On Peter, radical mentorship, and the grief we carry quietly.
*Trigger warning – this post talks about missing someone who lost their life to suicide*
On What Would Have Been Peter’s 60th Birthday
It’s strange how a name in your phone can still stop you in your tracks. I’ll be searching for someone else: another Peter, another Lloyd, a Jones, something close to “Lab4Living” and there it is. His name. I stare at the number like I might call it. Sometimes I want to. Not even to say anything profound. Just to check in. Just to ask, “How’s life in the next life?”
Peter was the professor for the dept that I worked in as a research assistant & PHD Student, but that doesn’t come close to describing the relationship. He was a mentor in the most alive sense of the word. someone who saw things in you and helped bring them into the world. Someone who didn’t just shape your thinking, but met you there in the mess and possibility energy of it all. He was also a friend. Funny, principled, fiercely intelligent, and curious in a way that lit up a room.
.
We only knew each other for coming up to 4 years. But I knew of Peter long before that.
I first discovered his work during my training in radiotherapy. I was feeling like – I needed more, I had just started feeling more like myself after years of illness made me feel like i wasn’t an artist anymore. So, on a dinner break, I did a google search on how I could do both: Art & Healthcare. I was scrolling through websites, papers and project archives from his design lab in Philadelphia.
The work was bold, radical, deeply rooted in care. It was the first time I saw art and healthcare come together not just as collaboration, but as a critical force for structural change.
That moment shaped everything I’ve done since. It gave me direction. It made my instincts feel legitimate. It helped me believe that imagining better ways of working in health and care wasn’t naive, it was necessary. And that’s why I started to make work that has changed radiotherapy & applied to do the phd.
So imagine my disbelief when, years later, while pursuing a PhD that combined both art practice as a critical tool for radiotherapy, Peter became the professor of our department. arriving just under a year before the pandemic hit.
It felt like we already knew each other. We shared a language – about systems, institutions, art, care, and resistance. We shared this love of the USA. We had both previously escaped the weight of working class life from post mining towns to the USA in search for space for us to become.
We talked about what it was like to work in the U.S., where hard work sometimes opened doors, and in the UK, where the rules felt tighter and unspoken, where risk and rule-breaking often was allowed more to those with the right background, networks, money, or accent.
Peter knew that. He didn’t just see the inequalities, he actively worked to challenge them. He backed people. He made space for more honest questions. He believed in the kind of mentorship that’s based in mutual respect and curiosity – not hierarchy.
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As I write this, I suddenly remembered the 2 years of lockdown text messages. So many deep, reflective, surprising messages. I wish I’d kept the screenshots. I wish I’d known what he was carrying behind them. But there were signs of that weight, for sure.
His death – a life lost to suicide- happened in the middle of it all. Between the last, shorter lockdowns. After the initial trauma of the pandemic, but before things had settled into something like normal. We didn’t get the chance to gather. To process. To speak it aloud. His funeral took over a month to happen. I was back in the USA then. It still feels suspended in that time… unresolved.
I think I first started to realise something was wrong that spring into early summer. It was the hottest on record. My house was too warm to sleep in, so I pitched a tent in the garden and stayed out there instead. I’d call Peter from the garden, barefoot in the grass, the air thick with heat. He sounded… different. Fractured, maybe. I could tell he was struggling, but I didn’t know the full history. I didn’t know those demons had been with him for so long.
.
Some people found Peter difficult to work with during this difficult time. And I believe that. But I never experienced it. What I experienced was a person of depth and principle, who sometimes felt the world too sharply. He had his contradictions -as we all do- but at his core, I think he just wanted things to be better. Smarter. More just. More human. Probably felt the human-ness so deeply.
I still look at his number sometimes. I still want to call. I still think about the questions he pushed me to ask ; about systems, about practice, about how we live and work and care for each other.
It’s wild to think you’d be 60 this weekend. An age that I don’t think I’ll get to myself – but you lived the fullest, brightest life. And I try and take lessons from this.
Peter, wherever you are – thank you. You taught me that ideas can be alive, and that mentorship is a form of friendship, not authority. That systems can be – and should be – about care. That it’s okay to feel deeply, to be different, to want more. Your absence is felt every day. not just in what’s missing, but in the work we keep doing because you helped us believe it mattered.
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If you’re reading this and you’ve lost someone to suicide — or if you’re struggling yourself — please know you’re not alone. The silence around suicide helps no one. Talking can save lives. So can listening.
There is help:
Samaritans (UK) – Call 116 123 (free, 24/7)
CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably) – 0800 58 58 58
Mind – 0300 123 3393 or text 86463
Or talk to someone you trust. The hardest conversations are often the most necessary.
There is still so much left to live for. And people who need you here.
Peter, I carry your voice with me. In the questions, in the fire, in the stubborn hope.
You are missed. Profoundly.
I made this comic about the grief of this time in 2022:
My Year Wrapped: Reflections as a Local Councillor
“The gardener digs in another time, without past or future, beginning or end. A time that does not cleave the day with rush hours, lunch breaks, the last bus home…” —Derek Jarman, Modern Nature
It’s been a long year. But it has felt like it’s disappeared in a shot! A New York Minute! And I worked out from my calendar that I have been in the equivalent in time of 60.5 days** in meetings (includes meetings with residents, site visits, teachings etc). Which is kinda mad, right??? 60.5 days. Could be worse, could have been 60.5 days of Teams Meetings – which would make an excellent post-modern horror, right? (**Previous version of this blog & the image at the bottom has some of my poor working out-skills so edited this bit to reflect more accurately. 727 meetings – most scheduled for 2 hours = 1,454 hours, which = 60.58 days (rounded up to 61 days) of 24hours of meetings) And works out at around 2 meetings each day!)
It’s been a year where I’ve heard more people tell me they’re tired, struggling, and worn down. But what they never said—what I’ve never once heard—is that they’re beaten. That resilience is what stays with me the most as I reflect on the past 12 months.
In my officially 3rd going into the 4th year of being a councillor means being in the thick of it. It’s easy to feel energized and full of hope in the first quarter. When the year is fresh, the goals feel clear, and the challenges haven’t yet tested your resolve. You don’t know yet how status quos have a way of quo-ing. But it’s in the tougher moments—when the issues drag on, the workload feels endless, and the world feels heavier than it should—that you truly discover what you’re made of.
This year, though, came with moments of incredible celebration. After three years of relentless work, we finally announced the BIG news: securing the Welfare Miners Hall. Saving it has been a true labour of love, a massive learning curve & still learning! Showing me how working together you can almost make anything happen with enough backing & collaboration and creativity. Without it sounding like hyperbole.
And sharing that milestone publicly felt like the culmination of so many hours of effort, collaboration, and belief in the importance of preserving this historic space for our community. It felt that like yes, if there’s one thing that my time can be remembered by – it is the legacy of this building & action we did with the community.
On top of that, the library we brought back into the community—two years after taking back the service level agreement—is thriving in ways I could only dream of. You might remember the blog post back then, I had given myself a 10 years vision. It’s almost 100% there at what I thought would take 10 years — for real, maybe 5 being generous to myself? 2 years on, it’s now the beating heart of the area, a hub for people of all ages, does almost everything! But all well?!
Residents call up LBC radio station in the thick of the night to share how it’s made a massive difference to them & the people who they care for. It gives people respite. Seeing it so full of life, creativity, and connection has been one of my proudest achievements this year, and throughout my cllr term. It’s a testament to what happens when communities come together with a shared vision. And in the gift of the universe, who brought me the most amazing people who make this place flow with joy, connection, belonging, justice and they truly love it and the people they serve.
I constantly thank my lucky stars that we found each other, at that particular time when I needed them, and we just vibed on the vision of the place. When times are tough, and I question my time in this role – I think about that library. It’s the best example of what happens when we take chances together, that my hunch of using creative methods as a cllr really works – of transferring all those crazy skills as an artist & an educator, researcher & healthcare professional together and using them in a community/local gov setting.
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This year also brought me deeper into even more meaningful work in adult social care (in my cabinet portfolio role)—work that continues to inspire and challenge me in equal measure.
It’s where the personal and political collide in profound ways, and it’s taught me so much about what it means to be human. What it means to live a good life? I thought I had done a lot of thinking about that after I got super sick – but turns out – there’s still more questions about it that become clearer in this role.
The work can be tough, but it’s also the most rewarding. To listen, to advocate, to help shape systems (tho really should be communities) that care for people —it’s a privilege that I don’t ever take lightly.
A year and a half ago, when I was brand new to this, I questioned myself endlessly. It reminded me of my radiotherapy training, where in the first year I ground myself down with frustrations over my own knowledge gaps and a nagging sense of not being useful enough. A ridiculous way to treat yourself, looking back, but that’s exactly what I did. That self-doubt followed me into this role, where I felt like I wasn’t enough—like I had to earn my place by sheer effort alone.
But through all of this, something unexpected happened: things started to click. After months of learning, striving, and adapting, I began to feel like I knew. Knew the rhythms of the role, the weight of the decisions, and the balance required to keep moving forward. This year felt like a turning point—not just in the work itself, but in how I see myself within it.
The opportunities I’ve had this year reflect that shift. I was asked to take part in adult social care peer reviews, where I could both learn from and contribute to shaping other systems. I was invited to speak at conferences about adult social care, where ideas about care, resilience, and change took center stage & got invited to the Local Government Association Conference in Harrogate – in place of Ros, our elected Mayor. I sat in planning meetings about the future of Doncaster, engaging in conversations that stretch far beyond the here and now. Each of these moments has been a chance to grow, to deepen my understanding, and to reaffirm why this work matters so deeply.
