TL;DR
The jackdaws have started bringing their babies to my windowsill. (And they stole my collection of crab shells!)
RAMBLINGS: I realised that given the length of this substack I wouldn’t read it but would listen to an audio version and then realised that I had accidentally created a podcast that you can listen to here.
ARTICLE: A quantum flirt has lead me to playing Backgammon with strangers in what might be an interesting new project. Click here if you want to be a part of it.
BUY: Three lovely screen-printed t-shirts available in my shop.
WORK WITH ME: I’ve got capacity for talks, workshop and 1:1 work for the autumn/winter. E-mail me if you’re interested.
A childhood photo of me invites you to support my work: Buy stuff in my shop, become a patron of my studio or buy me a coffee (tip jar).
1. Hello
I’ve had bird feeders on the windowsills of my flat for a couple of years now and have a regular bunch of creatures who come to visit me every day. (I illustrated a short story about them all entitled “The Windowsill Gang”.) However, I recently noticed that the jackdaws had started to look a bit malnourished, scruffy and with different coloured eyes (sometimes two dark eyes, sometimes one dark and one light). I wondered if it was to do with the weird temperature fluctuations we’ve been having in the UK. Or if it might be bird flu? But then I saw a big jackdaw chatting to one of the weird ones and putting some mealworms down near it and realised that it was a baby! (A toddler is probably a more accurate comparison). This was very exciting as I realised I was witnessing a generational handover at the little bird restaurant I had created. Since then I’ve loved watching the weird scruffy ones turn into very gangly and somewhat goofy looking teenagers. Getting close to wild creatures in this way really satisfies something in me and gives me a sense of meaning that I find hard to get elsewhere. (Although they are in my bad books at the moment because they seem to have stolen my selection of crab shells from a little shelf right by the open window.)
I always start these Substack things with the TL;DR section (Which, if you didn’t know, is an abbreviation for “too long, didn’t read”). The intention of this is to give people the opportunity to browse what is in each issue and to see if there is anything that grabs their interest without having to read through the whole thing. But whilst writing the one for this issue I realised that, even though I write this thing and am deeply fascinated by the content, I probably wouldn’t read it! Whilst I can read and have read extensively in the past I find it hard work and it requires a lot of energy and concentration to focus and absorb the words in the order they are intended without getting too tired or suddenly following a tangental thought that takes me away from the piece. So, I tend to not read much anymore. But I do listen to audiobooks.
This made me realise that there must be many others out there who are similar. People who might be interested in the content of this substack but find that the medium of the written word doesn’t work for them as well. Accessibility is important to me so I thought that maybe I could record an audio version of each issue that people could listen to. But where would I put it? Ahhh…I know, I can use a broadcasting platform like Buzzsprout that is normally used for podcasts. Then, as a I read back over the previous issues I realised I’d need to modify the content a bit to transition it from written word to spoken word. And I’m never that excited by (or very good at) reading scripts so maybe I’d just use the themes from the written version and talk meanderingly about them rather than read them word for word. I laughed at my chain of though when I realised that what had started as an idea to record an accessible audio version of my newsletter had actually turned into a podcast.
Prior to this realisation I had absolutely zero desire to do a podcast. (I sort of still don’t have any desire to do one - I just want an accessible, audio version of this!) I’ve hosted, curated and produced a number of podcasts in the past and whilst I enjoyed them I’ve also found them hard work and very time consuming. Between 2018-2020 I was the host of Sound of Silence - the world’s first silent podcast featuring special guests in which I travelled round the UK recording face to face silence with 100 different people. Then in 2024 jdwoof and I produced and presented The Glen Dye Podcast - a series of short, themed episodes celebrating art, nature, food, foraging and all that is great about this area of Scotland. And since 2023 I’ve been the producer of One in Six Billion - a fascinating podcast about diabetes and genes presented by two amazingly knowledgable and maverick professors. (I knew very little about either of these subjects before taking on this job.)
But there was something about the idea of doing a podcast inspired by this substack that fascinated me enough to do it. I like the confusion that it provokes in my brain: Is this a podcast about the substack or the other way round? What influences what? Will they be exactly the same? How on earth do I explain what this is about? Isn’t it more normal to have a transcription of a podcast rather than use the written word to transcribe into spoken word? What the hell am I going to call it? And does any of this matter to anyone other than me?
In the end I thought the messiness of it all was a good enough reason to do it and see what happens, as well as my genuine desire to provide an accessible version of the content for those who prefer audio over the written word.
