An AI comment?

Written by Ben Tallon

Congrats on launching the site! It's fantastic to see your passion for creativity taking shape in such a meaningful way. Ben

I freeze. My human empathy and compassion glow at first. I mean, there’s a little face in the avatar thumbnail on Linkedin. It belongs to Fortunate Daphine, who describes herself as an ‘Executive and Administrative Virtual Assistant focused on making tasks easier for business owners, entrepreneurs, and founders. Let me take care of your administrative tasks while you focus on growing your business.’

After compassion and empathy comes suspicion. The language is spammy. If it’s written by a real person, it needs some humanity. But not everyone can write well, and when I look at her profile, Uganda is the geotag. So maybe this just isn’t her first language. The use of ‘virtual assistant’ is ambiguous, and fails to clarify whether Fortunate is indeed virtual, or a person offering me her business support via a virtual assistant.

Then my shambolic organisation skills flare up and it sounds appealing. I’ve not missed a deadline in my 17-year career, and I file my accounts each year, but you should see the state of my machine. Desktop like a wedding post-confetti floor.

But what this really comes down to is whether to reply to her comment or not. If she’s real, and I don’t, I’m rude and/or arrogant. If she’s real and I do, we both win. If she’s a bot and I do, I’m a dick head to anyone else following my post. If she’s a bot and I don’t, this still leaves me in the mire because those following won’t be certain about her either.

Oh god, this is what they’re warning us against with AI, isn’t it? The eventuality that the internet is quite literally submerged in spam, leaving us unable to trust anything at all.

Then, having read The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt – a book highlighting how social media has wrecked the mental health of kids given access to smart devices far too early – a nihilistic part of me feels good about that idea.

But not really. Not with the important stuff that relies on the internet.

I panic, cancel the window, and go back to my work, but Fortunate keeps staring at me in my mind.

For the rest of the afternoon, I wonder just how much my life has changed since the advent of the smartphone, and what impact tech will have from here.

Council Ball

Written by Ben Tallon

Me and the dog, Wednesday morning. It’s lashing it down this morning so I get out the £35 high-vis council worker style coat because it’s properly waterproof, not shower-proof after one wash like the one I blew a tonne on in the outdoor shop. With it, I put on a flat cap because, thanks to my massive skull, the hood makes me look like one of those 1990s vending machine glow-in-the-dark condoms. Anyway, it’s only after a while – and I wonder if this might be in my head – it seems to me that I’m getting less eye contact, no small talk today. Perception of appearance: are people assuming I’m as rough as a rat-catcher’s whistle? That I might leer or wolf whistle? If not that, what do people assume with high-vis, if anything? I always wondered, even though I’ve never really cared, how my appearance might precede me and undermine my creative offerings in some way. On my first trip to London, embarrassingly, I wore smart trousers and a shirt.

On Thursday I’m back in the normal getup, this time with a wooly hat with large pom pom. I forget about the eye contact and small talk thing, but during the walk, the dog and I find a knackered old football and have a right old tear up. I carry it to the park near the house and notice I’m drawing a lot of smiles and nods from both parents and children going the other way on the school run. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll try mixing Wednesday and Thursday and pay close attention.

DISNEYLAND CREATIVE

Written by Ben Tallon

I’d never been to Preston before. UCLan appeared on my radar in 2003 because it had an illustration degree course. It was far enough away from my childhood home for independence, but close enough to visit my people regularly. It had been recommended because the course had a strong reputation. I arrived for an interview having never been to the city, and somehow, on a level I couldn’t articulate with language, all it took for me to know I would be coming here was a blue sky at the top of a road full of black cabs leading out of the station. I still could’t tell you why, 21 years later. I learned my craft, enjoyed 6 wonderful years in Preston, and still love the place. The best I can offer is resonance. Time and place. Knowing on a primal level that here was where I needed to be now. The view literally offered no more than the blue sky, the taxis, and a smattering of people. And from there, the campus activity, the high street, and Victoria Building, where I’d spend the next 3 years studying illustration, upheld this instinctive allure. Steve, the course leader was a Leeds fan, and showed none of the borderline hostility a lecturer at Leeds Met had oozed as she smacked each page of my admittedly weak portfolio aside before telling me ‘bit thin... Preston might be the one for you.’ In fact Steve said little at all about the work. Nodding and smiling occasionally, asking about Bradford College, where I’d be switching from, he seemed more interested in me – something I have since learned is at the top of any good course or business leaders’ priorities: the human and their story. He told me he’d seen enough to know I wanted this and my offer of a place came through shortly after.

