A couple of days ago, I gave a lecture about art in criminal justice contexts. It’s not a field in
It’s messy, difficult, compromised—but at its best community art can be joyously emancipatory. It shows us that we will only find pathways to a better place if we work together. We need each other. And we need to keep asking questions we can’t answer.
By what right does an artist set out to produce even the conditions of change in others? And what responsibilities does she have towards those who may be put in the path of change, without being fully aware of that possibility or its effects?
For several weeks, I’ve been facilitating creative writing workshops in Leicester. The project, commissioned by Writing East Midlands with the
The POLIN Choir is an ambitious and sustained initiative to develop the relationship between a new museum and the community in which it stands.
This week I received the gift of close reading in two reviews, both by people who have worked in this field for decades. As you’d expect, they brought immense knowledge and experience to the task. More importantly, they read with creative engagement, testing my thinking, not to prove it right or wrong, but to understand what it might offer.
Now that I don’t have to write, I’m rediscovering the pleasure of reading, especially around the subject that has occupied
Too long; didn’t read? Fair enough: so here’s a quick summary of the ground covered in the book: 80.000 words reduced to about 1,350
A Bao A Qu is a small Catalan organisation, founded in 2004 by friends passionate about sharing their love of cinema,
Valleys Kids shows how close community art and community development can be, especially when work is rooted and sustained. The
Thank you to all the artists, professional and non-professional, who have shared this journey and trusted me with your work.