Mindfulness and participatory art practice

On Saturday, I facilitated a workshop about participatory art and quality at the Institute of Polish Culture in Warsaw that reminded me of the power of participation. There were about 20 of us: students, postgrads, arts practitioners and others, mostly women and mostly young. Some had a lot of practical experience, others not much. But what each person brought into the room was shared openly, in a respectful spirit of engaged inquiry. As a result a kind of community emerged, temporary and shaped by its shared interest, but still a powerful resource for shared learning. Each voice, each perspective was valued by everyone and so we learned together more and better than we could have learned separately. And we did learn. It’s hard not to sound pious when I say that whether as a community arts worker, researcher or consultant, I think I’ve learned far more from others than they have learned from me, but it’s true – and this workshop was another instance of that. I came away with many new insights and adjustments to my thinking.

One of the breakout sessions focused on the performance standards for working in participatory art. That idea recognises that if product or outcomes can’t be guaranteed, the process that creates them can – at least in the sense that there are skills, methods and behaviours amounting to good practice and which can be agreed by the profession. Good practice offers a much better probability of good results and avoiding the damage that can be done, especially in work with vulnerable people. Such standards can also help guide commissioners identify artists who are best able to undertake a project.

Some good practice standards are practical and obvious: ensuring there is a suitable space and materials for a workshop, and that tools can be used safely, is one example. Others are more complex and more difficult to achieve: sensitivity to group dynamics, or identifying each participant’s unique contribution come to mind.  It was typical of this group that it was these they were interested in, and when they reported back on their discussions, one idea came up again and again: mindfulness.

It was expressed in different ways: a quality of listening, attentiveness, presence, receptivity, open-mindedness, vigilance, awareness. Insofar as I’d been conscious of this before, it had been instinctively – hence, not really attentively. But the group was right: being alive to what is actually happening now is one of the most important qualities of good participatory art practice. It is essential to steering a session or a project well, to seeing when something damaging might happen, to rebuilding when it has and to creating a profound artistic experience. But mindfulness could also be seen to extend beyond the workshop activity to embrace an awareness of the principles and ethics on which one’s work rests. There will always be ambiguities, compromises and dissonance in participatory art because they exist in life. What matters is the extent to which we are aware of them and, being aware, able to adjust what we do next to bring our action closer to our intention.

I’ve written about art as a ‘self-conscious’ dimension of culture, which is often lived unthinkingly, and there are connections with that idea here. To create art we must be alert to ourselves and our experience now: that is the concentration sometimes described as ‘flow’. To create art with others, we must be equally alert to them and their experience now. If the participatory artist or workshop leader can bring that quality of presence into the room, others will find it natural to be present too. During Saturday’s workshop I saw that not just intellectually but experientially too. I’m very grateful for this reminder of the power of shared creativity that participatory art can foster, and also of the importance of mindfulness to its practice.

Speaking of community art

Someone recently suggested to me that I should speak of ‘Art in the Community’ because community art seemed to be a genre, like Pop Art. It was an interesting observation and I’m always glad to be reminded how differently ideas can be interpreted. Still, there are clear reasons why I continue to describe my work as community art after 35 years. One of them is that community art is a theory, not a genre or even a practice. It is rooted in Article 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which begins:

Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community [and] to enjoy the arts

Community art sees that right as reaching beyond the idea of giving people access to art, which might be what art in the community offers. Desirable as that may be, it’s not enough, since it leaves us as largely passive spectators rather than agents ‘in the cultural life of the community’.  Community art, as first imagined in the 1960s and 1970s, takes Article 27 to mean that everyone should have access to the means of cultural production as well as consumption. Recognising that is not the case, community artists work so that more people do have the resources, training, knowledge and means to create their own artistic work on their own terms.

Why does that matter? What’s so important about being able to create your own art? Because art is a way of making sense of existence, of defining, expressing and values. Art enables us to represent ourselves in the world, in all sorts of ways that go beyond speech. And if we cannot represent ourselves, we are at the mercy of other people’s representation of us. Imagine a world where women’s experience was represented mainly in the creative production of men. Actually, that’s most of Western art history…

You can download an essay setting out that theory more fully by clicking on this link.

