself.
I think this comment will stay with me forever.
May 16, 2018 § 24 Comments
It’s been a curious time – one of transitions, I guess. Spring weather and lighter nights coincide with reaching beyond the 2 year anniversary of my diagnosis of autism.
A decisive diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome came as a surprise, I expected equivocation and maybes’. Hidden disability is a tricky rogue, adept at fooling even the person who embodies and lives it. A subtle form of gaslighting is our daily bread. You look fine! You seem okay! Why can’t you do that? You did it yesterday…
These are the conversations we internalise and play on repeat, looping endlessly, until diagnosis day or the day/s self-identification kicks in (either is good in my book).
From this moment you can begin to deconstruct, understanding ever more the hows and whys of the daily struggle. Sometimes we wade through treacle, and sometimes we glide like swans. Only careful unpicking reveals why (though the why is often maddeningly elusive). Finding out why is so helpful. Finding out why (I find) often requires a group conversation. This can be quite random for an autistic person – a process of sifting and happening on rare pieces of gold.
But these golden nuggets can be just what we need to rub the looping critical internalised voices from our minds. Yesterday I learned about aphantasia from autistic blogger and researcher Shona Davis. Aphantasia relates to the inability to visualise images. I’m still wrestling with the concept and am uncertain that it applies to me wholly, but suspect that at least partially it probably does . I often find that peeling back sensory and/or neurological difference is cloudy at first, my kind of ‘normal’ is long lived and late diagnosis can feel like playing a game of tag with yourself. I’m also a little hung up on how literally to take ‘seeing’ pictures in the mind as an expression, let alone arrive at a whole new diagnosis just like that. But it sounds like an important thing to know about yourself when so many areas of life can be affected.
Okay aphantasia is not well known or researched, but I find myself reflecting in new ways on how poor information and services are for autistic people, how little attention is given to the detail of our diagnosis. There can be so many strands to each individual presentation of autism. Not only should we as a society embrace that fact instead of chasing tired old stereotypes about autism, we autistics should also receive commensurate support.
Aphantasia could provide the key to so much understanding of the many ways in which I struggle to learn and retain information, recognise people and keep them in mind when they are absent. It could also relate to the intense need to see and touch things to understand them, and to learn hands-on rather than in the abstract.
I also feel I’ve reached a tipping point after diagnosis in which I must begin to reconstruct my life. There comes a point where all the carefully garnered information about autism and reinterpretations of my decades on the earth should lead somewhere – to forming new helpful habits and adaptations I hope.
As I drifted off to sleep last night I tried to conjure a scene. Useless. See a yellow bucket, I said to my sleepy imagination. Imagination said no.
If I screw my eyes and dig back into word association fleetingly I get something – a picture book bucket. I find a black bucket easier to conjure (builder’s buckets are a stronger image – more familiar probably – but slippery as sand in my mind’s eye). I don’t get nothing at all but what I get is faint and has that rolodex quality which facial recognition also contains for me. I get there by association. I don’t see black (as some report) and I don’t see words either. Perhaps what I see is something in-between?
The more familiar an object is the more clearly I see it but it quickly skips away. I can see my fantasies (I can see pieces of art I’ve made or imagined pieces) but I can’t seem to conjure images to command. There are also powerful visual experiences which stay with me that I can’t easily rub out so I feel this form of seeing for me may be deeply linked to emotional engagement at the time of seeing (if that makes sense).
I reflect again how poorly I understood the variety within our autisms when I read Temple Grandin’s incredible book, Thinking in Pictures, so many years ago, desperate to understand my newly diagnosed child. I can now see that fascinating as it was it didn’t help me all that much. They don’t think in pictures either – though obviously some autistics do, while others of us can’t conjure a single mental image.
My work as a visual artist is curious when you consider that I don’t have this ability firmly embedded in my neurology, and that my visual acuity is otherwise high. I’m incredibly visually sensitive (sometimes this is painful) and this guides me in my work. Probably, as in so many other ways, I’m just navigating differently.
Yesterday I took a picture of a broken plastic magnetic letter while out walking (a new habit). It is orange, the magnet is missing and it lies frontside down. I can see it clearly in my mind and this image is stable. Is this because it struck me so? Is it because I took a photo, and then spent time editing it on instagram? Is it because I love orange? Or is it because it is the letter which begins all the names of the men closest to me?
In recalling it just now before adding the image I had forgotten that it was broken or that it had a small blossom resting on it. Otherwise my visual memory was strong.