So, for this edition of the substack and all future ones there will be a simultaneous, similar but also slightly different podcasty version of it too. (e.g. in the podcast version you get some live drama involving a spider and a crow that you don’t get in this written version!)
2. Quantum flirts and Back Gaemen
A question I am often asked is “So what’s next?” And for 80% of the time my honest answer is “I don’t know.”
The question normally comes after a talk or an exhibition or an interview. I guess it primarily comes from a place of curiosity and wondering what weird and wonderful future stuff might be lurking in my brain. (I’ve likely asked other people this question from a similar place). But I can’t help but become curious about the assumptions that sit behind the question. Assumptions about me and how my mind works as well as general assumptions about creativity, productivity and what it means to “successfully” live a creative life. Is there an assumption that there is just this constant flow of projects and ideas in my mind lining up like planes coming into an airport? How much is it informed by societal assumptions about productivity and the idea that being busy = being successful. And what do people think when I tell them that there isn’t anything and that I don’t know what’s next. Are they disappointed? Do they perceive me as a bit of a failure? And how does all of this make me feel when I seem to be perpetually admitting that I have no plans or ideas right now? (To be clear, I don’t mind being asked the question because not knowing has, in itself, become a very important part of my creative practice.)
I have learnt over the years that putting in effort to come up with ideas is a surefire way to ensure that I don’t ever come up with ideas. I liken it to those floaty things that people sometimes get on their eyes (vitreous floaters). If you try to look at them they disappear from sight, so the only way to see them is to not try looking at them and simply wait for them to appear. I often use the metaphor of vitreous floaters to talk about Arnie Mindell’s concept of Quantum Flirting which has become an important part of my creative practice for many years now.
My understanding of Mindell’s concept is that the way we think about attention is somewhat skewed, or at least unhelpful in a number of ways. The general assumption is that we choose where to place our attention. For example, I just looked up from my desk where I am writing this and noticed a jar of chilli flakes on the kitchen counter. Logic tells me that in that moment I chose to place my attention on the chilli flakes. However, the lens of quantum flirting would suggest that in that moment I was open to hearing the jar of chilli flakes whispering for my attention.
I learnt about quantum flirting from my dear friend and colleague, gestalt psychotherapist Simon Cavvichia back in 2012. The concept spoke to me in such a way that it fundamentally changed how I approach my work,causing a significant shift in my creative philosophy : less effort and focus trying to seek out and hunt down inspiration and instead curating space and quiet and a kind of experimental un-focussing and emptiness in the every day in order to better hear inspiration calling to me. (Moving towards what in gestalt is called the “fertile void”.)
This all sounds great in theory but I find it hard when I am feeling down, uninspired, bored and simply want something to stimulate and engage me. The last thing I want to do is nothing. And there is no guarantee that I will get to a flirtable state where I am open enough to hear the alluring call of a curious question that might just turn into something special. Often there is nothing for a considerable amount of time and I become even more frustrated and despondent. But when a quantum flirt does occur, it feels magical. A moment where something gradually comes into my awareness. Something that was there all along but I just couldn’t quite de-focus and let go enough to see it until now. Previous big projects such as the Sound of Silence podcast, the (Not a) Lost Cat project, Inexpert 2018 and What the February?! all started life as a quantum flirt where I was open enough to hear something in my peripheral awareness calling for my attention.
Back in July this year I was feeling low and bored and wanting a particular type of human connection that always feels paradoxical to me - to be around lots of people in a way that I don’t feel alone but also don’t feel too overwhelmed by too much social interaction. I spent some time searching for things to do in London - looking for galleries, private views, art-like events, talks, gigs but nothing came up that grabbed my interest. (It was also a Tuesday evening and I learnt that’s not the best time for finding events that would meet my very specific social criteria.) But on every search I did, I noticed a board game meetup group in East London kept appearing. I kept ignoring it as, whilst I like board games, the thought of showing up in a pub I’ve never been to, not knowing anyone and trying to find somebody to play a game with felt like a surefire way of experiencing rejection and not fitting in. But this event kept calling to me via the medium of search engine results. So, despite every fibre of my nervous system telling me this was a very bad idea, I grabbed my stuff and left the flat before I could talk myself out of it.
On arriving at the pub I instantly regretted it. Despite arriving right at the start of the event, all the tables were full of people already playing games. Do these people know each other? Are they just all really good at meeting new people and deciding to play? How on earth do I integrate myself into this without coming across like an alien that doesn’t know how to interact with other humans? I spotted a group of 4 people walking up to the pile of games and saw my chance to practice being an adult human being. “Can I join you?” I asked, cringing inside. They looked at each other and then back at me and said “Ahh sorry, we’ve already got a full table and enough for this game.” I replied with a jolly “No problem!” which hid the crushing rejection and desire to flee the scene immediately and never try anything like this again.