Community art is a rights-based theory about art’s place in the world. You cannot recognise community art by looking at it because it is not expressed in form or aesthetics: that’s why it is not a genre. It is a way of working – the enacting of a framework of ideas and values. Even then, it’s easily confused with participatory art, socially-engaged practice relational aesthetics, dialogic practice, new genre public art, community cultural development and the many other practices that have emerged since the 1960s, mostly as more or less conscious offshoots from, or reactions, to community art.

But community art, the original spark, remains clear and meaningful to me. Its practice is fascinating, inspiring and creative, and the need for it is as great as ever.

So thanks for raising the question: I welcome the chance to think and talk about this restless art. If you too see things differently, please use the comments space below to share your perspective.

 

Moments of Joy

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Almost imperceptibly participatory art is becoming an ordinary dimension of social programmes. It has happened quietly over two or three decades, and it is not a done deal yet, but it is becoming more and more common for actors outside the arts world to integrate arts activities in their work.

Take the example of South Yorkshire Housing Association (SYHA), a social landlord with some 5,700 homes across the Sheffield City Region, let on average at 21% less than private sector rents in the area. A third of their properties also offer support of specialist care staff, while its LiveWell services help customers in different ways, from accessing mental health support to training or finding work.

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Two years ago, SYHA began to explore how the arts might add value to what they offer their customers. They also wanted to see if it would build relationships between staff, volunteers and customers and with the arts and cultural sector locally. Finally, they hoped that it would enhance their operating model. SYHA were prepared to invest their own resources into the work and they began talking with their customers and local arts organisations about what they might do.

The result was a pilot programme called Moments of Joy, which has just been completed and evaluated. It involved several projects in different parts of the region. Two were environmental art projects in which residents and staff worked with artists to create landscape markers. An Open Cinema project offered 30 events in two seasons in Sheffield. A theatre project with Cardboard Citizens and other partners, which involved about 70 customers and staff and culminated in three performances. A community journalists project to train volunteers to document the programme.

In themselves, these projects may not seem very ambitious or important. Some also worked better than others. But that is to miss the point. What is important is the commitment from a social housing provider to support the wellbeing of its customers and staff by investing its resources in arts activity. The individual projects will change individual lives – the evaluation has already shown that starting to happen. But it is the programme that has the capacity to change approaches to housing and social care. Already, this first experience has convinced SYHA to continue the approach. A new phase is now offering visual art, dance and music sessions, Yorkshire Artspace and darts (Doncaster Community Arts) with funding from Paul Hamlyn Foundation supporting 50 of the Association’s most vulnerable customers to take part.  In Doncaster, SYHA is integrating the work is with its Social Prescribing service.

There are some who do not like the idea that art should be part of a social programme like this. They fear the instrumentalisation of art, although it is hard to see a time or a culture when art has not been used by a king or a pope or a banker to advance their interests. Personally, I’ve always thought art was stronger than that and what worries me is the instrumentalisation of people. What impresses me about the SYHA experience is that it is another step towards art being part of everyday life, bringing its creativity, its fun and its questions to places and situations which need them. I love that the housing association decided to call this programme ‘Moments of Joy’. It speaks of a clear-sighted confidence in what difference they are trying to make in people’s lives.

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What next? It depends who’s asking

When a campaign takes off as Fun Palaces has, people start asking ‘What Next?’. It’s the wrong question – or at least, to ask it is to misunderstand what’s important about Fun Palaces and why.

Cultural policy in post-war Europe (how long will we keep calling it that?) has been divided between two big ideas: cultural democratisation and cultural democracy. Cultural democratisation got out of the blocks first and it retains the head start it established in the 1950s, partly because it holds the big assets. A product of the Welfare State it sees culture as a social good, like education, work and healthcare, which the state should help citizens to access. Public libraries had been seen like that for decades, partly because they are more obviously educational. Building new theatres, galleries and arts centre,  together with pricing, marketing and outreach policies designed to make them attractive, has been a key part of cultural democratisation. Culture is good and in a democracy, everyone should have their fair share.

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You could say that this democratisation was a victim of its own success, because it was the very children who had benefited from better education and public services after 1945 who challenged that provision as paternalistic. Artists were at the forefront of that charge, especially those who began to call themselves ‘community artists’ in the late 1960s and – like Amber – celebrate the working class culture from which they often came. They saw cultural democratisation as the elite’s way of maintaining its power by teaching others to admire its culture and the social values they represented. What we want, they said, is cultural democracy – access to the means of cultural production so that we can remake a culture in our own image.