I think the truth may be that when it comes to detail and specifics, when there is time to embed an image (as in the creative process) and when the emotional pull is strong enough I can visualise an object. Visualising a whole scene, or something in the abstract is something else entirely.
Somehow knowing this feels like a huge step in rebuilding my life.
May 6, 2018 § Leave a comment
I don’t want to write too many words. I’d like my video to speak for itself. Mainly, I need Arts Council England to know that their bureaucratic processes, in current form, disable significant groups of autistic and neurodivergent artists.
This is a specific issue in my life – but I also want to make a more general point that bureaucracy physically hurts us.
I know autistics who succeed in making Arts Council applications – I also know many who are unable to contemplate beginning one. The argument often goes that “neurotypical” artists struggle with it too. Albeit true, (in the sense that it is a gruelling process of competition for limited resources which also requires ‘insider information’ to succeed) it is also an ableist thing to say because it minimises exactly how uneven the playing ground is for us as a group. Just because some of us push through doesn’t mean it is okay. The bar is high – but the bar is also structurally unfair.
I want also to say that those of us who do take on the beast can be harmed in the process. I think this is disabling.
I think the Arts Council should know.
May 1, 2018 § Leave a comment
This blog post has turned around in the writing – all because Tamsin Parker has a truly remarkable voice. The voices of autistic women, how they are appropriated and contained, is the theme which runs through my post.
What’s becomes clear in her case, I feel, is that the socially constrained female voice and the issues of ‘masking’ autism combine, making autism a feminist issue.
But learning about Tamsin’s horrific experience at the BFI on her 25th birthday yesterday, was the final straw after a difficult few days.
I’ll be honest, hearing about it has been one of the rawest moments since my autism diagnosis in March 2016.
I rarely talk about being a mum because my children (now young adults) haven’t wanted me to, but the sheer cruelty and injustice of this act pierced my mother heart.
Coincidentally, last week I joined an impromptu group of autistic women using the hash tag #AutisticMotherhood. I’m not a joiner, so this was quite an event in itself, but I felt my voice as an autistic women had been appropriated.
#AutisticMotherhood was born on Twitter in response to Kibo Production’s play about a cold autistic mother character (who it is now claimed by producers is not autistic but has post natal depression). We even have a website where two open letters to Kibo can now be viewed. The play was written by a man who is not autistic, and you can read my views on this in my last post.
It felt important to pin my colours to this cause, but I also ended up feeling tossed about and quite at sea as a result. I reached a low point.
Sinking my energy into #AutisticMotherhood coincided with this cruel attack on Tamsin, and kaboom!
It felt so close – and not only from the point of view of a mother. I can also laugh uncontrollably in public. When this happens my shoulders shake, I wheeze and snort and make a ‘spectacle’ of myself, as well as crying ‘too easily’ – my other party trick. Some of us are emotional and expressive, but I guess I ‘mask’ enough to get by – but this masking constrains me.
Because I am autistic I do also get things socially very wrong sometimes – despite best efforts. The other day someone ran away from me in the supermarket (!) Yes – quite literally, he ran. I thought that was quite rude and showed a distinct lack of social skill, to be honest. Perhaps he was scared of my autism, which I had told him about in an email.
But the cruelty of that scene at BFI runs on a loop in my brain. What cuts deep is the native intolerance shown, and the insistence of some audience members to their viewing rights above common decency. They seemed to find it perfectly acceptable to round on a vulnerable young woman, one man yelling an abusive sexist comment, and others applauding her ejection from the cinema.
The hounding of an unconstrained female voice (as well as ableism) is what I see.
What haunted me was that Tamsin might be alone after this ordeal, and I’m relieved that she was with her sister and was able to go home in a car with her mum.
I’m also doing the best I can as a mum – but honestly, sometimes the scale of intolerance in the world breaks my heart. We have such a long way to go on invisible disability.
But then Tamsin’s mum Lydia posted a film by Tamsin and her powerful voice gave me hope again. I love her energy, which won’t be contained. I love how she sees the world and what she has to say. Tamsin is a strong role model for young autistic women (and indeed for women of all ages and neurotype).
Tamsin deserves so much respect for her love of cinema and her talent in filmmaking. One way to make up for things BFI (if you’re listening) is to put on a screening of Tamsin’s work.
Tamsin, if you read this, I have a diagnosis of Asperger’s too (though I like to call myself autistic). I think Force of Habit is one of the best advocacy films I’ve seen and very inspiring. If people are unforgiving, like the man in your film, then I think they probably aren’t worth knowing (unless they can change their minds).