On Friday I pulled into the car park of Arts University Bournemouth where I was due to do ‘The Creative Condition’ talk for the communication design students. The sky was blue, and it happened again. The campus was alive. People seemed to carry purpose and it looked fantastic: a range of cool buildings, a cafe, and as the tutor showed me around, a knee-weakening array of craft facilities; typesetting workshops, printmaking, breakout rooms next to course studios, and not just art and design: I saw creative writing course, even an acting space. Just like Preston, my instincts glowed and raged and crashed around my body and mind. I hinted at this in the staff room as I prepared my notes and met the other tutors, one of whom told me it was something of a ‘Disneyland for creatives.’

Whether there’s something for me at Bournemouth specifically remains to be seen. Geographically and skillset-wise it’s possible. But you have to look at this thematically. Just weeks earlier, I’d carried out my coaching ‘the vision’ exercise on myself, and what flooded out of my unconscious was close to art school. I’ve never gotten over the wondrous crackle of art college and the sheer purpose it brought to my life. So clearly, while grateful for my little garden studio and the benefits it brings me, I need that kind of interaction, scope to play, and space for my creativity to be optimal. Here was one version of it, and a very familiar feeling returning from 21 years ago.

The copper and the weirdo

Written by Ben Tallon

Lunchtime. Running after the dog again, slapstick style. The middle of the three green spaces that comprise our walk sits right next to the local police station, so throughout the day, theirs a steady stream of coppers smoking fags, drinking coffee outside, or just milling around before or after going out to catch robbers. Today I don’t see the officer who is smoking behind the bushes where I gallop with the tennis ball. I nod, mumble hello, notice she is thrown by my sudden presence, so I turn to make plainly obvious that I am a dog walker, and I am with my dog. ‘WAAAALLLLLTTTTEEERRRR! COME ON! GOOD BOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYY!’ I bellow as he shows up, also thrown by my over exuberant cry for backup. The officer now smiles, visibly relieved. At least that’s how I read it. Either way, as I barrel up the hill and over the top towards the next green space, I think about it. Why did I need the dog to justify my behaviour? We spent thousands of years moving at pace through woodland and across green spaces. This is not just walking the dog, it’s become my daily ritual to dust of the afternoon cobwebs, to keep my body healthy and my mind sharp to give me the best chance of optimal creativity, or entering flow. Would it be less weird if I were on a conveyor belt in sweat pants, behind some glass where I could smell the sweat of others? Fuck that! Those people in gyms are behaving in a far more unnatural way, aren’t they? When you really think about it. Anyway, I couldn’t care less. The momentary return of my 14-year-old self, caught in the maturity trap is annoying, and requires work.

UNLEARNING TECH, UNCONSCIOUS DUMP

Written by Ben Tallon

Early Sunday morning, 2am-ish, I’m woken by one of the kids calling for the duvet to be pulled back over. A chilly night. When I return to bed, I’m still with eyes closed and a foggy brain. Beautiful: drift right back off and see you in the morning. Bu there’s a drip, one great thought delivered by my unconscious. Another drip, then a cascade of liquid gold: solutions, ideas, pivots, you name it, and I’m wide awake. Irritating? As least the timing, yes. But my word it’s good. There are breakthroughs in blockades I didn’t know I had, lists writing themselves for my coaching strategy, and new sections for the website presenting themselves, in finished form. Eventually, with my conscious brain about to burst, I reach for my phone and make four paragraphs of shorthand notes. When I look in the morning I expect indecipherable drivel, but it’s not.

I can’t be certain why this happened but having written about this extensively, read up on the topic of the unconscious’ role in creativity, it all aligns. Feed your head, give it time to rest and process, and when you least expect it, the answers will comes. Nobel prize winning ideas came this way.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been unlearning the destructive screen habit. I spend much of my work days on one, and I’ve been identifying opportunities to dissect it, to inject methods of organising, planning, working without the need to stare at a monitor, laptop, and smartphone.