During the past 50 years, cultural policy in Britain – and most Western European countries – has been a struggle between the advocates of democratisation and the champions of democracy. The first have institutional resources and authority on their side. The second have imagination and applied creativity…

What does this have to do with asking what next for Fun Palaces? It’s all about who’s asking the question.

Cultural democratisation, like all faiths, is rooted in the idea of self-improvement. People who are introduced to art at an early age, the idea goes, will begin a lifetime of personal development that enables them to appreciate more fully the transcendental power of great art. It is the education of a sensibility. Its great trap is the assumption that where you are, what you like or do now, is not of value in itself – it’s just another step on the long stairway to heaven.

In practical terms, that translates into ideas like engagement and audience development (how, incidentally, do you develop an audience, except in marketing terms?). It’s why funding bodies, such as the Arts Council, require that every application demonstrates a development on the last one. The idea of simply funding an artist to continue doing what they do is unthinkable, unless – perhaps like the Royal Opera House – what they do is believed to have achieved a state of perfection. In this logic, cultural participation is always and only a journey of self-improvement. That is why those who see themselves as managing it feel the need to ask of others – ‘What next?’.

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If the question arises in a context of cultural democracy – and it does constantly – it is because people are asking themselves what comes next. The table tops were still being wiped clean while social media was fizzing with Fun Palace makers sharing questions and ideas about how to do things better next time. Brockwell Lido Fun Palace asked for advice on how to help parents see that activities were for them and not only for their children, and responses soon poured in from other makers on Twitter and Facebook as people shared their own experience.

And that’s the point – everyone’s own experience was valid. Everyone’s suggestion was worth hearing. There was no answer – such questions don’t have an answer –there was discussion and reflection. That will lead to experiments, more discussion and learning. There is no single path, and perhaps no progress. There is an unending landscape of possibilities to discover and the right – and obligation – to decide which are best.

If cultural democracy has an ideal, it is not some distant heaven towards which we are guided by a priesthood, but the quality of what we are doing, sharing, living now. It is about making sense of where we are, through creative and artistic interacting with others. It’s about working out for ourselves what we think is good and why, always remembering that others think differently for equally valid reasons.

What is next for Fun Palaces? I’ve no idea. But I know that – because this movement is (mostly) an expression of cultural democracy – the thousands of people involved will work that out for themselves. And there will not be one next step: there will be at least 290.

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4 – Imagination is free

‘Yes. No idea. I don’t know. Who knows? Yes.’

Since I heard about Fun Palaces a few months ago, I’ve been intrigued by how this idea has grown so far, so fast. What started four years ago as an open question at a conference has snowballed into something like a social movement. In the first year (2014) about 3,000 people were involved in making 138 Fun Palaces. There were a few more (142) in 2015 but this October there were 290! How does that happen? When I asked Stella Duffy, who struck the first spark at the conference, her reply was intriguing.

The people who made the Fun Palaces in Whitstable and in Farnham – who were following me for my books – both said to me on Twitter “Can anyone do this?”  We’re just going, “Yes. No idea. I don’t know. Who knows? Yes.”  Then it became a thing…  

Sandwiched between permissive affirmations, she was open about not knowing – indeed, about not feeling responsible for knowing. That culture of shared ownership, backed up with light and consistent support developed by Fun Palaces HQ, has empowered thousands of people to have fun with Joan Littlewood’s belief that art and science is open to all.

It’s too soon to have details of what happened in 2016, but the Fun Palaces team (4 people, all part time) did produce a report on what happened in 2015. Three things particularly struck me in that:

  • First, half the Fun Palaces were made by community groups or individuals; less than a third were produced by arts organisations;
  • Secondly, just 30% of the Fun Palaces took place in London (which still gets two thirds of the Arts Council’s funds);
  • Finally, the people involved belong to all social groups and backgrounds: makers and participants reflect the nation in terms of ethnicity, and 54% of them were in the more deprived half of the country.

If cultural policy and spending achieved anything close to such an equitable reach many things might be different in Britain today.