Thanks so much for reading xx
January 23, 2018 § 20 Comments
Photograph by Stu Allsopp 2018
Don’t bother reading this. Yes – probably this blog post has been written before. Possibly even by me? I’ve written so very many posts since my diagnosis that even I can’t keep up!
Deja vu, reinventing the wheel, this is what comes to mind when I hit the web these days. Voices that have been silenced for a lifetime are compelled to speak, and in so many ways blogging is the perfect mouthpiece.
But I’ve become weary about sharing my life online.
Suddenly – as I approach my two year diagnosis anniversary – the plane is tanking. I’m not giving up on activism. There’s probably just a limit to how long a person can keep going without burning out a little, or even getting burned (which indeed I did in 2017).
Also there is overwhelm. It’s brilliant that the blogging scene keeps mushrooming – but it’s also that much harder to keep up.
And frankly ‘the autism conversation’ can feel a bit Kafkaesque these days. Working to counter prevailing narratives is a hamster wheel. The more you repeat the mantras – not broken, not a puzzle piece, not ‘with autism’ – the more they seem to come back at you.
It can feel like no one is listening – the majority aren’t. Perhaps they won’t or maybe they can’t? This is a question which troubles me greatly.
Yesterday – because my grasp of language is slippery – I found myself looking up the meaning of the following two words.
Realising quickly that I was out of my depth (I don’t really get the genres this language belongs to and I’m keen not to give the ‘aliens’ trope any additional help). But I am left with a craving for a vocabulary to express the inability of non-autistic humans to see us as we really are.
In the double empathy bind Damian Milton describes a difficulty in the communication process which originates from both sides of the ‘neurological divide.’
But I’m left wondering one thing. If I am human (and I am), and if other humans can’t see me as I am, what does this actually mean in terms of my embodied existence?
Why so difficult?
Cleary I’m struggling to identify a feeling. A feeling of being, and yet of not being – a lifelong sense of alienation and wonder(ing). At the weekend I momentarily toyed with the idea of being a replicant. And then thought about it in reverse. What if everyone else was a replicant in this warped narrative of othering? Hah, see how you like that!
Personal truth and authenticity seem to be at the heart of this – along with an uncanny sensation of a shift in time or space between us; a parallelism of embodied experience in which we can’t quite sync enough to grasp the nuance of the other.
And then I get it. No-body actually ‘gets’ anybody else (no matter how close they might feel, no matter how much or how little imagination they might possess). Surely all people really do is transpose their own experience onto others, period? If the embodied experience doesn’t match you have to try harder and ultimately take a leap of faith because you want to. (Tell me if I’m wrong.) I feel that the extraordinary writer Carson McCullers gives us a piercing window on this phenomenon in her debut novel, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
This goes for us all and – simply put – among autistic people there can be a much easier fit, and a higher chance of matching experience from which to form a bond. But it’s never a given.
You probably have to feel invested enough, and be willing to go to new places inside yourself to ‘get’ autism as a non-autistic person. You might even have to be prepared to lose your moorings (as autistic people have to among neurotypicals) in order to find the empathy g-spot?
Most people perhaps wouldn’t do this by choice. They might fear never getting back to themselves again (welcome to that one).
I don’t mean to say that there aren’t any neurotypical people who’re willing or able to do this, and do it while also holding on to their own boundaries (this last bit is very important). And god bless those who go for it and succeed. We love them.
But what I do think is that our daily efforts are largely a blank to most people, and the intelligence behind our multiple coping strategies is overlooked. All that’s often visible is the ‘getting things wrong’. Ingenuity, inventiveness, resilience and the sheer courage involved in managing our lives is an unseen entity, and indeed a valuable resource. Neurotypicals could learn as much from us as we are forced to from them.
But I’m beginning to feel it’s not my job to keep saying so ad infinitum. So I’m keeping schtum for a while. I’m not leaping about and waving banners, not until I can work my way through the sinking feeling that I need to try to be effective in other ways.
Ah, and I bet this is another staging post in the late diagnosis journey of becoming. In fact I’m almost willing to put money on it. At the very least I’d like a change of scenery from the hamster wheel.
I’ll still be working behind the scenes, but I’m good with quiet for now.
December 30, 2017 § 8 Comments
A post about unhelpful relationships.
You’re fantastic! I’m blown away by how many of you lovely readers have found your way to this site and even returned multiple times this year. Though I recently hit a dry spell I’ve returned to my stats page with a thrill.
I’m so grateful, because writing on The Other Side has been incredibly freeing for me. As an invisibly disabled person, I know that online blogs can be a lifeline – and mine has enabled me to spread my wings both personally and professionally in so many ways. Having company along the way has been the proverbial cherry.