More than anything, these experiences have taught me that leadership isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about creating space for others to thrive, about listening deeply, and about holding onto a vision for what care and community is and could be. It’s about staying grounded in compassion while daring to think ambitiously about the future.
This year, I’ve felt the weight of responsibility – so much so, I’ve cried after horrible meetings where I physically felt the pain & frustration of others not grasping what’s *really* important (people!) – and overthinking how to handle it & so just stayed quiet instead – and kicked myself for it, but also the immense reminder of the privilege of being part of something bigger than myself.
It’s reminded me that – I know deep down – that the work isn’t just about systems or structures; it’s about people—about lives that intersect with our own in ways that demand our attention and empathy. And as I look ahead, I’m reminded that the most profound change starts in those moments of connection. And that I feel this responsibility deeply, which I am glad I do. I am trying to not be ashamed of bringing real emotion to this work – because it’s about being real and about a real care.
So, I move forward—grateful, reflective, and ambitious. Hopefully a little bit less harsh on myself. This year has been a reminder that even when the work feels hard, it’s worth it. Because to care, to listen, to be part of building something better—that’s what makes the struggle meaningful. And I can’t think of a greater privilege than that.
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Next year brings a new challenge: re-election. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. The wider political context is turbulent, and misinformation seems to spread faster than ever. The stakes feel higher because they are higher—not just for me, but for the values I believe in and the work we’ve been doing together.
The landscape feels daunting. Social media, which once felt like a space for connection and dialogue, now often feels like a battleground. Every time I scroll, I’m reminded of the deep-seated challenges we face. Trust in facts—scientific, educational, historical—has eroded alarmingly. Misinformation thrives, distorting everything from healthcare to education to social justice, turning even the most basic principles of care and equity into points of contention. I’m not saying everything we get told is gospel, in fact – I would argue Murdock owned ‘mainstream’ news sources are a massive part of why we are in this situation – but we have lost criticality.
What’s even harder to witness is the absence of meaningful leadership at the national level to address this crisis. Few, if any, seem willing to confront it with the honesty and courage it demands. Instead, these divides grow deeper, making it harder to build bridges and whilst I don’t directly feel or experience that at a local level in practice – I am worried for May never the less.
But this is exactly why the work matters so much. Amidst the noise and the chaos, there’s an opportunity—an urgent need—to create spaces where truth and community can prevail.
For me, it’s about meeting these challenges head-on. It’s about doubling down on the work that builds trust, fosters understanding, and counters misinformation with compassion and clarity. I know the road ahead won’t be easy, but I also know this: the work is worth it. And the stakes—our communities, our shared values, and our collective future—are far too important to back away from the challenge.
The year ahead will demand more—more clarity, more connection, more effort to cut through the noise and communicate better with the people. If anything, this past year has shown me what we’re capable of when we work together. That’s where I’ll draw my strength as we face what’s to come. I hope y’all will support me in the run up to May 2025 too.
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This year brought an unexpected detour. Getting seriously ill wasn’t on any calendar, and it arrived with the kind of inevitability that doesn’t ask for permission. Hypercalcemia—the gift that keeps on giving. The earth holds things in its body: in clay, in ice, in pockets of time and pressure, real and unreal. And then there are the minerals in my own body, the quiet elements that sustain life until they tip the balance and threaten to end it. It was a sharp reminder of the fragile alchemy that keeps us here, the chances we’ve had, the ones we take for granted.
It started in May, even before I left for Mexico City, creeping in with its dull weight and leaving me stumbling through days. I tried to work through it, through endless of emergency hospital admissions and pain—convincing myself that I could outrun what my body was so clearly telling me.
But that only made things worse. By sometime in July, after countless hospital visits, emergencies, surgeries, and follow-ups, I was well enough to return to work properly. But the months since have felt like catching up with myself in slow motion, never quite landing.
What I didn’t expect in all of this was the response. Whilst I tried to sleep my recovery into being faster, I was floored by the outpouring of care from those around me.
People checked in, stepped up, and held space for me in ways I could never have anticipated. They made sure I was okay when I wasn’t sure I could be. I’m talking residents who offered to pick up shopping, take me to hospital etc, all of my cllr friends & colleagues – who protected me when I needed it – gave me permission to be poorly, and loads of council colleagues. Carole, who I must have made worried sick who had to keep moving my meetings, my community officers who dropped off things, to my assistant director getting a card and Damian who gave me a few rides back home after many calls from hospital doctors telling me I needed to go in NOW & leaving my bike at work.
That quiet, collective act of care was humbling—life-affirming in a way that stops you in your tracks. I often feel like I’m invisible, in many ways. I think it’s a hang-up from my childhood – where working class (girls) often made to know their place. But all of this made me feel SO seen. It reminded me that community isn’t just what we build in meetings or in public spaces; it’s what we practice with each other, in small, steady gestures of kindness. And I am still SO grateful for all that kindness. I still physically feel it when I think about it.
There won’t be ribbons or medals to mark the end of this year, no finish-line fanfare. But I’ve know that’s not the point. The end of one year is always the beginning of the next (if you’re lucky to get another year ofc), and every finish line is just a starting line in disguise. This year was a lesson in fragility, but also in resilience—not just mine, but the resilience of people and connections, the quiet work of holding each other up when things threaten to fall apart.
It’s easy to feel undone by what goes wrong. It’s harder—and braver—to let yourself be held by the people who care. This year reminded me of the quiet beauty in being cared for, and the fierce gratitude that comes with it and the feeling of truly being seen – and I guess, missed?
All of this has taught me that there is a freedom in the in-between place—when you can’t go back to life before, but you’re not quite sure what lies ahead. And I want to do as the poet Rilke advised:
“Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
Whatever next year brings, I’ll carry this with me: the work of care isn’t something we finish; it’s something we keep starting, again and again.
Thank you to everyone who’s been part of this year. I feel grateful and blessed. Let’s meet at the next starting line.
Check out my cllr year wrapped below! Hand drawn on paper this year! Comic book like!
San Francisco is a place where the disparate threads of life weave together into something beautifully cohesive. It’s a city where the past and future coexist, where each neighbourhood feels like its own little world, yet somehow, they all belong to the same intricate tapestry.
Here, you might find yourself on a street corner in Chinatown, the scent of dim sum mingling with the salt of the bay. A few blocks away, the modern lines of a tech startup rub shoulders with the timeless architecture of a Victorian house. The city’s hills, draped in fog or bathed in the golden light of sunset, offer views that remind you how small yet connected everything feels.
That feels true for me. There’s something about being in the city here where it takes me back to the moment where I was chasing life. Literally.
My first trip to SF was with my friend Shivvers. We flew into SF, explored the city for a few days and took a 4 days train across USA, Via LA & NM to Chicago. SF was different than anywhere I had been. I was taken by the architecture. The hills – more severe – but reminded me of Sheffield. The weather / climate – more kinder than other parts of the USA. I remember meeting Shepard Fairey down on Haight whilst I was wearing the Obama T-shirt he had designed. Maybe 1 of the starstruck moments of my life. New love of SF unlocked!
Another trip had me laughing with friends from summer camp, as we jumped on cable cars & tried to find the bridge behind the fog. I remember us laughing a lot and walking up some of the steepest hills but that’s about it.
Then came the trip that seared San Francisco into my soul as a place where life and living converged with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. It was 2012, and I was 22, standing on the precipice of uncertainty with a life-altering, potentially life-threatening diagnosis in my pocket. The news had hit me like a freight train at summer camp, but instead of facing it, I ran. I ran as far as I could from the reality that my life might change forever, from the looming specter of pain, fear, the unknown, and even… untimely death.
So I embraced the freedom of the open road, the only antidote I could find to the suffocating weight of what lay ahead. I packed my bags and took off with two Slovakian friends and two Brits who shared the same name—a group of people high on the camaraderie of summer camp, yet weary from the grind of it all. We were a motley crew, bound together by the shared desire to escape, to taste life in all its fullness, if only for a little while longer.
This was no ordinary trip. Every mile we covered was tinged with the urgency of a ticking clock. Life was palpable, raw, and electric, but so was the anxiety of what might come next. Back in 2012, we were unanchored, untethered to the world in a way that now feels almost foreign. We had no data on our phones, no constant stream of updates, just patchy Wi-Fi that left us disconnected from everything except the road ahead and each other. I don’t know how we planned it – but we did. On dodgy printed out google maps and peoples couches, floors, back yards and series of motels and camp sites. But at every bathroom break I would join the wifi, if there was any, and I would download pages of info about the diagnosis I was given. A bit cruel to future Smizz tbh. But it seemed to make everything feel visceral – I can still FEEL that time in my chest and memories.
In that space, free from the noise and clutter of everyday life, I felt everything more acutely—the beauty of the landscapes we crossed, the laughter we shared, and the ever-present fear that my life could be cut short – no more trips like this, so much left in the world that I hadn’t seen or done.
As the trip started to coming to an end, this feeling got stronger and stronger. SF was 4th last stop and we crashed with camp friends who knew how to have a good time. They lived down in Inner Sunset (1 of my most favourite places now). On this trip I started to try things I had never done before, we went down to dogwatch (not yet gentrified) to a super hero street party (most SF and amazing city thing I’ve done on a Wim) It was in San Francisco, amid the city’s hills and fog, that I found something more than just a temporary escape. I found a place where life felt both fleeting and eternal, a place where the threads of my existence, tangled and frayed, began to weave into something that mattered.