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Trapped by thousand tiny ropes

It’s not from want of trying, of course. Arts and cultural institutions have been producing plans to increase ‘engagement’ and ‘participation’ for – literally – decades, with not much to show for it.  Arts Council England is now investing £37 million in Creative People and Places to get ‘more people choosing, creating and taking part in brilliant art experiences in the places where they live’. The initiative supports 21 partnerships of cultural and other organisations and is undoubtedly creating many fine new projects and activities. (I’ve even made one of those projects myself, in the Lincolnshire Fens.)

q_352_550pBut it’s really hard to spend £37 million.You need plans and controls, relationship managers and auditors, advisors and committees and evaluators. You need expertise, knowledge and contacts. You need resources even to manage the resources. You have to take people with you.  You have to justify your decisions. Select committees and tabloid papers will tell you  (in their ignorance) where you’ve gone wrong. Before you’ve made the first grant still less put on an event, you’re bound with a thousand threads, like Gulliver on the beach of Lilliput. It’s nobody’s intention: it’s just what happens when you’re responsible for millions of other people’s money.      

Then it became a thing

But it is also the antithesis of Fun Palaces, which are fuelled by enthusiasm, gifts and volunteering. The campaign itself has received about £100,000 a year since 2014 – perhaps 1% of the Creative People and Places fund. The funding brings some obligations, but the Fun Palaces team manage those without passing the burden on to the makers. It has also received a lot of help, including from the Albany in Deptford, which has provided a base and much free support. That has helped it stay small, informal and fleet of foot, placing the attention and control where it belongs – with the communities who make Fun Palaces.

funpalaces_say_yes_-300x300Most of them happen without funding, though they get heaps of help from local people and groups. They are discovering how empowering it is – to others – when you ask for help. Not knowing, not being the person who has the solution, not having the resources: such weaknesses become strengths when they open doors, build partnership, create friendships. If ‘Yes!’ is the spirit of Fun Palaces, so is asking for help, sharing, improvising, problem solving…

And this is where Fun Palaces are most creative. Of course, activities on the day can be creative, but it is making the event itself from clothes pegs, old newspapers and neglected space that is the really creative act. Where arts organisations spend months preparing a banquet before opening the doors and persuading people it’s what they want, Fun Palaces announce the date and place of a picnic and ask everyone to bring what they can. That’s why each one is different. If you know what’s going happen, it’s not a Fun Palace.

A Fun Palace is not a fucking fete. People sometimes want it to be a fete. It’s not a fete. If it’s a fete it’s not a Fun Palace. It’s not about coming along and having a lovely time. It’s not audience development. It’s like when I was 15, and met someone from my working class background, my town, who was an actor, who told me I could do that too. It’s saying to everybody, “You can do this. You are allowed to make arts and make sciences.”

Freedom to make your own sense

Fun Palaces have become a movement so quickly because the people behind it have not tried to control it. They have only said what the idea is and given some principles to guide people who want to make a Fun Palace. They should be:

Free – Local  – Innovative – Transformative – Engaging

That’s enough to be getting on with, though the information provided to potential makers gives a few more helpful words:

Fun Palaces are also LIMITLESS. They are INSPIRING. They are about TAKING PART. And, ideally, they are EASY. We want you to ENJOY making your Fun Palace. And they are also, as far as possible, SUSTAINABLE

(And notice how clear that is: everything I’ve read on the Fun Palaces website, including the admirably readable evaluation report, speaks of a wish to communicate and to show that people who work in the arts (or sciences) are no different from anyone else.)

Crucially, every maker or group is encouraged to interpret those ideas as they wish. Everyone is invited and everyone is interested in what others has to share. The result might not look impressive from a distance but talk to someone who is involved – or take part yourself – and you see that its value is in doing and being, not watching or listening. It is a first step towards rethinking art, science and creativity, what those things might be and how you relate to them. If you never do anything else again, it will be a pity, but never mind: you won’t think about art and science quite the same way either.

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The difficult freedom of neglect

In 1962 Joan Littlewood tried to explain the Fun Palace idea to ‘the absurd Arts Council‘ who replied that she would not get support because ‘they were interested  in something which did not interest Miss Littlewood – Art.’  The Theatre Workshop Archive records that she replied ‘They are quite right!‘. But she might also have gone on to say that ‘Miss Littlewood is interested in something that does not interest the Arts Council – People.’

