GALADRIEL’S MIRROR

Written by Ben Tallon

It’s my first school half-term and I’m out stewarding the first rides on new bikes for my son and daughter. We build slowly, rolling over leaf carpets, the kids wary of the false promise of stability from less-than-reliable stabilisers, me on edge knowing how many sleeping dog shits might be awoken and packed into fresh tyre treads with only one mug to clean them off. Then it’s down the park’s long path and across into the arts centre. Eventually we find ourselves making use of the paths around the local police station, which are both smooth, and undercover. My lad gets faster each time he comes down a manageable decline, and my lass opts to ride up, and back on herself, along the top, past the police station entrance. Until now, I’ve been happily present, fresh off a new commission confirmation, enjoying this day off purely. But as my lass trundles along, beaming from under her pink helmet, a swaggering silhouette bowls around the corner with a gait that should only really come from animated illustrations. Caricatures. He’s gnashing gum, and the final dip of his shoulder as he turns and enters the station is downright Dickensian.

Now I’m only half-seeing my daughter because I’ve peeked into Galadriel’s mirror. My imagination gallops up its own hill into technicolour musings over who this character is. Why he’s here. Where he’s from. What he’s done. I quickly check my pre-conceptions and try to consider noble belongings, but I have to shove forward a guess that it might be because of some form of impery. And for arguments sake, I think of all various colourful characters I’ve encountered in my time, those who I know have been up to no good. And the innocence of the child on the bike. What routes to any eventual legally binding appearance at the doors she’s just passed might there be for her? Or any person for that matter? And how is it best avoided? If you’ve followed my work – read my books or listened to my podcast – you’ll know I’m passionate about creativity’s role in the trajectory of a person’s life.

It came up prominently on the Bikestormz episode with Mac Ferrari and Jake100; how kids with purpose, community, and the ability to express themselves tend to make better decisions. There’s every chance that I do all this hard work; teach her to use her creativity, expose her to the things that I feel might meet the personality/ability clues she’s showing me halfway, listen, love, steer, and provide, only for her to be an absolute wrong ‘un, but the chances of that are small. Human needs are relatively basic, but under capitalism, it can be hard for people to find the time, energy, or knowledge to give to their young. There’s no way of telling why people end up swaggering that way, flying off at the handle (not the silhouette – remember I don’t know why he’s here), or becoming prominent members of society for disagreeable reasons, but I look for the upsides. It’s become a habit since chats such as the Bikestormz one. How do we get that aggression into the right space? How do we encourage him to scream at the sky in a way that is healthy and might set him on a different, more constructive course? These characters have inspired me from an early age because they provoke that prize human asset; imagination.

How do we manage the barbed aspects of such individuals while showcasing to them the possibilities in the world for their attractive traits? How do we inject that imagination with an inspiration steroid? That takes patience, time, empathy, belief in the human condition, and nurture; another scarce cocktail under capitalism. It was Shaz, from ‘Addatif’ who I shared London studio space with, who ran youth arts workshops who believed that it took entrepreneurial skills to be a drug dealer, so shouldn’t we be diverting those street smarts?

Anyway, the kids progress with the bikes and I see two more curious arrivals at the station, with less swagger, but equally eye-brow raising vibrancy, and we all head home happy with a lot to reflect upon.

SCULPTURE PARK

Written by Ben Tallon

It was Chris Pyrate, during our conversation on episode 211 of the ‘The Creative Condition’ podcast who questioned the default affixing of ‘childlike’ to ‘imagination.’ His take (with which I agree) was that imagination is… imagination. We only call it ‘childlike’ because it becomes much harder as we mature into adulthood. The maturity trap. That’s what I call it. Anyway, I took the family, including my parents, along to the magnificent Yorkshire Sculpture Park. It was a moody autumnal day. A spasm of yellow, red, and orange trees. A climate crisis autumn if I ever saw one, complete uncertain midges lingering on into the new season. Yorkshire Sculpture Park is sprawling - a national treasure of a site - and I felt annoyed with myself for suggesting that the sheer space and natural setting would be good for ‘the kids to run about in.’ As if the rest of us, ranging between 41 and 69 wouldn’t get the same evolutionary urges to roam, scale, sneak, see, and scream. It’s what we are. Sure enough, the kids were off and running early doors, but so was I, and not under-cover of 4-year-olds. I paced 360 around Henry Moores, and Damien Hirsts, awed by the context, this clutch of nature in which they lived, exposed to the elements, inviting ponderance and play. As we progressed around a route that would enable the kids to tick off sculptures on their worksheets, I noticed conversations deepen as we came together and parted, then came together again in changing groups of 2, 3, and 4 adults, at times a full 6, asking the kids basic questions about colours, shape, scale, and standpoint, questions that I realised I hadn’t asked of these gorgeous lumps of imagination before. I never did pay too much attention in art history or theory, and my joy took on new forms.