San Francisco became more than just a stop on our journey—it became a symbol of the life I was desperately chasing, a life I wasn’t ready to let slip away. In that city, I wasn’t just running from the fear of dying; I was running toward the hope of truly living. It might be one of the most clearest parts of the trip.
I re-returned with Richie, Gemma & Leah, carrying the trauma of that time with me and not fully well. then again with KT after summer camp in 2016 – with a new life. STILL alive. I had taken what happened and tried to make lemonade with it. We had just qualified as radiation oncology specialists. The city felt different this time. I noticed florna in a way I hadn’t seem before. I spent less time in the tourist traps and more in slower spaces.
During COVID, the dreams started. Over and over, I found myself back in San Francisco, as if the city was calling me, insisting that we had unfinished business. These dreams were vivid, intense, filled with all the feelings and experiences I had left behind. It was like my subconscious was urging me to return, to face something I had yet to fully grasp. So I listened. I went back.
And when I returned, it was as if the city had been waiting for me all along. I noticed everything—the smells of the herbs wafting from small gardens, the earthy scent of the soil, the way the light slanted just so across the buildings at different times of the day. Each detail seemed more alive, more profound than before, as if San Francisco was revealing a deeper layer of itself to me. I found myself coming back again and again, drawn to the city in a way that felt almost primal, as if it held a part of me I couldn’t quite leave behind.
This year, after nearly dying only 2 months ago, those feelings surged back with an intensity I hadn’t felt in years. I was catapulted back to that vulnerable time when I was 22, unsure of what the future held, running from a diagnosis that threatened to redefine my life. With that Spector, I knew I needed to return to San Francisco—not just for the memories, but because the city holds my story in a way that’s subtle, almost hidden, compared to the East Coast, where my story is laid out more plainly.
The past months have been Needles, needles, needles, so many needles, fevers, infections, severe mucositis + gastritis + mild pancreatitis, infections (from dangerously high calcium), so much pain they gave me the good painkillers , anti-nausea drugs that resulted in weeks of lost memories, bleeding issues, followed by a slate of other issues a little too graphic to write about, crazy painful out-of-nowhere hand and leg cramps…
…all bumps along the road.
I was able to leave the hospital, and spent days sleeping all day, and then sleeping a bit less every week. Until I was cleared for the much needed grounding travel.
San Francisco is a place where life doesn’t just happen—it converges. The city’s energy is a blend of the restless and the serene, where you can lose yourself in a crowd or find clarity in a moment of solitude. Whether you’re wandering through the Mission District, surrounded by murals that tell stories of struggle and triumph, or standing at the edge of the Pacific Ocean, feeling the immensity of the world around you, San Francisco holds space for all of it. It’s a place where the fragments of daily life—conversations, glances, footsteps—come together, forming a rhythm that is uniquely its own.
In San Francisco, life feels like a continuous balancing act, a dance of contrasts. It’s in the way the city breathes, in the way it holds both the everyday and the extraordinary within its embrace. It’s a place where the threads of life, no matter how varied, find their way into the same magnificent tapestry.
And perhaps that’s what makes San Francisco so vital to me—a place where life, in all its messiness and beauty, is distilled into something essential.In this city, where the past meets the future and the ordinary becomes sacred, I find myself woven into a story that’s bigger than my own—a story of life converging, evolving, and enduring, no matter the challenges we face.
And so, I keep coming back, not just to the city, but to life itself, with all its uncertainties and possibilities. Because in San Francisco, I’ve learned that to live is to keep weaving, to keep finding beauty in the connections that hold us together, even when everything else seems to unravel.
I love getting to reconnect with old friends, see the sun set above the clouds and the most delicious foods – it feels impossible to get a bad meal here. I.
4 months ago, I was on a plane from NYC back home to endless emergency admissions and surgeries because my body was slowly dying.
Nearly a week ago I flew back into San Francisco – and now very much feeling alive. Time, aye!
Yesterday I was invited to do a talk in Birmingham, to discuss an artist’s animation video tackling the housing crisis and building on the ideas of video activism and the use of the archive as a revolutionary tool.
It was here that many different areas across England were discussed via the lens of navigating the housing crisis and wanting to get stable living & build a home via council housing.
What was spoken about shocked me a bit. Of course, I academically understand that every place is different. Every ward in Doncaster is different, with its own microscopism of assets and issues. As is the human condition. But I didn’t realized that all the things we do to help people in Doncaster in/access social housing weren’t just done everywhere else?
From helping folks fill out forms for housing, ensuring a more connected approach including social workers etc, getting people a bed for the night who are on the street, to supporting TARA’s and environmental pride etc. I watched videos/heard oral histories of communities having to fight to create a group to help each other fill out forms etc. It was wild. Because it’s so obvious that these things we try and do in Doncaster are vital to a healthier understanding of tenants’ needs. and it’s so vital to building policies, designing new housing, etc, & it needs to be made WITH tenants, of all kinds! Properly. In collaboration.
Now, we still have lots of work to do to get better and the housing landscape in the UK is grim AF adding to our endless challenges which means 100s of people’s housing needs are not being met. BUT we still have these support things in place that aren’t there elsewhere.
This got me thinking about care. And collaboration / co-production. On power, on basic needs and health. I thought a lot about the labour of love in our systems.
If y’all follow me on Twitter, you will know that the past month & a bit feels like all i’ve been doing is a lot of kicking off and getting ground down by inane system-protocol-silo’d behaviours that come across as not connected enough. And as a result, creates poorer outcomes for residents (not person-centred responses) and leaves me feeling burnt out and like – “what’s the point??”. Doesn’t help that I’ve been under the weather too, which drains my usual resilience.
Exhausted on the floor outside a train toilet, from a crazy week, on another too packed & poorly commissioned CrossCountry service (another lack of care)- I was reflecting on all of this. I had also just read the research papers associated with the Guardian’s front page yday: that seeing the same GP = better care outcomes, less hospital admissions, it’s cheaper & keeps people alive longer (25% less risk of death within the next 12 months). Julie & I joked that my GP is adding YEARS to my life. But this is everything we all ALREADY know. But the gov/policy-makers/commissioners are not following our own guidance and evidence. https://www.kingsfund.org.uk/insight-and-analysis/press-releases/radical-refocusing-primary-community-services
All of this swirled inside my head. It made me think of Madeleine Bunting’s “Labours of Love” book when reflecting on our systems of care. For those navigating it and those working and advocating in them.
Within the medical field, a rigid social hierarchy prevails: doctors are tasked with diagnosing and treating, while the responsibility of caring is systematically passed down the ranks, from nurses, HCP & social workers, to healthcare assistants, home caregivers, and countless unpaid individuals such as family members, friends, and volunteers. We see this mirrored in Local Authorities to education systems and beyond.
Despite its profound moral significance and the lofty rhetoric it often accompanies in political discourse, caring remains relegated to a position of low status. There exists a pervasive desire to be perceived as caring without the necessity of engaging in the actual hands-on work of caregiving. This aversion stems from the inherent messiness and discomfort associated with physical care, confronting realities and experiences that many would prefer to avoid.
Madeleine Bunting cites Californian Palliative care doctor B.J. Miller, who describes palliative care as “the art of not running away.” However, in my own experience, acute care is sometimes less challenging than confronting tasks such as managing incontinence, or attending to the complex needs of individuals with severe dementia or disabilities, trying to support people who are homeless & experiencing deep trauma. Additionally, caring for those struggling with addiction, individuals impacted by suicide or abuse, or individuals experiencing psychosis presents its own set of difficulties. Faced with sometimes hostile behaviour, and profound suffering, the natural inclination is to flee. To just accept the first answer that comes back to you. Nevertheless, there are individuals who courageously remain by their side, providing unwavering care and support.
Our determinants of health create the circumstances we face in life, and these deeply influence our need for care. Sadly, those who lack financial resources, social connections, education, or a supportive environment from the very beginning (early help/support = best bang for your ££) are more likely to require assistance.
It is a poignant reminder of the pressing need for empathy and collective efforts to address the growing disparities in our community’s care landscape.
As a councillor, I witness, observe & even experience the Inverse Care Law, eloquently introduced by GP Dr. Julian Tudor Hart in 1971. It unveils a reality where the availability of (health) care is inversely proportional to the urgency of its need. I see the directness of this when I discuss our local casework/issues to other more affluent wards & it’s like 2 different worlds and jobs. These disparities become even more pronounced when market mechanisms dictate the distribution of care.
“Labours of Love” serves as a powerful call to action. Philosopher Michael Sandel aptly points out that our society has transitioned from a free-market economy to a free-market society, inadvertently importing the values and incentives of free markets into social spheres where they do not belong, at all. It is imperative that we reintegrate the values and ethics of care and compassion into our societal framework.
To achieve this, we must cultivate the skill of facing challenges head-on rather than shying away from them. But how do you get a big system to do that? This is my constant question. One that lays heavy between the lines of the moany emails I send.
During moments of privilege, we often pass off tasks that we find tedious, frightening, or gross to others. Yet, it’s crucial to understand that not all caregiving roles are viewed equally. While healthcare professionals caring for the wounded or terminally ill are often highlighted in popular culture, there is a noticeable absence of representation for those dealing with neurological disorders, mental illnesses, or learning disabilities. For our council colleagues who are out doing home visits with people who are deeply frightened or have lots of complexity happening around them. All of this work is often undervalued and not seen as a major skill – when it is – & doesn’t offer the time/space for it happen, rules created by the systems themselves (in response to demand/reduction of resources). Media & organizations depictions of caregiving tend to focus on moments of tranquility and kindness, glossing over the emotional strain and ethical dilemmas that come with looking after others.