I’m not surprised that Joan Littlewood and Cedric Price couldn’t make The  Fun Palace in 1961. I’m saddened that The Public got so close, only to fall at the end; but not surprised. It’s what happens when you depend on other people’s money. They want to say how it will be spent and – because they have the money – they always think they know what you should do with it. If Littlewood had built a Fun Palace, she’d have lost control of it in days. She would have refused to do as she was told and stormed off. The building would have become just one more arts centre trying to meet its funders’ expectations. Luckily, it never happened so  she made temporary Fun Palaces instead – Bubble City  in 1968 and Stratford Fair  in 1975. In the difficult freedom of neglect she tried things whose influence continues decades after most well-funded theatre productions have been forgotten.

One way of thinking about Joan Littlewood’s story – and it’s only one: hers was a complex story – is to be glad that the Arts Council didn’t get her. Difficult as her artistic journey was, it’s hard to believe it would have been improved by their support. The truth is that we are most free when power is not interested in us. Perhaps community art has flourished – and it really has, despite its difficulties – in the past 50 years because it has never been smothered by the institutional embrace of the art world. Instead, it has won the support and affection of people, by working with them, involving them and empowering them.

It’s hard to work without resources and without the respect of people you think of as peers. But it’s harder still to have your creativity directed, your choices limited and your work colonised. Art is too precious to be kept from people – and what they make of it when they have the chance is more precious than power understands.

‘I do think that art has to reach others. What I hope for is that they are encouraged to create through art rather than to go “I could never achieve that, so I won’t try,” which I think is really painful and really damaging. If everyone was trying, we would have fixed the world by now. If we were educating everybody, we would have cures for all of our diseases.’

Resources

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3 – Nearly building a Fun Palace in West Bromwich

‘But what is it for?’ was a question often asked by funders.

There has been at least one serious attempt to give physical reality to Joan Littlewood’s vision: The Public, in Sandwell. This huge, multi-disciplinary and interactive community arts centre was imagined by Jubilee Arts, who had been working in this part of the post-industrial West Midlands since 1974. The new building was conceived as an affirmation of community art as a cultural field that deserved equal respect with any other. It was to be a cornerstone for regeneration in West Bromwich town centre and a place for local people to develop and share their creativity. Like Joan Littlewood, Jubilee set out to say that this place and these people deserve the same as anyone else: the best.

Designed by Will Alsop, The Public opened in 2008, but by then problems had already forced changes of design, vision and operation. It struggled to gain the wholehearted backing of Arts Council England, which provided only project funding after 2009. But The Public did win strong local support – in a town with no other arts facilities, the centre attracted tens of thousands to exhibitions, theatre and comedy shows, tea dances, workshops and events. In 2013 Sandwell Council withdrew its funding and closure became inevitable; but, during its last 12 months, The Public had welcomed more than 450,000 visitors.

For many people – especially those who never visited it – The Public is just a symbol of how National Lottery funding can be wasted on useless cultural projects. It’s true that many mistakes were made during the project’s conception, construction and operation. Hubris, inexperience, fear and politics all played their part and the consequences should not be minimised. Many people were hurt by the project’s ultimate failure.

Does that mean it should not have been attempted? Does it mean that the vision was unachievable? The art world, usually so quick to defend its ‘right to fail’, said little about a project it neither understood nor liked. For me, and despite the mistakes and the failures, The Public was a brave attempt to make Joan Littlewood and Cedric Price’s vision real by creating  a permanent Fun Palace in one of the poorest boroughs in Britain. The idea of opening a first class arts space in such an area was already challenging: doing it in a way that valued all kinds of creativity was  too much. So, like Littlewood and Price before them, the Jubilee Arts team struggled to make their vision clear to the planners and funders. Graham Peet, who worked on the project from start to finish, writes on a legacy website:

‘But what is it for?’ was a question often asked by funders. In the end that question stopped being asked. It had become obvious to hundreds of thousands of visitors what it was for. It was about making West Bromwich a better place to live.