But those chats!

Now 3/4 of the way through Richard Louv’s The Nature Principle, I understood that they were not just coincidence; the art was in every leaf, tree, heavy cloud, the flocks of Canada geese rip-roaring over the lake, and in the other visitors who shared the park with us. This whole place was curation in motion, from seed to sculpture; a cocktail of colour coming together as art and nature should.

The pin finally pierced the balloon in a Friday tea-time Bradford traffic jam as we sat and stared sullenly out the misty car windows at red lights and grey blocks of concrete, and Matalan. But my mind appreciated the range in the day’s diet, even if I wanted to get onto brighter surrounds once more. The conversation in the car gravitated towards benefits and the state of post-industrial northern towns, and just like the layered chat in YSP, this wasn’t without cause. I allowed my mind to drift as the marvels of the bronze giants continued to stir something primal.

MISANTHROPE

Written by Ben Tallon

I read something bad and it threw me off for a couple of hours. During that time I questioned the human condition. Dark thoughts crossed my mind and I wondered if we’re fundamentally destructive. Human history provides enough material to support that notion. It’s called misanthrope. My own lived experience and my observations of others balances this somewhat, but its enough of a concern to start developing an aspect of my coaching to help my clients develop resilience against these kind of asssaults on the mind. More soon.

DON’T THINK, ACT

Written by Ben Tallon

My friend is waiting in my inbox, jetlagged and in a state of utter panic. He’s read a horrifying report about carbon sinks - those big forests and peat bogs and soil beds that drink up a lot of the shit we pump out into the atmosphere - failing. The report is by The Guardian, one of a handful of responsible media outlets who will cover the stuff that matters instead of dividing people in the name of vested interest.

At first, I follow him off the mental cliff. It’s happening again, rampant eco anxiety cutting off my ability to think, act, smile, move. This happened a lot during early parenthood, when fatigue cut off my brain’s air supply, when I was down, and vulnerable to the world’s ills.

Take action. That’s what I learned. These fucking silly brains of ours, the highly-sensitive ones that make us good at certain jobs, enable us to enjoy deep friendships and romantic connections, but in the name of balance, take us to dark places. Especially when Armageddon is in the news again. And when this anxiety habit became a serious problem for me in 2021, when I’d spend several days feeling hopeless because the neighbours cut down a mature tree just to put a tiny driveway outside their house, I had to spend time learning about the way my brain worked. The way fight, flight, or freeze can trick our modern brains into making things worse than they are. When I did, none of the problems that had triggered these mental battles went away, or lessened in severity, but I recognised that I could respond better to them. I could handle their assaults; hold fort long enough to assess what I could do about it. If it turned out there was nothing I could do, I’d anchor my mind on a carousel of positive thoughts until my heart slowed and my brain returned to baseline optimism. This wasn’t denial, but acknowledgment of the fact that I’m far more useful in the fight when I’m not an anxious mess. Stressing about what you can’t change just wastes your days, and it’s bloody exhausting. Not to mention, really shit for those around you.

So I sent these tips back to my poor friend, who is about to become a parent as the climate crisis escalates. I took action. Helping him helped me because I’ve been where he is and I go there still, somedays, and this positive response stopped me from dwelling on the report. Then I turned my attention back to creativity, my fight within the fight. My special suit. Elevate creativity in education and society, and we stand a far better chance of surviving. I believe that and so should you. It’s why we’re here today, it’s how we’ll survive tomorrow, and it’s what saved me from mental illness during new parenthood.

Purpose. Belonging. Community. Even in the apocalypse these things make it bearable. Creativity boosts all of them, and it’s a reciprocal nourishing effect. With those three, you’ll be more creative, and maybe, just maybe, stay sane in these crazy days.