This oversight perpetuates a distorted perception of care, failing to acknowledge the significant challenges and sacrifices made by caregivers on a daily basis.
My friend & colleague the other week said, “[organizations] often think that carers are a nice to have, not a necessity.” And it is this friction I find myself rubbing up against & would argue is what is panning out in front of us all across the NHS & beyond.
Care, frequently romanticized or disregarded in media representations, encompasses substantial emotional toil and ethical complexities. The serene depictions of care fall short of capturing the fatigue, self-reproach, isolation and moral conundrums confronted by caregivers, a considerable number of whom are burdened with excessive workloads and inadequate support.
The relational aspect of care, fraught with complexities and emotional demands, poses significant challenges for people and any system that needs to care but isn’t doing it effectively that contributes to burnout of carers (all types of carers, home and work).
When providing care to individuals who have endured trauma (which is a lot of folks), building trust is a gradual process. Initial meetings/communications can be challenging as we all have to navigate boundaries and assess each other’s sincerity. In such encounters, the system is often tempted to encouraging 1-dimensional responses to save time. But end up triggering many involved.
However, I have been where a lot of my residents, who come to me, are. This serves as a reminder of the crucial importance of being fully engaged when faced with people who are distressed or fearful. The relationships formed in these moments of vulnerability are not always easy, as acknowledged by the emails and messages that often begin with, “Sorry for taking up your time…”
At times, I am the only person my residents can get a hold of. I become their key worker by default.
Providing meaningful care to people requires patience and perseverance, with rewards often delayed. Esp. in a system that only half of it understands the necessity to adapt to the needs of a person. However, we must continue to remake our places and investments that allow compassion to bloom. Arthur Frank, a medical sociologist, aptly notes that the disruption of ongoing relationships in caring systems is not merely an organizational issue but a moral failure. It distorts the potential for people to truly connect and support each other.
Again, I think of the work we do in Adult Social Care in Doncaster – a wide and wonderous directorate of spaces and people in the dedication of supporting us all to live the best life and feel cared for. Where we are on the co-production journey with people who know what accessing adult social care in the Donx feels/is like.
We talked at length last month about co-production, caring, collaboration, labour and power. That care is not just a trait; it’s a laborious endeavor deeply influenced by our own experiences of being cared for. It’s demanding work, often undertaken in harsh and risky conditions.
However, this work requires resources, such as time, proper wages, and support, to be sustainable. When individuals who possess a natural disposition for caring lack these resources, they risk burning out as they repeatedly find themselves unable to meet the high standards they set for themselves.
Every day, dedicated professionals in the realm of care are forced to relinquish their roles due to burnout. Exhausted professionals in our systems and organizations, overwhelmed by systems not letting them naturally adapt & treat the needs *of that person/community* & the endless paperwork that comes with it. This shift threatens to squander the innate goodwill and compassion of millions of caring individuals who are expected to continue caring with nothing more than their own inherent kindness to sustain them.
If we truly aim to elevate the status of care, to create more caring systems that connect us all together, and foster a more compassionate society, we must recognize and actively support the immense effort involved in this labour of love.
Material assistance & fair financial expenses, alongside acknowledgment of the challenges faced by caregivers, is essential for cultivating a sustainable culture of care.
I’m proud to see that in Doncaster we are standing in good stead, and need to shout about it more TBH. Sometimes you indeed need to go somewhere else to see stuff that you’re usually looking really closely at. I’m really proud of how caring Doncaster is, both in how we all work together and our fantastic communities.
But I am determined that we will continue to build more infrastructure/freedom to allow care and autonomy and creativity to collide every day, to responddd to people and what they really, truly need. Often that’s time & space & proper listening.
The way forward, I think, is to learn not to run away. To stay and be and figure it out, truly. Together.
Another cycle around the sun! Such joy! The beginning of last year I brought in the New Year and my Jan Birthday feeling like absolute crap. It took me months, probably around July before I felt like I could walk up hills again without my legs feeling like balloons and so so breathless. I had to be put on new asthma meds post covid – and these not only got rid of some of the long-covid symptoms but it made my life with Asthma a MILLION times better. I hardly ever get woken up in the middle of the night, struggling to breath. When I run, it doesn’t sound like i’m choking and there’s something restricting my airways. I didn’t know that this is how normal people live! And breathe!
As always, it’s such a privlege to get to acknowledge the passing of a date that is singularly yours. A day that celebrates that you were lucky enough to not only be born (a very risky process) but are still here today. Another day to make a mark, make a moment. And it always feels a bit morbid that someone in their 30s talks like they’re in their 80’s. But I know that time is not owed to any of us and getting older means I’ve got to see more places, eat more delicious foods, make 100s of new memories with my mom, bro and friends and so much more.
Living with a life-limiting illness is a peculiar, sometimes lonely kind of impotence. If you ran a thousand miles, aced a billion exams, hit a dozen home runs, nothing could reverse or erase the fact of a life changing illness/event/trauma. Living with a chronic illness or disability, of any kind, is usually invisible. And that invisibility can be quite hard to manage within societies destructive late-stage capitalism of depletion.
It’s been a decade since I entered the Kingdom of the Sick, each border gives me something else to work out how to live or manage it. But each day is a glory, especially if upright and able to move with ease, without pain. Something that wasn’t possible 6-7 years ago.
I am still grappling with what all of this means, esp as things will never be “normal” for me. But in this short time, some old age-old truths became even more apparent to me. I will discuss the year ahead through my year of Krypton.
In the vast symphony of elements that dance through the periodic table, one often overlooked performer stands out—the elusive and enigmatic krypton. While it might be more commonly associated with Superman’s fictional home planet, this noble gas has a real and fascinating presence in our own world, quietly existing in the shadows of the Earth’s atmosphere.
Krypton, making up a mere 1 part per million by volume in the air we breathe, is a rarity among gases. It is a silent observer, colorless, odorless, and tasteless, embodying a near invisibility that contrasts sharply with its superheroic namesake. Distilled from air cooled to a liquid state, krypton emerges from this process as one of the rarest atmospheric gases, occupying a place of subtle significance.
One place where we can find the element down on earth is in volcanic rocks. After I got sick, I became a bit obsessed with volcanoes. Volcanoes and Volcanic islands offer a window into our planet’s even deeper past. We walk over islands – countries! That were formed from Volcanoes. And we don’t give it a second thought. Living alongside volcanoes is an intricate dance between humanity and the raw, untamed forces that shape our world. It’s a dance that spans generations, where the past echoes in the present, and the invisible power of these majestic geological giants continues to mold the future. When I think about it, it makes me feel quite insignificant but truly connected to the earth. A connection I can’t quite articulate – but it makes me feel truly alive – with wonderment and what it means for humans on the earth right now./
Geologic time unfolds in a vast and patient tapestry, weaving the narrative of our planet’s existence across epochs and eons. It is a chronicle written not in ink or on parchment but etched into the very bones of the Earth.
This temporal saga, measured in millions and billions of years, stretches far beyond the grasp of our transient human experience, challenging our capacity for comprehension. Mountains rise and fall, continents drift, and oceans reshape themselves in a slow dance choreographed by the forces of nature. In this immense expanse, the rise and fall of civilizations are but fleeting moments, akin to the ephemeral rustle of leaves in the cosmic wind. I don’t know about you, but feeling this – I FEEL ALIVE!
Krypton is a huge part of this: Over geologic time, the Earth’s crust and much of its mantle are in constant, albeit slow, motion, as tectonic plates are recycled from the crust to the mantle and back again. Like the churning of butter, the churning of the planet’s thickest layer serves not to homogenize its components but to separate them based on their density, volatility, and chemical properties. As a result, almost nothing we encounter on Earth’s surface bears any relation to the planet’s average composition. But some pockets of the mantle seem to have been immune to that mixing and have instead remained undisturbed by geological processes since at least the first 100 million years of the planet’s history.
When bits of those primitive materials make their way to the surface—as they do in the Galápagos, Iceland, and a few other volcanic regions – all places I have visited—they provide scientists with a valuable look back in time to reveal what the infant planet was originally made of. The findings on these primitive materials paint a picture not only of krypton itself but of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen—all the building blocks of life.
The year of Krypton reminds us that we are as much a part of the universe as the sun, the trees, and the stars. In that sense, we have already won. There is no failure in being.
The chemical inertness of krypton, with its full outer shell of electrons, shields it from eager reactions with other elements. Unlike its noble gas companion neon, krypton does form compounds, albeit sparingly. The most notable is krypton difluoride (KrF2), a colorless solid that defies stability above minus 22 degrees Fahrenheit. This compound, a fleeting creation, showcases the peculiarities of krypton’s behavior when enticed into chemical unions. krypton has an isotopic composition matching what’s found in the solar wind, for example, that’s at least circumstantial evidence that the krypton came from the Sun.
Here I think there’s something for us to remember about giving people light and food to grow. Grow where ever they maybe. Without sunlight we would not be able to source any of energy for food, for plants, for oxygen. A harsh cycle. An urgent reminder to take on the energy from the earth, air, sunlight in foods and vitamin D – and use it for better in our communities. I will take this as a call for action for more allotment growing this year! I confess that I love that Krypton reminds me that we are walking around with a little bit of star inside of us all!
The challenge in working with krypton is that there’s so little of it. The element itself is rare enough, but its least abundant isotopes are two to three orders of magnitude rarer still. In the current context of the political landscapes within the UK, and across the world where worse things are happening, we can be led astray into believing that there’s not enough things to go around: not enough space in our countries, in our communities, in our lives. This is a false economy created to drive distraction and unnecessary competiton. The true fact is actually – there is enough and together we can go further and farther than if we were isolated and sat in fear. A collective is always stronger. And our sense of humanity is deep.