Paper diary.

Recycled stock exercise book for my coaching research.

More play with paints and pens on paper and with collage.

Stricter routines for keeping up with messages and emails both social and professional.

Reading more books and less TV.

Balance.

And I have to think it’s beginning to pay off. Couple this with a ban on screens during my dog walks and I feel more connected in conversations, outdoors, and during trips from A to B. Everything a little richer, and less work required for the solutions to my challenges and ambitions.

My problems? They’ve shrunk a little.

MOMENT OF JOY

Written by Ben Tallon

I make a prat of myself every lunchtime. It’s been decades since I had any inhibitions of that kind and I attribute many of the relationships I’ve made through my creativity to that. If it feels good, if it’s funny, or if there’s creative value, I’ll happily sacrifice any perceived cool. Anyway, I make a prat of myself by chasing the dog for his ball. It’s a game, and I have a trick to actually get the ball back after all my tumbling, staggering, and missed lunges. Today I was deep in it, carrying a giant bag of dog food in bright yellow packaging, barrelling after the fleeing hound, when I looked up to see a local friend stood with her pram. As I got closer, I noticed she was smiling at us. I clipped the dog onto his lead and joined her when she said, ‘Oh, don’t mind me, I was just indulging in that little moment of joy. Are you having fun?’ I beamed back, infected by her gleeful expression, realising this wasn’t just a flippant remark. It felt good, and for a brief moment, all the shit we saddle our tired minds with was gone. We held smiles and said no more, and a few late autumn leaves fluttered to the ground to become something new.

On the way home it had me thinking about the beauty in never knowing the influence we can have on others. That’s real power. Not legislation, not bills, not divisive rhetoric. If one of us had been on our phone, reading bleak headlines, that moment would never have happened. But I have it now. It's ours.

On these grey days, when politics and news cycles tear at our skin, keeping us so distressed and down that we feel it’s all hopeless, it’s never as bleak as the bastards would have us believe. How we move, the energy we put out, whether we acknowledge the presence of another person, the shape of our little piece in the humanity puzzle – it all matters. We have the power to lift a spirit, to turn someone’s day, week, year, or life around for the better, and the chances are that if we do, whether we know it or not, they'll do so too. We can be the authors of our lives, and important cameos in many others if we just look up, away from our screens, and climb out of our arses and be.

TO DESPAIR OR…

Written by Ben Tallon

The morning after the 2016 U.S. presidential election, I sat there in disbelief as Donald Trump entered the White House by borrowing directly from the playbook of my beloved professional wrestling. Shouting bollocks, he smarmed and grinned and made big statements and when you boil it right down, people are simple creatures. They are emotional and when they are pissed off in their lives, those emotions rule the human. Trump used that psychology and technology masterfully to exploit their vulnerability, as we’d seen here in the UK with Brexit. I felt horrified. All of my environmental terrors would be compounded and this caricature was about to lead the human race off the highest of cliffs.

We have no way of truly charting the damage he did in his first term, but we know that it wasn’t good. And now he’s back. But in contrast to my moping around my then London flat in 2016 – in fight, flight or freeze mode, my heart erratic, my mouth open – this time I got on with my day. Yes, I felt sadness, yes I felt anger at the naivety of my kind, and yes, I felt fearful as I watched my children playing, and wondered what impact this would have on their lives.

But as I watched them, I also allowed my mind to wade through the dismay and slowly ascend the bank on the others side because those two humans need a leader. We all must be the leaders of our own lives; not lost souls on the internet, angry at the other, imprisoned by what might happen. We might perceive those who’ve lashed out once more as others, but we are in this together, and if we can’t find a way to address our differences, to get together in person and recognise that we’d all just like to get on with our lives, then this will get worse.

That day in 2016 I created nothing. I struggled to exist that day. Today, I had meaningful conversations, felt good, made things, developed ideas, ran around the woods with my dog, and worked out, because if I stop and admit defeat, then fear takes over and I am no good to anyone. And just now, every single one of us is needed to fight for what we believe in. If I’m energised, and ideas flow, and I see colours where there might just be grey, then I can be additive to the lives of others, so I exerted my conscious awareness and shut down my negative spiral. I’ve seen more than my fair share of instances when an individual’s actions moved many people and shifted culture. In each case, resolved was required and the individual could never have predicted or engineered that.