But just as I was about to leave I saw an older guy on his own holding an ornate looking wooden box. He was looking around, presumably for somebody to play with. “Are you looking for somebody to play with?” I asked. “Yes!” he said and we sat down at the only empty table (the tiniest one in the pub) and he opened his box to reveal the game Backgammon. I told him that I had never played Backgammon before and he looked immensely disappointed. I asked him if he could teach me how to play and he didn’t really answer and started looking around the pub for somebody who seemed like a more experienced player. But as there was nobody else around he reluctantly agreed to show me how to play. We played five games. He won four of them, I won one although I suspect he let me win as he felt sorry for me. As we played we spoke. He told me he was from Persia, the region where the game was invented around 5,000 years ago. He told me all about the history of the game and that in the culture he grew up in Backgammon was a fixture of everyday life and he had been playing since he was 5. (Which went someway to explaining why he was able to play so quickly.) He showed me photos of the city in Iran where he had lived and about his experience of coming to live in the UK. I told him all about my life and my art and growing up and living in London. Then as the fifth game came to a close it felt like we reached a natural end to our interaction - we shook hands and I left. No exchange of contact details. No plans to keep in touch. Just a thank you and farewell. I left feeling incredibly socially satiated - a feeling I very rarely get.
Over the next couple of days I became fascinated why this felt like such a nourishing interaction. I mean it wasn’t like Backgammon was the best game I’d ever played. It actually confused me quite a bit and on the way home I was already forgetting the rules. And even though my playing partner was an interesting human being and I enjoyed our conversation, it wasn’t like I was fascinated by him any more than I would be with anyone else.
I then started to realise that, rather than the game or the individual, it was the nature of the interaction that really worked for me. Once I had found somebody to play with and had learnt even the most basic of rules I felt comfortable. I wrote about niche environments in Issue #2 of this Substack - specific habitats in which neurodiverse people can better thrive. (I also suggested that thinking about niche environments is an important thing for all of us to consider whether we regard ourselves as neurodiverse or not.)
For me it felt like the game of backgammon with this stranger provided me with three very important things: 1. A clear focus and reason for the interaction 2. A defined start point, end point and “escape routes” (like at the end of each game) and 3. A mutual, repeated physical activity from which conversation can naturally flow. I realised that when these factors are not present or are unclear to me that I start to find things more socially difficult and have to work harder to stay present and not have a weird out of body experience where I am watching myself trying to be “normal”. (Or drink alcohol to try and numb out of the intensity of it all and feel less inhibited).
I started to wonder if these three factors could become a helpful formula for me to meet new people in a way that helps me feel more like a functional adult. Could they provide enough of a lose structure to avoid feeling awkward, disoriented and trapped - something I often experience in conversation with strangers or people I don’t know very well.
I am always interested in meeting new people but find it hard to figure out ways to do this that work for me - walking into a bar or a party or an event and just striking up conversation or merging to become part of a group isn’t one of my skillsets. It was then that a curious question that would become the catalyst for a weird new project appeared: “I wonder what would happen if I invited strangers to play Backgammon with me?”
I posted an invitation across social media that simply said “Do you want to play Backgammon with me?” and on the 12th August the project began. I met somebody I had never met before in St James’ Park and we played three games of Backgammon surrounded by curious geese who seemed to want to join in. At the end I drew a portrait of the person (who I now officially refer to as “Player #1”), we co-created a haiku about our experience and said goodbye.
As I was walking back to Waterloo I felt elated. Not just because I had experienced a pleasant, engaging and delightfully weird social interaction, but because I got that excited feeling in my gut that this was going to turn into something that I might tell a story about someday. A new experimental project that emerged not through seeking it out but through de-focussing and allowing the board games event and the Iranian man with nobody to play Backgammon with to whisper for my attention. A weird, experimental adventure that arose from a quantum flirt and I’ve absolutely no idea where it will take me.
If you’d like to be part of the Back Gaemen Project you can read more about it here or drop me an e-mail/send me an Instagram DM.
(If you are wondering why I’m calling it the “Back Gaemen Project” - in summary, I dislike the word “Gammon” for various reasons and Back Gaemen is the middle English name for the game that loosley means “coming back to play” which felt much nicer.)