The people of West Bromwich did not have the same difficulty. I visited the project several times during its troubled life and though the problems were plain enough, I thought that, with time and support, The Public could succeed. What always impressed me was seeing place full of local people discovering and enjoying art. These were very different visitors than those I might see in a conventional art gallery – local people, curious and open-minded, appreciative of what the strange pink building could offer them. They came not despite but because of the mix of art and activity that made The Public so incomprehensible to the art world. Work by Tracey Emin, Allan Ahlberg, Martin Parr, Shazia Mirza, Jeremy Deller, John Akomfrah, Jenny Eclair and countless others rubbed shoulders with that of young artists, amateur and craft groups, students and school children. And that made perfect sense to the people of West Bromwich.

‘My roots are in West Brom I just loved all of the photographs as they captured every aspect of the wonderful, warm hearted Black Country people. Thank you. I shall revisit the Public again and again’

(Comment left by a visitor to Martin Parr’s exhibition)

It didn’t quite work, yet – but it was on its way to working. Its closure was a sad moment for many people, including me. It also seemed to underline how difficult it is to do something actually different. We’re told nowadays to ‘Think outside the box’ – such a cliché – but try to think creatively, though, really leave existing assumptions, and you’ll soon find the boundaries.

Joan Littlewood would have understood The Public, I think. She would have recognised too the difficulty of getting the powerful to accept such a different idea. Was it worth the cost?

…Part 4 tomorrow

More information

  • The Public Story, a website by Graham Peet and Linda Saunders, with whose permission the second block of photographs is included.

2 – A Fun Palace reimagined in Farnham

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Farnham is a handsome market town in Surrey, an ancient place with a castle, Roman roads and hill forts. It is 45 miles from Joan Littlewood’s East London, where she fought to build The Fun Palace, but it seems a world away. London changes continually – the Olympic Park has replaced the post-war wastelands where artists and local kids once explored other worlds – but Farnham is continuity England, evolution not revolution. It’s hard to imagine Littlewood liking it much – if she ever came here.

But appearances can be deceptive, though we forget it. After all, Farnham sided with Parliament in the Civil War, and it was the home of William Cobbett, the great radical writer and MP, who would surely have enjoyed arguing with Littlewood. It’s also a town with a long interest in arts and crafts. Farnham School of Art opened in 1866 and it continues as part of the University for the Creative Arts. And in 1961, just as Joan Littlewood was imagining her Fun Palace, Farnham opened a free museum in a fine Georgian house on West Street. With its emphasis on local history, the Museum of Farnham probably felt more palace than fun to its first visitors. Still, in common with Littlewood, the museum wanted to involve people more in culture. The question is how.

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Half a century later, these two strands of thinking about the place of art in people’s lives have come together: the Museum of Farnham is hosting a Fun Palace, one of almost 300 taking place this weekend across Britain and abroad. A group of volunteers has been given the run of the Garden Gallery, an attractive wood and glass building that is the museum’s education space, and everyone is welcome. When I get there, at lunchtime on a blustery Saturday afternoon in October, I can already hear happy voices.

There’s so much going on that it has spilled out onto the verandas, where children are busy making hand prints on paper. Round the corner, Bridget Floyer asks visitors to add themselves to a map of local creativity, as she develops her ideas about participatory art. Inside, Farnham Art and Design Education Group are hosting a Big Draw event; elsewhere people cluster round tables to make things with clay or from melted plastic. There are lots of families, and if the parents are often helping their kids, they’re having no less fun. Generous provision of refreshments makes a hospitable atmosphere as people move from one activity to another. Farnham’s radicalism is not forgotten either. I talk with members of the local Amnesty International group and sign petitions about refugees and political prisoners in distant lands.

Meanwhile, in the main building, Wendy Richardson is talking about Joan Littlewood with  Christine Jackson, who worked with her on Bubble City in 1968 and many other projects. Richardson has just completed a film, ‘In the Company of Joan’, which would have been shown too, but there are too many people having too much noisy fun to make that possible so, recognising what’s important today, that plan has been abandoned. Still, we get more time for conversation and it’s an inspiring reminder of the power of imaginative play and the creative freedom that can be found – paradoxically –when no one is interested in you. Christine Jackson evokes a world in which people do things because they want to, not to fulfil a carefully worked out strategy or meet a funder’s targets. And if that includes setting out to build a hovercraft, well – why not, if that’s what the young people are excited to do? At worst, you’ll discover that it’s beyond your resources, but you can have a fantastic time finding that out, and you might find what it is that you can do. This is art, science, creativity. This is fun.