My golden rules for writing are twofold. I’m careful to write mainly about myself, and try not to speak for others. I also write from experience. This has been vital in finding my voice, and in gaining the confidence to write what’s uppermost in my mind.
Along with some pretty fabulous events and opportunities this year, I’ve had cause to understand my vulnerability in relationships. It isn’t easy to own it.
But this can be a real problem for us – perhaps especially so for the late diagnosed autistic – who may have learned false coping strategies in relationships. We may need to learn a new and very particular discernment in the people we allow into our lives. For some of us it may be news that we even have choices where people are concerned.
It pains me to say that we might more easily be a target for unhealthy advances, but I think we often can be – unless we get wise, that is. In my professional life I’m a mentor to others, and I feel a responsibility to share my growing sense of heightened vulnerability in certain areas.
Apropos of which, I’ve begun to notice a particular type of advance from what I will call the faux enabler, who can present in many forms. Such individuals seek to help others as a way of gaining social currency, or even to obscure their own vulnerabilities. To be fair, they may not be aware of their own motivations – it can be a shock to some of us whose survival has depended on the ability to be deeply introspective and self-critical, that others don’t apply the same rigour to their lives. We ourselves are surely not without fault, but we’re often more prone to fall into self-doubt and try to ‘right’ ourselves (in my experience).
Unfortunately, autism can offer a touch of glamour for such minds. The trouble with this should be obvious, and it often is for family and friends, who may try to warn you that you’re the target of an unhealthy interest. My advice is to listen.
But I’m of the view that gauging the genuine enabler is not as hard as it may seem at first. There are some clear markers. Genuine enablers tend to keep a healthy distance while offering concrete, discernible assistance (of the kind which is actually needed) without making too much noise about it.
The faux enabler, in stark contrast, will zoom in and make constant demands on your attention. At first this can be flattering – you are being wooed. But it’s only a question of time before the intense emotional needs of the faux enabler begin to surface. Once more it may not be obvious. Often we have may have adapted to be kind beyond the norm. We may feel uncomfortable, but still we ignore the warning signs. Mixed signals may be to blame for our confusion – this in itself is a clue. Being ‘nice’ while messing with your head is reason enough to run for the hills.
Yes, giving your attention to such people is to lose your centre of gravity ultimately, because their need to be needed is so vast that you will likely be sucked into a vortex of unhelpful helpfulness. Again, I honestly think this may be unconscious in some cases, but this doesn’t make it any less troublesome to deal with.
Attention grabbers, in retrospect, were always obvious. The thing to grasp is how very smoke and mirrors some people can be – heaping praise and attention on you, while perhaps trying to separate you from a core group of friends and/or dominating all the spaces you might naturally inhabit. This should be a red light, but in the moment it can feel quite natural, and even be pleasurable until you begin to notice that something is wrong. You have been socially seduced with a view to ownership – in the more extreme cases.
The key to it all, I reckon, is to be wary of any person paying too close attention to you, while indulging in blanket flattery. If this is not a romantic relationship apply the brakes at once. It’s important to understand that you don’t have to reciprocate. This is neither unfriendly or cruel. The faux enabler will soon find a new target.
Genuine enablers are usually more discerning and are able to step back into their own lives. Anyone who offers to back you up without such discernment doesn’t actually have your best interests at heart. Deep down what they want is to keep you tied to them.
Manipulation is quite an art, and I’m currently reading an interesting novel called, based on a true story, by Delphine de Vigan. Being fiction (and a thriller at that) it is an extreme and ultimately violent example – but the patterns of faux enablement are spot on.
It plots the trajectory of a relationship which ultimately serves to immobilise and almost destroy the first person narrator. Delphine plays with what she calls “the Real” in her fiction – the book is perhaps autobiographical to a point, but she deconstructs the form as the novel progresses – and you never quite know where the boundaries lie. I was intrigued by this conceit.
In choosing this book, I was conscious of looking for further confirmation of my thinking on this subject (novelists can be so observationally wise).
It’s perhaps important to conclude with the view that faux enablers are not necessarily ‘bad people’ per se. They may have good intentions which are simply maladaptive. This is tricky, because the truly malicious person may be easier to discern and disengage from. In the end it doesn’t really matter – the only thing which does matter is you. Withdrawing from a toxic relationship is more important than being able to make a judgement on another person’s motivations, in terms of survival this is irrelevant information.