3. Screen printed T-shirts
Of all the things I sell in my shop or on market stalls, I get the most delight when somebody buys a t-shirt. I’m not sure why this is - I certainly don’t make the most money from selling them! I think it is the combination of somebody liking my art so much that they want to wear it and show it to others.
The thing with t-shirts is they cost a lot of money to have made, have minimum order quantities and stocks have to be held in all sizes which takes up precious studio space. So I’ve always been very frugal with getting them printed in bulk, instead opting to use a print-on-demand service to avoid all of this. The big downside to the print-on-demand option is that I have less control over quality, lead times and shipping costs and I also get a very tiny fraction of the sale price.
However, I have recently found three t-shirt designs that seem to be very popular and sourced lovely independent screen printing company to print them for me which means I can now offer high-quality, hand-screen printed t-shirts sold directly from my studio to you. (And I get to keep all the money you spend on them!)
If you’d like one then you can get one here. (There are also a number of on-demand printed ones which are nice too.
4.Upcoming workshops
I’ve not got a lot of stuff planned for the rest of 2025 but there are a couple of lovely workshops you might be interested in coming to.
Super Secret Musical Improv (SSMI XXXVIIV)
26th September 2025
Waterloo, London
£95. Limited to 16 attendees. (ONLY 1 PLACE LEFT)
Shh! These are invite only musical improvisation sessions led by the legendary Heather and Joe, the worlds greatest musical improvisation teachers.
Happening at various times in the year they are an opportunity to come together with a curious, friendly and supportive bunch of people and improvise songs, scenes and musicals. No previous experience is necessary, nor is any ability to sing, improvise or be funny. In fact, any of the above can prove a disadvantage.
Previous participants have described these sessions as “life enhancing”, “beautiful” and “I need SSMI like I need to breath.”
.:: MORE INFORMATION AND TICKETS ::.
Mask Workshop
14th November 2025
Bloomsbury, London
£130 + VAT. Limited to 10 attendees. (ONLY 4 PLACES LEFT)
This is my absolute favourite workshop to run. A day of using masks to explore parts of our personality that we have lost touch with or didn't know existed. We will spend the morning getting to know different masks and the afternoon putting them in different playful and bizarre scenarios and situations.
Previous participants say:
“Simply the best workshop ever.”
“Possibly the most liberating experience you might ever have.”
“I’ll never forget the bits of me I met for the first time at the mask workshop.”
“Very weird. In a very, very good way.”
"A truly magical experience"
"It is like going home with a bunch of new friends inside yourself!"
To keep it playful and intimate the workshop is limited to just 10 places so if you'd like to come along the grab a place ASAP as they sell out quickly.
..:: MORE INFO AND TICKETS ::.
5. Work with me
August is always a funny time for me. It is quiet and I often get bored and start to worry that I won’t have anything to do or any paid work for the rest of the year. The fact that this has happened every year for the last 13 years and always ends up OK seems to make no difference to my anxious mind. So, this is my traditional start of September invitation to work with me in some shape or form.
My favourite things to do are talks - be they at conferences, in-house events, festivals, community things, academia. You can see a small selection of past talks here.
I also run workshops and over the years have worked with over 80 organisations facilitating anything from exploring creativity, improvisation, innovation, not-knowing, change, disruption, complexity or facilitating group development and culture change interventions such as action learning sets or dialogue groups. You can read more about the work I do and who I have worked with here.
I also do lots of work 1:1 with people as a coach, a mentor, a supervisor or a mish mash of lots of things. You can read more about my 1:1 work here.
So, if you or your company or your university or your festival or your community (etc) are interested in exploring what we might do together then drop me an e-mail.
6. Support my work
I don’t want to cut/paste content from previous issues of this Substack as it feels lazy and you won’t read it if it is the same each time. But I also want to add a little section in each issue that gives you a chance to support my work financially.
I write this substack, record the podcast, do the weird projects I do and make most of the art I make for free because I am fascinated by it and it helps me. I also like sharing it all with the world.
But if you would like to support my work financially (and help me pay rent/bills/buy materials/bird food then there are a number of ways you can do that.
Buy some art from my shop. I have a big selection of prints, original art, books, badges, t-shirts, posters and more.
.:: VISIT MY SHOP HERE ::.Become a patron of my studio. For a one-off donation of your choice you become an official patron with a badge, a certificate, a behind the scenes blog and your name added to the scroll of honour in the window of the studio.
.:: BECOME A PATRON HERE ::.Buy me a coffee. Like a tip jar.
.:: BUY ME A COFFEE HERE::.