What’s a workshop with her like?
How I create
20 minutes flat, a timer, and you do before you think.
First, I play on my own
I start every morning by playing
A notebook or a computer, a timer set for twenty or 30 minutes, and I write, I paint, I draw. I don’t think. I do.
Sometimes it gives 3 pages of spontaneous text. Sometimes I paint with whatever I pick up on the peninsula: my fingers, earth, coffee, flowers.
I stay with an idea to dig deeper
When I like an idea, I don’t move on to the next one. I look at it from every angle. I try other colours, other words, other sounds.
I write the same scene in several versions: funny, psychological, as dialogue. Then I simplify. I choose a word, a colour, a feeling, and I let something grow out of it.
I mix everything
Writing, drawing, painting, voice, instruments. I layer several voices to make a mini-choir. I make rhythms, loops, textures. I test live, I improvise, I play with whatever I have to hand.
I start from what’s alive
I watch the wind, the sun, the water, the leaves. I let my body, my breathing and my movements guide what comes out. I immerse myself in what’s around me and turn it into text, music, drawing or collage.
I make my own tools
I organise my space: one wall for music, one for painting, one for writing, and the window. I improvise, I structure, I repeat, I refine. I create my own techniques instead of applying other people’s.
Then I let the others in
When I’ve played enough on my own, I turn what I’ve made into something others can do in their turn.
Exercises, not lessons
The reader writes, draws, improvises, listens, makes sounds. Every text in the book has its “your turn” version.
Workshops, out in nature or online
We write, we sing, we dance, we draw, we improvise. Duets, choirs, voice games, word games. The method fits in one sentence: improvise first, structure afterwards. And I invite people to copy as much as to stray.
The book spills out of the book
Stand-up, comics, animated films, music. Text, images, voice and sound all mixed up. The reader doesn’t watch: they live it, they take part, they create with me.
Where this method comes from
From Gianni Rodari and his The Grammar of Fantasy, first of all — the idea that you can make stories with the rules of a game.
And from watching a musician who builds his tracks by layering, always starting with the botched version. That’s where my favourite rule comes from: you don’t start as an expert, you start curious.
My goal fits in one line:
for everyone to find their creativity, their pleasure,
and to feel allowed to create in their turn.
Taken from the working document “my creative process” — The Hammock and the Hummingbirds.