Owning our vulnerabilities and self-safeguarding come together, in my view. There is no way around this, but knowing it brings greater fortitude where social manipulation is concerned. Such wisdom is hard won and worth holding on to despite the pain of understanding that we may be susceptible to being played.
So my New Year’s resolution is to take a deep breath, and step back in making new relationships as a matter of course. And I do so hope this post will be helpful to others.
A peaceful and happy 2018 to you all.
NB The photograph which accompanies this post is of a work which focuses Anglo Spanish childhood. The book is an English translation of the poems of Federico García Lorca. Lorca was in-prisoned and executed by the Fascist insurgents under the command of General Franco, who later became Spain’s dictator for almost 40 years.
November 29, 2017 § 6 Comments
Rare is the artist who can focus on their creative practice alone. My own professional life has become so varied that I myself struggle to balance the work that pays with my studio practice. Creative project development, managing the projects I create, my consultancy work, and mentoring, are all incredibly engrossing, rewarding and (I have to say it) time consuming.
It’s been a struggle to keep my own creative practice going as I’ve pushed forward all the other aspects of being a socially engaged artist-activist-facilitator, since my autism diagnosis in 2016.
I can’t complain (because I love it) but I do now need to ‘get organised’ – a term which ordinarily is an anathema to my brain.
Butterfly brains like mine don’t ‘organise’ in the conventional sense. No. Brains like mine like to organise through flow. And yet, I recognise that my in some ways super-efficient tendency to tackle work demands on an immediate – it’s in front of my nose so I’ll do it now – basis is not always going to get me into the studio early enough, or necessarily help me strategise longer term (beyond this being my strategy, as it were).
In fact, the truth is that unless I ignore my inbox entirely, or deactivate Twitter, I may not leave the house before midmorning some days. Some urgency will grab my attention – I can get sucked down a rabbit hole of questionable use (though I maintain this is how I research, and that my best finds come about when I’m browsing), or throw myself into a fresh piece of consultancy that means I’m still in PJs when the post arrives (these days around 2pm). And then there are the inevitable meetings, meetings and more meetings – from which I must decompress.
OK, that quick-fire attention to new work leads is a plus, and can really pay off, as nothing impresses potential clients more than speed of attention to their needs – which in my case is genuine, I really do care. We autistics have to play to our strengths in the workplace after all. But could I prioritise my studio time in other ways?
Obviously social media can be a big ‘drain’ on one’s time – except for the fact that it can also act as a quite wonderful addition to the autistic freelancer’s workspace. Water cooler chat, professional networking, and a gymnasium for the ‘overactive’ mind – it’s all pretty positive when you frame it like this. I often tell the artists I mentor that some of my best opportunities have been created online, by hanging out, dawdling a while and putting great content out there as a calling card.
None of this has been done strategically by the by – it’s just happened.
Equally, I’ve had some major fallow periods and this has been pretty amazing too. There have been times when ‘realtime’ (how I hate the term for it’s hierarchical connotations) has taken over (as in days of old) and there simply hasn’t been time for Twitter, Instagram, and the like. It’s been edifying in many ways, involved a lot of masking (not so good) and made me intensely productive in the studio. AHA!
You see this is it. The autistic mind in my experience finds regulation tricky, and how the butterfly brain loves to flit from email to blog post at will! I speak for myself, of course, but so so often it’s an all or nothing thing for me. I’m either ONLINE or I’m OFF. Time spent away makes the social media platforms seem glitchy and a bit like Teflon – my brain forgets how to connect. People move on, the platform ‘upgrades’ and it’s all shot. You have to work at it to get back to where you were as a presence in people’s online minds. Don’t get me started on how bad the non-chronological timeline can be for autistics. We need our networks dammit! Sometimes this is even life-support.
So the prospect of creating some kind of structure for my work beyond the reactive is intriguing – how will I regulate the switches involved and will I really be ‘more productive’? My suspicion is that I will be differently productive, my worry is that I will lose out on flow. The ultimate goal is to manage it all, hold onto to all the plates I’m juggling without going into overload.
It’s my deep suspicion that much of this will require fine calibration, and that like taking vitamins (which I’m also trying out) I will be prone to forgetfulness, and lose track of the various jars which will gather dust and simply litter up the place. New habits and routines can be hard to sustain – like the over eager resolution, destined to fizzle out before Christmas.
Wish me luck. I really, really don’t want my creative work to slide away. So that’s a major motivation. A studio practice is all about turning up, and I’m looking forward to getting stuck in. After all – I should really practice what I preach to my dear mentees. Keep it going, find space for your work, carve out time!