Krypton helps us contemplate geologic time to evoke a sense of humility, as it underscores the insignificance of our individual journeys in the broader narrative of Earth’s existence. It prompts us to reflect on the impermanence of our endeavors, questioning the durability of our structures, the endurance of our legacies, and the lasting impact of our transient existence. In this vain I will be spending my Krypton year doing just that. helping to make things stronger, rebuilding the communities around where I am and part of. I will use this year to make our structures stronger.
As this Krypton year will challenge our collectiveness due to being an election year – I will takes inspiration from Krypton to redefine notions of time, success, and purpose. In the relentless flow of geologic time, the human experience becomes a momentary whisper in the geological symphony, inviting contemplation on the significance of our pursuits against the backdrop of eternity.
In a world where the spotlight often falls on the practical and commonplace, krypton’s applications are limited by its scarcity. Its exclusivity and high cost restrict its utility, yet it finds a place in specific niches. I always feel like I am a a bit of a niche myself. The noble gas is injected into certain incandescent lightbulbs, quietly prolonging the life of tungsten filaments that illuminate our spaces. It plays a role in some double-paned windows, its heavy nature helping to trap heat within the glass confines.
Contemplating krypton, one can’t help but draw parallels between its quiet existence and our own moments of unseen significance. Much like this noble gas, we may not always be in the limelight, but our presence, no matter how subtle, contributes to the intricate tapestry of life. A lesson for me in my roles. Sometimes I crave acknowledgement for the hardwork on numerous projects I’ve helped to make happen, by my own drive and endless hours of work off my own back – working differently, connecting and thinking outside the box. But then, that’s just my ego. The important part is the things are getting done! Made! Created! Used! It’s not about me at all. Krypton knows this. And I will be more like Krypton.
Krypton invites us to reflect on the beauty found in the overlooked, the silent contributors to the grand narrative of our surroundings. As a person who spent most of my life feeling unseen and unheard – I feel that this signifies the importance of helping people feel heard and seen – but in a genle, authentic and meaningful way. In a world captivated by the spectacular and the grandiose, there is a quiet elegance to be found in the unassuming, the invisible, and the rare. Just as krypton quietly resides in the background of our atmosphere, we too weave our stories into the fabric of existence, leaving our mark in ways unseen and often uncelebrated. Something I am constantly in awe about with my residents, and friends, who just do so so so much for people and their communities – without ever needing a big sing-song and hu-har! They get on it and create incredible marks.
The dance continues, evolving with each step we take, a testament to the enduring relationship between humanity and the invisible, transformative power of the earth beneath us.
So, the next time you switch on an incandescent bulb or gaze through a double-paned window, take a moment to appreciate the silent elegance of krypton and this year ahead. Marvel at its scarcity, ponder its chemical idiosyncrasies, and recognize that even the most unassuming elements can hold a world of intrigue within their unspoken presence.
I will use this year to look for the hidden, to listen to voices less heard, to take in the beauty, to use materials economically, and build strength and energy into all i am part of. I will use curiosity and intrigue and compassion as my guiding values.
to celebrate my birthday, I chose to see Wonka. & I’m so glad I did. In many ways, it’s the reminder that our imaginations – and joys and love in life – things often invisible – like krypton- are the invisible force fields that help us push through, survive, live, grow and thrive. And that’s what my year of krypton will be.
This years comic is all watercolour and ink, handdrawn & painted. Straight from my head to the paper. No planning, no pencil. Just ink to paper and rift as I went along. No edits.
This year has been a crazy one. It’s gone so so so fast. It feels as if I just finished last years comic. As I reflect on the past year, entwining the themes that have shaped our conversations and explorations, I am reminded of the profound connections between the natural world and our human experiences. Just as I’ve surfed to find breath, power, and mental clarity in both the Pacific, Celtic Sea, North Seas, and Atlantic (from North America to the coasts of Portugal), I’ve observed patterns in the landscape, from tides and sunlight to moon phases and soil types. Even including polar clouds that sat above us like a magical vortex to another world over the end of the year. The world around us, intricately connected, whispers tales of our cosmic origin and eventual return to the soil, the very ground we tread upon.
In the midst of grief and anxiety, I, like many others, turned to the act of growing things as a means of healing. Feeling the salt water on my skin & thickening my crazy hair, soil under my fingertips; acknowledging our elemental composition—carbon and minerals sourced from stars and dark matter—I embraced the interconnectedness of life and the earth. This newfound perspective transformed my perception of the world.
Friends and their family members became quite sick – some have recovered, others haven’t and won’t. This was, and still is, incredibly hard. I always think I’ll be better in these situations than I am. But as I go into 2024 – I do a call to myself to be better to help people feel supported as we navigate the really hard, tricky, devastating, scary parts of what it means to love and live a life – that lives beyond the physical landscapes to the landscapes of grief and hope within us.
I had 2 tumours removed this year. Constantly reminding me of the finite resource of time we get. ”illness” usually has a clear beginning: the onset of symptoms, the diagnosis, the first day of treatment. But so often it’s not that format at all, and the end of things is harder to pinpoint.
This feels especially true for me given the fact that I am in treatment indefinitely. Spending the year with this knowledge feeling clearer and with compassionate and dedicated friends and humans felt like a culmination—like the most acute phase, the scariest phase, had come to an end.
In the shadows of grief, I uncovered strength, perspective, and clarity. The juxtaposition of beauty and hardship, held delicately in the palm of experience, unveiled the essence of being human. The in-betweenness, the interplay of grief and hope, became a source of power, a reminder of life’s impermanence, and the preciousness of each day.
I love to retrace my steps, because I feel like I can never truely know a place. As I revisited San Francisco for the 6th time (& each time I see and experience I whole different SF), I found myself captivated by the flora, capturing the intricate beauty of plants growing on sidewalks and the rhythmic dance of ocean waves and sand dunes. It’s my fav part of SF; the edges and the inner & outter sunset down to the ocean beaches. I use my sense of smell more here – using it to really clock in memories of what SF is like through its smell. Smells of: Citrus, Eucalyptus, Fir, Flower, Fruit, Herb, Lavender, Lime, Palo Santo, Redwood, Sage, Sea, Sea Salt, Water, and different types of Wood. Capturing a vivid olfactory picture of California’s iconic coastline. Envision a breezy morning by the ocean, with the gentle kiss of salty sea air melding seamlessly with towering redwoods and aromatic eucalyptus. At its core, the delicate elegance of white lavender blossoms, exuding tranquility and serenity.
A lot of the drawings below are inspired by this memory. I’d do anything to be in San Fran right now. These moments of observation and cultivation became a lens through which I navigated the complexities of the year, discovering solace and purpose in small yet profound acts.
Touching base with bodies of water – elements that are needed for life – became a lens through which I approached the complexities of the year.
In the context of our conversations about grief, hope, and the creative process, the narratives intertwined seamlessly. I relate to the notion of transforming life’s interruptions into creative grist, transmuting isolation into creative solitude and connection. Each pen stroke, cup of coffee, and garden planted became a testament to understanding the world and our place in it.
There are some things in the universe you can only find by looking away from them. Sometimes we have to make real space.
Amidst the complexities, the commitment for the year ahead is clear—to embrace and acknowledge our grief and our time, allowing it to coexist with the transformative potential within life’s interruptions. In the coming days/weeks/months, we will weave creative narratives from the threads of isolation, finding solace and connection in each moment. Just as the lines drawn across the faces of waves are eternally present, each endeavor holds a complete and eternal quality, never far from us.
The journey ahead, a celebration of the paradoxes of existence, encapsulates the resilience to hold both beauty and hardship in the same palm. It’s a testament to the challenges and triumphs inherent in the human experience, an ongoing narrative of healing, growth, and the perpetual opportunity to try again.
The challenge is not merely to count the days but to make each one count, recognizing the beauty in the imperfect, the profound, and the unpredictable nature of our shared human existence.
Time is a dimension, and our lives stretch across it, each of us a four-dimensional shape taking up some small space in the universe. All moments existing at once and forever.
If that’s not a call to properly LIVE, then what is?
I’ve found so much joy in looking back on the past year, inspired by the tradition of Spotify Wrapped (by the way, here are my top 100 songs of the year—FYI!). Reflecting on my journey as an elected councillor, I’m always trying to take a good, honest look at my actions, the systems at play, and how everything comes together. This ongoing reflection is like the heartbeat of continuous improvement, guiding us toward both short and long-term goals.
This year has been a remarkable journey, with seeds planted almost two years ago finally blossoming into unexpected successes, such as securing Levelling Up Funding and then getting invited to step into the role of Cabinet Member for Adult Social Care – which was VERY unexpected. Seeing these plans that we grew and looked after, start to bloom – so far on – is a testament to the power of hard work and innovative thinking, and staying the course! Though all of this is not without its moments of burnout and frustration.
The awareness of life’s brevity has become a guiding force, urging me to want to avoid repetitive cycles – but at the same time to try and embrace a slower, steadier, and more sustainable approach. This lesson in patience and perseverance echoes Obama’s Book: “The Audacity of Hope.” It serves as a reminder not to succumb to impatience or seek quick fixes – many people working with me will note how frustrated I get when I feel myself just repeating stuff over and over again. A reminder that one needs to be patient in order for things to grow with a good foundation. In this journey, the emphasis is on staying the course and making each moment count. I still think we can have a call to action to ensure that meetings bring resolutions, not monotony, by recognizing that life is too short – and I need to remind myself that if I keep working on stuff – IT WILL happen, in some way or form. Just maybe a year or 2 later than I had expected, ha!