At various intervals, those fears seeped in, but like a cartoon stalker, each time I fixed my gaze upon them, they froze, and eventually fled. It’s not easy, it takes training, but it’s worth it because the alternative is to surrender my optimism, and nobody in my life deserves that. As far as I can tell, I’m only here once, and I’m not without responsibility for what my species does here during my time. So let’s make great art, let’s use that negative emotion spectrum to its fullest and show how beautiful and intricate we can be, even in the face of hyper-capitalism at its worst.

THOUGHT POLICE

Written by Ben Tallon

The intrusive thoughts start on the way back from the school drop-off. ‘Oooh, two days and you’re 1/4 into November and you’ve not yet made 1/10 of your minimum living costs. Still quiet, ISN’T IT?’

This time I grab them and shove a fistful of crispy brown Autumn leaves into their toxic mouths. The first correction is the ‘month on month’ metric. Granted: over a longer timeline, that has to stack up. But I get £300 months and I (occasionally, not often enough) get £10k+ months. Maybe this recent sleep improvement – the kids not being up five times per night – is helping, but I remind myself of those bumper months, which felt just as impossible as any new work feels just now. That could be this month. It’s all possible, after all, and I’m in a position to receive such fortune; putting myself out with a lot of experience, an established brand, and a strong, versatile portfolio. And the optimism returns, so I jog part of the way to get my blood pumping.

This self-talk is everything, and so much hinges on the tone of it. I carved out a career that was unlikely in the first place. There was no way I could convince anyone in logical or probability terms, but it felt great, and that’s always been enough for me. Not just enough, but the grand prize. And despite the fear that always lurks, I still feel excited about wherever the hell I’m going. For you, reader, if you exist, work on that self-talk. In any given moment, the fear that stalks you is far likelier to shit its pants and run if you have inner authority and processes to feed it through, mash it like plasticine into something useful.

LOCAL

Written by Ben Tallon

Grovely Woods is a short drive from our house, so to see out our first half-term school holiday, I bung the kids and the dog in the car with a a packed lunch. Biophilia has been high on my parenting priority list from the get-go but now amplified since discovering the essential work of Richard Louv. The reasons are innumerable and shouldn’t need spelling out, but go and read his books and it’ll blow your head off.

My big takeaway is the quiet. Something covered in The Nature Principle is the difficulty to find silence, without the incessant churn of cars, without human activity. It’s here, and we sit for long spells, on logs, without words passing our lips, Fiddling with sticks, picking up autumn leaves and analysing the blends of green, yellow, orange, red, and brown. We navigate boggy bits, negotiate brambles, and stand on various sticks and roots, working those muscles for flexibility. Needless to say, the dog loves it and comes and goes, tail up like a car aerial, ears pricked.

There are signs about ‘ash dieback’ and stumps where ‘thinning’ has taken place and I have to grasp for thought processes to avert a mental landslide. This stuff hurts me badly. The downside of sensitivity. The kids, thankfully, are not there yet, but they won’t be shielded in years to come. Their creativity will require a bond with nature more than any previous generation. They already ask big questions of grandparents and educate them on the damage litter causes, and why we must fight for nature. It’s a strange thing to hear between 4-year-olds and octogenarians.

That night it’s a friend’s birthday do in the local pub. We get deep after a couple of pints. He’s an artist/graphic novelist on a painting MA, and has hired a big, more affordable barn in the countryside. He’s purposely left technology elsewhere, so when he goes there, he’s in a big space, and there’s just him, the art, and some music. We talk about space and its impact on mindset and creativity. I recount the big factory spaces of my graphic design BTEC, and how I’d love to access such space again now. The MA, he tells me, is awesome. One day a weel, part time, with tutors who have very different takes and tastes, who push hard. The people on the course are an energising mix too - people from all over the place who are there because they want something from this experience in a different way to higher education, when we’ve not quite lived enough life to need it in the same way.

We get onto nature somehow, and he hits me for six when he tells me he heard it said that humans are nature’s way of seeing itself. He takes a sip of his drink and watches me spluttering, trying to find the words to come back from that, but there are none. I’ll leave that with you. I might get there eventually.

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.