And this is the heart of the Fun Palace idea: the spirit of saying ‘Yes!’.

That’s not naïve or careless. But it is the opposite of trying to persuade people to be interested in your ideas, a common trap for arts policy today. It’s knowing that good work begins with our desires – something that artists usually remember where their own work is concerned. We all have to adapt our desires to reality, but that’s the essence of learning: me in the world, exercising agency and discovering its limits and consequences.

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The photos I took at Farnham are pretty dull. Photography struggles to capture a creative workshop because what matters is invisible. What matters is the experience people get when they mould a piece of clay for the first time, or discover what oil pastel does, or see plastic cord soften with heat and become capable of making an expressive line, your line, that you drew. That experience cannot be shown. Six people sitting in a room, talking about long past events, make for a dull photograph. But being there, being part of the conversation – that was a great experience.

Art is only ever a route to experience of connecting minds. The object – painting, book, recording – is easily fetishized but it only matters because it has been charged by its maker(s) with the power to communicate, move, teach… Because the object is photogenic and tangible it is easily mistaken for what is happening, for art itself.

A Fun Palace is not in children’s drawings or happy faces: it is in discovering that you too can be an artist, and that no one else can be the artist you can be. That is an empowering experience, whatever you make of it.

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Part 3 tomorrow

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I’m very grateful to Carine, Alex and everyone I met at Farnham Fun Palace for their welcome, openness and encouraging me to have fun…

1 – Failing to build The Fun Palace

On 1 & 2 October 2016, almost 300 temporary Fun Palaces were created in Britain, Ireland, France, Norway, Australia and New Zealand, all inspired by the vision of Joan Littlewood. Since 2013, this movement has come from an idea by Stella Duffy, picked up by tens, then hundreds and now thousands of other people. Both the original vision and its subsequent expression are at the heart of what participatory art is about, so each day this week, I’ll post about Fun Palaces, then and now, and what could be learned from the experience of trying to make them happen.  

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Part One – The Original Fun Palace

For years in the 1960s and 1970s the theatre director Joan Littlewood pursued a vision of a place where working people, like herself, could get involved in art, science, discovery, learning, pleasure…

‘Choose what you want to do – or watch someone else doing it. Learn how to handle tools, paint, babies, machinery, or just listen to your favourite tune. Dance, talk or be lifted up to where you can see how other people make things work. Sit out over space with a drink and tune in to what’s happening elsewhere in the city. Try starting a riot or beginning a painting – or just lie back and stare at the sky.’

Littlewood wanted everyone to benefit from the social change happening around her and to have the opportunities to fulfil their potential. She drew on an ideal of the university and its capacity for self-development. New ones were then being built in Essex, Norwich, York, Sussex and Warwick to facilitate social mobility, though her description actually sounds more like the radical learning spaces that briefly flared during the student sit-ins of 1968 at Hornsey College of Art and elsewhere.

But she drew also on all sorts of other radical ideas and folk memories that were bubbling up at the time: socialism, her own theatre work, the pleasure garden, adventure playgrounds, mechanics’ institutes, community art and who knows what else. Littlewood called it The Fun Palace, apparently in response to Jennie Lee’s (Britain’s first arts minister) assertion that ‘What people want now is fun’. The phrase caught on, but it also caused difficulties. It was hard to explain, and it made some people think that this was all an indulgence – the fantasy of unworldly artists.  As her friend and biographer, Peter Rankin, writes:

‘Joan, just by talking, could create the Palace before your eyes but soon she would be talking to people who would go away thinking: ‘What was all that about?’; and those were the people who would be giving planning permission and providing money.’

It didn’t help that Joan Littlewood could be very difficult to work with. For all her commitment to the collective, she was not a team player. Still, she battled for her idea. With the visionary architect Cedric Price and the support of friends and colleagues, she campaigned for her Fun Palace for years, drawing up plans, raising funds, identifying sites, attending council meetings, persuading, arguing, coaxing…  in vain. There were temporary versions: a playground made on a bomb site, a colonised industrial building on Martin Street or Bubble City in the City of London Festival each explored aspects of the idea, but Joan Littlewood’s Fun Palace was never built.

Which might have been a good thing.

… Part 2 tomorrow

References