However, with additional responsibilities comes increased accountability. Let’s keep it real here. Stepping into the role of a new cabinet member, just two years into my journey as a freshly elected councillor, and without any prior exposure to this pathway, has been challenging. I’ve grappled with significant impostor syndrome, dedicating countless hours to connect, understand, and navigate the myriad intricacies of this area and within Doncaster as a whole. All in the pursuit of becoming a more effective leader and contributing to positive changes for the residents of Doncaster. Yet, what an absolute privilege it is to serve all of you. It’s a real honour. To cut my teeth on new challenges & get to meet and learn with so many incredible new people. While I haven’t delved into my cabinet casework in this overview, rest assured, I’ll be releasing a newsletter in the new year that provides a more comprehensive look at it all and get you all excited at what is happening and how we can make it even better, together!
Through this reflection, I try to be as transparent as possible about the ups and downs of being a councillor. As someone who tends to share a lot, I’m mindful of how I communicate things because, let’s face it, communication is crucial—it’s the backbone of everything. Yet, doing it right is probably one of the trickiest things ever.
As we approach the end of the calendar year, it’s a time for a broader reflection—a contemplation of the long view. It’s a chance to plan for the year ahead. Despite dealing with chronic pain, especially at the beginning of the year. – and several surgeries in the summer and fall of this year, I’ve learned that it’s easy to get lost in the future to cope with the present. But recognizing the importance of reflecting on the past and present is key to personal growth and avoiding repeating the same challenges.
One thing I’ve seen in myself that I need to get better at – is sitting better with uncertainty. I already thought I was good at this – with dealing with chronic illness – but alas – it turns out I still need to get better at it!
So, keeping all this in mind, let’s dive into an exploration of the significant themes of community, hope, imposter syndrome, and the desire to help individuals not just exist but truly thrive within their communities. How has this past year unfolded for me/us, considering these crucial aspects? Let’s find out together!
OVERVIEW:
I went to EVEN MORE meetings than last year, a 117.09% increase, infact! And when I counted the numbers, it wasn’t just because of my new role – but by half way through the year – just as a ward councillor – I was nearly at the same amount of meetings last year. That’s nuts to think about it! Especially when we distil that time down into actual minutes and then months. Imagine having 24 hours of meetings for 1.5 months!
Again, these meetings were of all types! Briefings, scrutinies, meeting with residents, meeting with partners, meetings trying to solve case work issues – on housing and crime – mostly. Then after June, it went up as I joined many more meetings – such as the Make it Real Board & became Co-Chair of the Carers Strategic Oversight Board.
Highfields, Woodlands and Carcroft had significant increases in the presence of Anti-Social-Behaviour (ASB) – esp towards the summer and beyond. Often, as councillors, we have to fight for resources from partners, presenting different types of evidence due to the complex issues of our communities not feeling safe enough (& the systems not clear or well designed) to report officially. Yet we all know this stuff is happening. We’re VERY lucky in our ward because our Stronger communities team is amazing. Through all this, we were able to secure extra policing & more involvement in local projects from a myriad of partners. Thanks to those extra meetings 😉 And we got Highfields officially as a Regenerative Neighbourhood Project. Which I am SO excited about!
This year, the first point of contact with a resident felt equally shared between email, social media, and in person. Social Media went up massively because people would share their issues on Facebook community groups and a million people would tag me in (This is good because my reputation is growing as a decent-ish cllr!). We would then eventually start to get the casework through email but it started on social media.
There’s a big age split between how people reach out. Middle age and younger is via social media and email. Older folks is in person, old school mail and via phone calls and some text messages. I think the surgery model needs to be updated into how people actually live their lives to make it more accessible for familes and younger working people. Some really interesting design questions on how to enhance accessibility and participation in local democratic services here.
TOP THEMES OF CASEWORK:
My first year as a councillor (2021) was ALLLLLL about our green open spaces, last year (2022) it seemed to clear itself up more, but this year (2023) we ended up back to it being significant. Bin issues and poorer grass cutting seemed to dominate. I’m Not sure if it’s because we were all spending more time outside, or because we didn’t have as drier summer as 2022 – so grass cutting wasn’t as much as an issue then and a wetter summer made it harder to cut?
Fly tipping became a bane of our life around the Highfields & carcroft areas, with Highfields being significant. Lots of it coming from out of the area.
Aside from that, this year was all about the roads. Road safety, cleaner roads (too much trash and moss on paths), wanting road speeds to be reduced (& the Tories think people want the opposite!), loads of emails about poor driving (& had my fair share of experiencing poor car driving in the area whilst on my bike), and general safety – such as LIGHTING. Below images are before and after some of Streetscenes fantastic work.
We put in some fantastic solar lighting in Carcroft and Adwick Park, using safer streets 4 funding and our 106/LUF park money – all of which was very well recieved.
We’ve litter-picked LOADSSSSS this year. We must have done over 140 bags of litter picking through various groups from our “creative walk litter picks” to working with the Brownies, to general litter picking sessions!
We’ve had loads of positive comments – which is ALWAYS nice – on the work at Adwick Park. Thanks to ARTY PARTY IN THE PARK event in 2022 – we were able to secure 70k of Levelling Up Parks funding (only a chunk of it could be spent on playground stuff). this meant we could do some great stuff, including adding new adaptive/accessible play equipment – which I chose equipment that specifically allowed communal use; using what our data from Arty Party said and from the MAKE SPACE FOR GIRLS report. And since it’s been installed, the playground has been SO BUSY! And with lots more teen girls hanging out (they were absent before the upgrades) – backing up what the research suggests! I can’t wait to keep on exploring this further and making our playground and open/public spaces more accessible, female and young kid and teen-friendly!
Housing has been a HUGE one this year. Of all sorts. It is often, like environment, multifaceted with multi-partner/areas of issues. I’ve had a lot of complex issues with peoples wellbeing in housing situations this year. Some of those have been incredibly hard, and it’s often really hard to know what to do next after you’ve done everything you can.
As mentioned earlier, through authentic and creative engagement with residents through events such as ARTY PARTY – we were able to secure Levelling Up Funding for Adwick Park. This joins up the already ongoing body of work such as the tennis courts and basketball courts that are back in full use and looking sexy!
We have lightening across the paths in the park and the playground has completed Phase 1 of updates, with phase 2 of even more exciting updates on the play equipment will be happening in 2024. I hope y’all have enjoyed the millions of benches that have appeared as well… not my 1st choice but part of the grant requirements!
We got some incredible community involvement – taking matters into our own hands to make our spaces the way we want them for our young people. From painting Highfields Playground – to cleaning up the BMX track bones in Highfields Country Park! These were some of our most powerful moments of this year!
Through the Levelling Up SHU challenge, that we got accepted for last year – we have done a series of amazing things! From creative litter pick walks, local-history walk-talks, to “NEW LEAF” mini-festival event and an exhibition of works at the Library. We worked with people of all ages and backgrounds in the area and will be making a cool local plan from all the discussions made with MA Masters architecture students – to help us have plans to make Woodlands et al. more safer (road wise), playful, creative and connected. A better flow, if you will! I’m excited to see what comes from that. But the info it told us was ace.
We did CAMP GET TOGETHER – TWICE!
we had incredible feedback from parents and kids. And saw some incredible changes within the young people – instilling confidence, a safe space to try things and fail but retry again, making beautiful things, and having lots of fun through creative arty-games. We had people who claimed that some young people were badly behaved – but by the end of the camps – they were creative geniuses! Securing my belief that people just need some attention, belief, and support – and a space to flex their ideas and energies in – and it’s like magic. We supported over 100 local young people over the summer holidays!
Through CAMP GET TOGETHER, we were able to also secure some funding and working with Keepmoat partners for our MAKERS SPACE – YOUTH HANG OUT SPACE that will be called FOMO (Fear of Missing Out).
This has been gnarly trying to get the right containers – but after 6 months – I think we’re now on the right track. Working with different partners means you have to forgo some control – sometimes that works out, sometimes it doesn’t – but we can’t control everything all the time. Anyways, FOMO should be functional and active by the middle of next year! And I’M EXCITED!
WE HAD LOTS OF EVENTS!
To name a few:
CARKI SHOUTS summer Fayre! New Leaf mini Festival! Highfields Gala! Easter & Summer Fairs at the Library, Halloween Discos and Time Out fundraising events for Great North Medical. All organized mostly by members of our communities with some of our support. How flipping amazing is that?!!?
Woodlands Community Library is THRIVING
It’s technically been back into the “communities” hands since the relaunch on the Oct 27th 2022. So many people told me it wouldn’t work. That we wouldn’t get people coming in or becoming new members. “libraries aren’t used” – imagine if I had listened to that? I just believed it would happen, I supported everyone I could to be part of the library and got as much energy and enthusiasm as I could in there. At 1 point it got a bit ropey – just due to people skills. But we worked through it and it made the community running the library, stronger. My old boss in America, Kate Lemay, used to tell me that you can tell the universe what you need, and it’ll manifest. Well, whatever happened this year – the universe delivered it for me.
Beyond the traditional library role, this space thrives with a rich tapestry of events, groups, and services, including initiatives like Your Place and partnerships with organizations such as the MIND charity & Great North Medical GP practice. Residents actively engage as co-creators, contributing to diverse activities like our Wellbeing Reading Group and two distinct Art Groups. From menopause support workshops to daily communal lunches, family activities, and literary/artistic/craft events, the library has become a central point of connection for residents of all ages, including the remarkable 101-year-old Bernard, who never misses a good lunch!
