This week, I had the pleasure of joining artists, researchers, cultural leaders and practitioners from across the UK at IOU Theatre's symposium, A Curious Tapestry: Crafting New Cultural Ecologies, for an afternoon of pitch provocations and discussion.
I was invited to share a five-minute provocation inspired by my Community Innovation Practitioner research and the ongoing development of Culture Labs.
Rather than presenting a case study or a finished piece of research, I wanted to share a question that has been quietly emerging through my practice over the past year.
As projects end, funding changes, organisations evolve and people move on, what is it that we're really trying to sustain? How might we create the conditions for communities, relationships and ideas to continue growing beyond the life of a programme, or the people who started it?
The conversation that followed was thoughtful, honest and, at times, surprisingly personal. It reminded us that letting go, succession and change are experiences shared across the cultural sector, and that perhaps regenerative practice begins not with having all the answers, but with asking better questions.
We'll be sharing reflections from the breakout discussions in a future blog. For now, we'd simply like to share the five-minute provocation that started the conversation.
My pitch provocation…
I've spent most of my career working alongside communities, artists, local authorities and universities, using creativity to help people shape the places they care about.
Over the last couple of years, that practice has evolved into something called Culture Labs.
It began with a simple question.
How might communities play a more active role in shaping the cultural life of the places they call home?
Culture Labs became a way of bringing people together - not simply to participate in culture, but to shape it.
To build relationships.
To imagine futures.
To create something together.
But somewhere along the way…
another question quietly emerged.
Not because anyone asked it.
Because the work itself did.
(Pause.)
I imagine many of us have reached the end of something we've cared deeply about.
A project.
A programme.
A partnership.
Maybe you've spent months…
or years…
building relationships…
creating trust…
sharing ideas…
making something that simply didn't exist before.
And then…
the funding ends.
A key advocate retires.
A brilliant colleague moves on.
You divorce from your partner in crime.
You decide you actually want to open a B&B in Llandudno. Or is that just me?
Local government... or even central government... decides to reorganise itself... again.
(We may be welcoming our 10th Culture Secretary in 10 years, next week)
Someone launches a shiny new strategic framework… for everyone, everywhere.
(small pause)
And we're all expected to realign one more time.
Change happens.
Whether we're ready for it or not.
Sound familiar?
And yet…
the place doesn't change.
The community doesn't change.
The relationships don't change.
So, over the last year, I've found myself asking a different question.
Not…
How do we make projects last?
But…
What do we hope continues after we've stepped away?
Because perhaps our role isn't to make ourselves indispensable.
Perhaps it's the opposite.
Perhaps it's to leave knowing the work is in safe hands.
Where relationships are strong enough.
Where leadership is shared enough.
Where communities are confident enough.
Where the work can continue changing hands, changing shape and continuing to grow.
For me, that's become a question of trust.
Trusting the process.
Trusting the people.
Trusting ourselves to let go when the time is right.
Not because we no longer care.
But because we do.
Because real care isn't about holding on.
It's about recognising when the work is ready to grow beyond us.
Through Culture Labs, I've come to realise that care isn't just something we owe participants. It's something we owe to the work itself.
Sometimes that means holding it carefully.
Sometimes it means sharing responsibility.
And sometimes it means trusting that others will take it somewhere we never could.
Perhaps that's what regenerative cultural practice asks of us.
Not simply to create projects...
But to become active stewards rather than permanent custodians.
To leave behind stronger relationships.
Greater confidence.
Shared ownership.
And places that continue to imagine their futures together.
So perhaps success isn't measured by how long a project lasts...
...but by what continues because it happened.
(Pause.)
So I'd like to leave you with the question that's been quietly following me around for the last year.
What if the work never ends?
You can download the Provocations here.
Here is a link to the Symposium Programme which includes speaker and collaborator biographies.
