Like a lot of people, there are times when I worry about what other people will think of the work that I do. I worry about whether my participants will find my workshops utterly transformative, I worry that those few brave souls who read my blog will like what I write and think I’m both very clever and exceptionally funny, and I worry about whether the partners and clients I work with will think my work is dazzling and brilliant. Simple aspirations.

There is a big funnel.

A huge, great, hungry thing.

Being endlessly shovelled into one end of this funnel are lots of “things.” Books, films, music, TV shows, articles, websites, podcasts, activities, memories, jokes, conversations, meals, experiences, art.

At the other end of the funnel, there is a tiny, little trickle.

The trickle is orders of magnitude smaller than the great gouts of stuff being hosed into the big end of the funnel. That trickle is the work that we produce - the things we write, the lessons we teach, the art we make. Whatever it might be. That’s not to say that everything we do in our daily lives is the output of this great funnel, it is the distilled creative product that we make.

Notebooks have been a huge part of my personal and working life for as long as I can remember. Almost everything I do, whether it’s writing, designing, planning, or thinking, begins on paper in some way or another. I find the immediacy and freedom of pencil and paper to be something that’s completely intertwined with the way that I think and see things.

"Eat at a local restaurant tonight. Get the cream sauce. Have a cold pint at 4 o’clock in a mostly empty bar. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Listen to someone you think may have nothing in common with you. Order the steak rare. Eat an oyster. Have a negroni. Have two. Be open to a world where you may not understand or agree with the person next to you, but have a drink with them anyways. Eat slowly. Tip your server. Check in on your friends. Check in on yourself. Enjoy the ride."

- Anthony Bourdain

I really do try and find moments of joy in my every day life. It’s not easy, often, with the way the world is and the usual pressures and demands, but it’s still important to me to try.

When I was in Berlin last week the breakfast room had an automatic pancake machine. Reason enough for a moment of joy in the morning, all by itself. Even better, though, was my first time using it.

I used to do quite a bit of graphic design, especially when I was at university. I remember teaching myself basic photoshop from online tutorials in my late teens and then spending a lot of my time, once I got to university, designing posters for plays, college balls, club nights, charity events and things like that. I’ve still got a reasonable eye for good graphic design, I think, but it seems like my decades old skills have pretty firmly rusted up and - shocking as it may be - photoshop has changed a little in the intervening years.

I've been designing some 1 day online workshops lately and I've been having trouble with one particular workshop. It just wasn't clicking for me, and I couldn't "see" the design as I could with the others. I like to think about the workshops I'm designing for a little while and let my subconscious go to work until things fall into place - and usually, that works pretty well. For some reason though it just wasn't working for me this time. I spent some time noodling away at it but wasn't really making any progress.

When I was a teacher, and had all the space of a classroom, it was very common for my students and I to be working away on huge sheets of A1 paper - drawing out some idea, or mindmapping a text we were studying, or collecting our thoughts together on some topic. We’d then tape them all up on to the way to have an even bigger frame of reference for our thinking.

I’m not a graphic designer by trade but graphic design does mean a lot to me and I’ve always had an eye for, and appreciation of, great design. Much in the words of that brilliant Ira Glass aphorism, I’ve got good taste in graphic design but my own skills… well, they’re not quite so developed yet.

Yesterday I caught a video on the Awwwards YouTube channel by Aaron Draplin of Draplin Design Co.

Draplin is an incredible, and prolific, graphic designer working out of Portland, Oregon in the US. His designs have punchy power, big colour, and vintage sensibilities and I’m a huge fan of the graphic design work he does for a whole range of impressive clients. He also does amazing work for friends, family, small-league businesses, start-ups, and, as he likes to say, “little guys and underdogs.”

Over the last few days, I’ve been making my way, slowly and intermittently, through Rick Rubin’s incredible book “The Creative Act”. A gorgeous, well-crafted, and thoughtful object in and of itself and a collection of short essays, even sometimes just a few paragraphs in length, all exploring the nature of creativity, the life of the creative person, and the act of creation itself. It’s been a deep pleasure to drop in on the book at different times and in different places and meander through these delicate, reflective passages. 

I am fortunate enough to have a home office in which I do most of my work. It’s set up to be a space that works well for me and that I like spending time in. It’s got 1000+ books on the wall, a sofa, pictures and art that I enjoy looking at, a big desk with a big monitor, lots of stationery tucked away in drawers, and lots of technology stored in nicely labelled crates in cupboards. It’s a great space for all kinds of things. Writing emails? No problem. Having Zoom meetings? Fantastic. Doing technical design work? Go for it! But it’s not a great space for creative thinking and for a long time I was struggling to figure out why.

This year, much of my reading has been led by a desire for comfort, reassurance, and escape as, I suspect, is the case for many avid readers. I have been revisiting favourite authors such as Ursula Le Guin, John Scalzi, and Stanislaw Lem, as well as particular books like The Lord of the Rings, The Tao Te Ching, and The Odyssey. Much of this is well-trodden territory for me and the familiarity offers consolation as well as the usual pleasures of reading. Alongside these favourites, there have been many books new to me, or newly released from authors I already know well, that have particularly struck a chord over the last 12 months.