Since its relaunch in October 2022, the library has become a haven for connection, creativity, and support, thanks to a dedicated group of volunteers. These volunteers, many of whom live with various disabilities including learning disabilities, play a crucial role in creating a space centred on belonging and safety. Led by our invaluable head volunteer, Liz White, this team ensures that Woodlands Library is more than a place; it’s a community treasure.
In this supportive environment, people feel empowered to make time for themselves and their communities, embodying the essence of good social care. We want this place to grow and be used more by people in social care to connect residents to what’s close to them, and for them to be a part of this story as well!
As civil rights activist James Baldwin aptly put it, “The longer I live, the more deeply I learn that love — whether we call it friendship or family or romance — is the work of mirroring and magnifying each other’s light.”
Here’s to the ongoing journey of magnifying each other’s light!
WE GOT THE (big) LEVELLING UP FUNDING !!!
Do you remember that last year I was very sad that we weren’t successful gaining the Levelling Up Funding Phase 2 (LUF2), because the government changed the parameters around the submissions – AFTER everyone had submitted. Well, I wasn’t expecting us to get it in the 3rd round! And sought out other options. BUT WE DID.
And I’m 100000000000% sure that this happened due to our incredible community involvement and action that we got to design the plans, and the business case, for the Welfare Miners Hall WITH the people who will be using it. The only one left of its kind in the UK. And it’s 100 years old next year!
I can’t share more than this ATM, as we need to clarify some details. BUT WOW. Talk about patience. This wouldn’t have been possible if it wasn’t for all the community, people’s generous skill and time offering, and the amazing officers at the council who made it happen and got our project into the application in the first place. Y’all amazing! Looking forward to what 2024 brings for us regarding our project here.
Community Regenerative Gardens in Carcroft
Through CARKI SHOUTS! local group and the Carcroft brownies, we’ve got the first regenerative community food garden project happening. It’s still very early days yet – but we should be hitting the ground (no pun intended) late winter/very early spring 2024 so we can get ready for peak growing season! If you’re interested – let us know!! There will be a separate post about this soon.
HIGHFIELDS FUTURE PARKS WORK
Some exciting things will be happening at Highfields Country Park thanks to Sports Englands Future Parks funding. we’re still very much in the engagement part of the project – but I’m looking for exciting projects and enthusiastic community members to help us imagine and create some fantastic events in the run-up.
This year we have had some gnarly issues with the Highfields landscape. It’s not been easy. Debbie and I even had to do our own little water testing! but luckily – it’s still an amazing place to go and be – and i’m looking forward to us all working together to help make it reach its incredible potential!!
REGENERATIVE NEIGHBOURHOOD PROJECT
I’m excited for us to be embracing a regenerative neighborhood approach within my ward. I think it is pivotal in fostering sustainable and thriving communities. Unlike conventional development methods, the regenerative model places a strong emphasis on restoring and revitalizing the local environment, social fabric, and economic vitality. By prioritizing the health and well-being of both people and the planet, this method encourages a more holistic and interconnected approach to community building. It seeks to create spaces that not only meet current needs but actively contribute to the regeneration of natural ecosystems, promote social cohesion, and stimulate economic resilience. Something that places like Highfields really, really needs. I’m excited to work on building and enacting our vision with the community. The vision and figuring out how to make it happen are my favourite parts of the processes!
AND THERES MORE, BUT THIS POST IS ALREADY TOO LONG
We have some banging projects and work coming up in 2024.
What I’ve learned this year is a multitude of things. A colleague said to me the other day that, “it’s easy and nice when you have money to do things but when you don’t, then things can’t happen”.
The thing is, I’ve had to fight, and make endless opportunities from nothing to make a case for or apply for grants and pots of money. You have to be meticulous in reading everything you get under your nose and doing extra research. I actually love doing most of this.
My old USA boss, Kate Lemay, used to tell us: “You always have to be ready for an opportunity – even if the opportunity doesn’t happen or arise, YOU ARE READY!” That has stuck with me and it’s a good mantra for being a councillor. Because that’s what all of the above is. Is being ready for an opportunity. Finding creative, evidence-based, connections and work arounds to blocks.
But there is one main factor – that is a big block and it’s very hard to get around – and it’s a factor that glues everything together as both a supporter and a barrier, and that block is TIME.
Contemporary demands and the perpetual busyness characteristic of late-stage capitalism contribute to a pervasive scarcity of time for meaningful community engagement. Our generation is marked by poly-crises, which amplify a perpetual sense of urgency, leaving individuals stretched thin.
Participation in numerous communities underscores the recognition of group potential – as shown numerous times above. However, there is a constraint of limited capacity that creates friction, resulting in a pervasive sense of overcommitment – I know I certainly feel this myself. This predicament poses challenges for community builders, esp in an area like mine where people’s lives are “complex” and intricate with a number of factors.
But here’s the thing about deep community – it needs time. Sure, everyone’s excited about co-creation and decentralization, but we often forget that it requires people to invest more time, and in reality, everyone’s stretched thin. So we need to make sure people’s time is valued and cared for.
Building a deep community is intentional work. From creating a nourishing environment to listening deeply, it all takes time. Organizing gatherings? That’s a whole process of paying attention to details, extending thoughtful invitations, co-creating agendas, leaving handwritten notes, and making sure everyone feels cared for. It’s a lot, but it’s worth it.
Paradoxically, spending a lot of time on these activities can make people underestimate the efforts of those involved, which leads community builders to feel burnt out. This is especially true for me when I feel burnt out, and start to act and feel very frustrated.
Through all of this year – knowing this issue. Here are some of the thing’s I’ve learned and which I think are useful for the year & any project ahead. I hope you find it useful too!
Rhythm and Patience: Recognizing that communities flourish over the long term, establishing a consistent and measured rhythm of activities becomes paramount.
Remove the Guilt: Let’s make it okay for community members to show up in ways that feel comfortable for them without guilt.
Provide Pathways: Offering clear and scalable avenues for involvement accommodates varying levels of time commitment. Give simple recommendations for people to get involved – MAKE IT EASY. Communication is key!
Take Care of Leaders: Acknowledging and expressing gratitude for the dedicated individuals investing significant time ensures their well-being and continued commitment. I’m always going to their houses, checking in, filling things out for them sometimes. Take care of them and provide the necessary resources.
Energy Considerations: Observing and understanding the energy dynamics within the community allows for a nuanced approach, recognizing that individuals, even with limited time, will engage when the community provides a source of positive energy.
How wild has 2023 been?!
Thank you to everyone who made all the above, and SO MUCH MORE not written about, possible.
It’s been an honor, and a privilege to get to work with some many amazing, generous, kind, talented, thoughtful, compassionate, energetic people and we’re all working towards to same goals.
Here’s to making more stuff happen and thrive and bloom and feel cared for in 2024!
Yesterday we were crawling on missed bits of glass shards and gravel as we painted heavy-weight stainless steel playground equipment that’s nearly double my age. Instead of whining, we heard laughter. Instead of complaining, we heard stories and ideas and hopes.
Residents, of all ages, came out on both days – offering their time and commitment to making things better. Last week we got rid of multiple bags of trash, loads of soil that had accumulated for years off shoes around the play equipment, and broken glass and plastic. We scraped off flakey layers of years of paint off the equipment – ready for when the weather was right to paint.
It took us 3 hours in the freezing wind to get the park ready, and over 6 hours to paint it in more wind and sun. As a team. At one point, over much needed sandwiches in our 15 min lunch break, we got deeper into issues of mental health and the access issues and needs locally. All were discussed over mechanical paint and coca colas.
We often hear “community isn’t the same anymore“, “Community is dead“, “People aren’t interested” etc, etc. That is a story of separation that gets told to us. It gets whispered from ear to ear. Said like it’s fact. But it’s not true.
Every day, both as a resident – & as a councillor, I see that our community is very much ALIVE. People, everywhere, all at once, are caring for each other.
That care and community are in people helping to paint playgrounds, it’s in people turning up every day to make sure that our amazing library is OPEN, it’s in the coaching of junior sports clubs, figuring out how to open a youth club, growing a community garden, doing litter picks….
…It’s in the people working non-stop to help build new assets like a community sports pavilion and run foodbanks. It’s in the groups, the chats, the neighbours checking in on one and another, the dog walkers saying hello. It’s everywhere. And community is ALIVE.
Every day I am privileged to witness people being good to each other and believing in a better tomorrow. That is no small feat, especially after years, and years of national government massive cuts and endless negative (often untrue) media that seeps through everything, working hard to pit us against one and another.
It takes hard work and commitment to people, care, love, planet, and community to fight against the general status quo of every day.
Whilst I see this stuff as a truly revolutionary act; the act of growing and blooming despite the conditions being in the cracks of concrete rather than a garden bed. This isn’t some toxic positive nonsense, because smiling our way through real injustices and hardships won’t change the system. But underneath this, the true fertilizer of life – even in hardship – is compassion, kindness, courage and hope. This stuff scales better than competitiveness, frustration, pettiness, regret, revenge, merit (whatever that means), or apathy. Kindness ratchets up. It leads to more kindness.
Making things harder for ourselves is the easy thing to do. Being a jerk to yourself or someone else? Easy peezy. Being unsupportive and negative? Lemon squeezy. We don’t get better when we’re tearing ourselves, or our communities, or other things down, or refusing help because we tell ourselves that we don’t deserve it.
Do you want to know what is hard to do?
Building yourself back up after you fall apart/being sick/etc. Giving yourself a proper break. After everything has been cut.
Believing in yourself.
Holding onto hope during a rough day/week/month/year/decade. That’s badass behaviour. Accepting help. Trusting yourself enough to take a break. To take a leap of faith in yourself and your community? That takes confidence and courage.
Being kind to yourself and others. That takes real strength. And all those things actually lead to you getting better. Better in your work, better in your ideas, in your body & self, a better community. Because it’s infectious!
Everyday I am being schooled by my incredible residents. They show me this, give me a lesson reminder: I am inspired and moved by my communities commitment to believing in us, turning up even when the odds are stacked against us, and making things happen/better for everyone!
The work is sometimes incredibly hard – but what I know about Adwick, Carcroft, Highfields, Skellow & Woodlands is that we are all hard workers! And our legacy is planting seeds in a garden that lasts for MANY years to come.
What I need to keep refusing to forget is that every great and difficult thing has required a strong sense of optimism. Don’t lose it, even when things are extra grim and tough.
Thank you again, so much, to these amazing people!
Charleen Hopper, Kelly Walker, Caz Smith, Richard Bailey, Lauren Beaumont, nicola culkin, my partner in crime: cllr Debbie Hutchinson and the blue smurf (hehe) & anyone else I have missed who helped us get the park ready to paint, and then spent all day painting with us.
To the next challenge. Bit by bit, we will re-make things colourful, hopeful and bright!
I’ve made it to another cycle around the sun. No small feat after this past year, and now starting the new year with blood tests showing loads of abnormalities. For as long as I can remember, even before i started having ill-health… I’ve always felt like I wasn’t going to live that long. Ask any of my friends from high school, they’ll tell you I didn’t think I’d make it to 25. Not from illness, but just this nagging feeling that I didn’t have as long as others, more likely by an accident. I am from an area where people live 25 years less than in richer areas. And we had a significant amount of kids killed or die throughout high school. Maybe this had sunk into my subconscious.
Then that fateful diagnosis 10 years ago, almost seemed like my fears WERE now justified. Just as I had predicted. That night after the visit to the Mass Hospital oncology clinic – I went back to my cabin, at summer camp, out in New Hampshire on an island.
I googled everything I could on this tentative diagnosis I was just given – and after 100’s of pages from Google of some gnarly odds- I shut my laptop lid and walked outside onto the ball field. It was around midnight, eerily quiet – even for that time. And I looked up at the sky, like I had done 100s of times before. This night was clear and bright and entirely powdered with stars. And there, I felt a physical weight of time. The worlds biggest sense of awe. Suddenly, I could really, truly, see the stars!
It was this celestial splendor that suddenly made me realize how little time, how -potentially- little life, I had left. My sense of youthful eternity was inseparably mixed for me with a sense of transience — and death. This kind of feeling stays with you. I laid down on the ballfield feeling the cool summer ground and lush grass behind my body and the weight of time upon me, starting up into light that was from the past, shining down upon. And i realized I had entered a new liminal space/state: inbetweenness.
Back then, I just felt like I wouldn’t make it to 25, but that came and went, onto 26, 27, 28… Now i’m at the age of Bromine.
Oliver Sacks said that for him, “Elements and birthdays have been intertwined for me since boyhood, when I learned about atomic numbers.”
Ever since I read his book, Gratitude, i realized how entwined we are with the elements that make every single living thing or part of the worlds we live in. this way of seeing a birthday milestone, 10 years from life did change, makes so much sense.
Perhaps the fact that when you’re 1 (or born?), that age on the periodic table is Hydrogen. The lightest element and yet the most abundant chemical substance in the universe, constituting roughly 75% of all normal matter. The element that helps to make water – the very thing most of our bodies are made of, and what every living thing needs to survive, makes the point. Life and at its true lightest.
I have somehow lived through Arsenic (1 of the years of lock-down covid). But what can Bromine teach me?
Well, I have only just learned about Bromine in real life- as a councillor, how fitting? When trying to get rid of a knocked-down building’s rubble, they said some of the floor tiles were coated in Bromine & wasn’t sure whether we’d need a specialist to come and dispose of the chemically laced material. At the time I thought that this was weird, given people had been walking, dancing and creating lives ontop of that floor for years and years.
Bromine is the 3rd lightest element in the halogens group. Its properties are between those of chlorine and iodine. An element, not much like myself, that defies definition in many way by being inbetween 2 more well known elements.
What is interesting about elemental bromine, esp for the year ahead, is that it’s very reactive and thus does not occur as a native element in nature but it occurs in colourless soluble crystalline mineral salts, analogous to table salt. In fact, bromine is so reactive that it has to form bonds in pairs—never in single atoms.
When I place this in the context of the UK, what it tells me is that working together, in the every day, at the fundamentals, is the way in which we can make a difference. A difference that is desperately needed right now. Collectivity, collaboration, team work, co-operatives. Whatever word works for you, in order to change the status quo of anything, we must bond and join together to use our energies in the best way to different and radical states. Every default state needs energy to fight to move the mark. But it’s exhausting doing it alone. Become more bromine, & get more (re)active, together. There’s more power in numbers!
At room temperature and pressure, it is one of the few liquid elements. The only one that can sustain the same pressure & stay a liquid at room temp is mercury. This says to me, I need to keep my cool – and be my true authentic self in stressful situations.
Bromide can’t be sourced from the earths crust. Some plants actively accumulate bromine. First of all, they are beans — lentils, peas, haricots, and also seaweed. Its the high solubility of the bromide ion that causes its accumulation in the oceans. I will take this characteristic forward into 2023 – to soak up as much as I can, in terms of learning and taking in the natural lands and spaces around me. Esp as I try and grow into more of a regenerative thinker. This feels even more potent as one of the economic drivers of Bromide is for argriculture.
Bromine is the 10th most abundant element in sea water. I love that when I go surfing, it is here where this element can be sourced. The ocean, in its immensity and unseen depths, seem to harbor hidden meaning that the Bromine year will help me to explore more. The end of last year after I got sick from the water, I haven’t been back out, but I miss surfing. So this year will be to do more of that. When I surf, I love how the sun drops into the ocean, its beams casting a wide band of light on the water. The reflected shards glimmer through vapor in the far distances, producing an irresistible illusion of endlessness.
Despite us finding out bromine is toxic – post using it for things like fire retardants & in swimming pools and sedation in medicine. It got discovered that now it appears that bromine is an essential trace element in humans. And is still a key player in small doses for innovating pharmacutical drugs. There is, again, this strange mirror there of balances and yin-yangs, and connectedness. Things can be good and bad at the same time. The Bromine year is a reminder for me to think, and re-think, and to not put things too much against each other.
And lastly, the most Smizz thing about Bromine is that it is used to do 35mm film photography development immulsion. The compound is a prime ingredient of light sensitive constituent; and a semi-conductor. It captures time, memories, moments… light. Life. Conducted into structural colours – that is, colours that result from surface textures that refract, rather than contain, pigment.
Last year I vowed to take more 35mm film photos, AND get them developed. I want to continue that habit on, and get better. Last year quite a few of my film photos came out unfocused and blurry. I kept rushing to take the shot, and would snap and walk/move at the same time. You really can’t do that with film. But What a metaphor for me?! For this year – I need to be more focused and patient. Wait for the shot. Stand still and take a moment to know exactly I’m looking at, to take IN the moment. A moments rest.
This reminds me of Gerhard Richter’s Silicate body of paintings. Large oil-on-canvas pieces, of blurrs. Or glitches? What is a blur? It’s a corruption of an image, an assault upon its clarity, one that turns transparent lenses into opaque shower curtains, gauzy veils.
the blur serves as a perfect general metaphor for memory, its degradation, for the corrosion wrought by time. “I blur to make everything equal, everything equally important and equally unimportant,” Richter explains about his work.
It is both more focus and blurring and capturing of life, light, and memory and reflection for me that Bromine will bring.
Over the last few months and years, I have been able to see my life as from a great altitude, as a sort of landscape, and with a deepening sense of the connection of all its parts.
Despite being really run down for 2+ months, I feel intensely alive, and I want and hope in the time that remains to deepen my friendships, to say farewell to those I love, to write more, to travel if I have the strength, to achieve new levels of understanding and insight.
On the morning of my birthday, a friend & colleague replied a message about time. How fitting? Time is not some separate quality that impassively flows around us. Time is, in Rovelli’s words, “part of a complicated geometry woven together with the geometry of space”.
For Rovelli, there is more: according to his theorising, time itself disappears at the most fundamental level. His theories ask us to accept the notion that time is merely a function of our “blurred” human perception. We see the world only through a glass, darkly; we are watching – as my old art teacher used to love to teach us – Plato’s shadow-play in the cave. But using Bromine, we can capture it in different ways.
Taking the lead from Bromine, I’ll keep looking up at the sky of spilled glitter. And take a role of protection (resting & advocating for myself and others), to focus and connect, to surf and be at the ocean more, and seek it as a reminder to join forces TOGETHER. Bond together like atoms, and collectively we can change the status quo.
2022 was the year I vowed to take more 35mm film photos, and actually get them developed! Enjoy some gnarly grainy quality photos of my year, alongside some soft vibrant digital photos.
As John Berger is quoted saying: “The camera relieves us of the burden of memory… All photographs are there to remind us of what we forget,’ he recants. ’In this — as in other ways — they are the opposite of paintings. Paintings record what the painter remembers.”
As a drawer, it’s nice to get to re-take this journey of 2022 through some surprising and tender, and fun, and crazy moments.
I will leave you all with this quote:
“Love is a combination of six ingredients: care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect and trust. As you go about your life, you can ask: the action I’m taking, does it have these six ingredients?”
You ain't got no Picasso, yo?! 