Tag: blog

landscape / maps of the mind

By Jané E Mackenzie

I could show you my homeland on a map and you would see the names of hills to climb and beaches to visit, but for me some of the best bits, in my experience, are vague patches of nothing on your average map. Places where you will find sheep paths, extra-squishy green bog, bracken higher than your head, and a big rock to watch a sky that is never the same colour twice. It is not surprising, given the context I grew up in, in the northwest of the Highlands, that landscape has always played a huge part in my creative practice.

It is said that there are over 60 words for mountains in Gaelic. Landscape and Gaelic are in some way entwined, such as in the understanding of colours, which in Gaelic is beyond a hue but “distinguished by a changing landscape”. 

A’ bheil am feur gorm fhathast? / Is the grass still blue?

John O’Donohue, an Irish poet whose practice was also often anchored in landscape, said:

“…one of the recognitions of the Celtic imagination — that landscape wasn’t just matter, but that it was actually alive. What amazes me about landscape, landscape recalls you into a mindful mode of stillness, solitude, and silence, where you can truly receive time.”

The desire/inability to capture the full aliveness of land, and yet continue to map it, is part of its appeal in my creative practice.  Gaelic isn’t my native tongue, despite its heavy imprint on the places and people I grew up with. So it has been a wonder to read about Gaelic’s relationship to the land and to discover how this tongue, and its songs and poems, expand to me a place already known in new ways. As native speaker, John Murray, who has written two books on this topic states:

“All maps, whether drawn or not, are the product of priorities and preferences, both individual and societal. But cognitive maps confirm patterns of relative importance and patterns of movement and are understood and used by those who conceive them.”

Part of Gaelic’s erasure came through viewing the land as a means of economic gain / a commodity, as people were cleared and education systems banned its use as “uncivilised”. Driven by English colonial ideologies that treated both land and Gaelic culture as obstacles to profit and control.

At a point in my life when I was trying to find a way forward, and to make sense of why I was struggling with things others seemed to find easy, I bought a book about being dyslexic, something I was told I was from a very early age. As someone who has always consumed and existed within books, and found so much solace in them, it was strange to find such a familiar form talking about dyslexia as something so other, with the assumption that a dyslexic person would not read such a book. Pathologising in book form.

In this same period, my work agreed to pay for a dyslexic assessment. My hope was to find some of the support like I had in school, but within my context now. At the end of the assessment, it was announced that I was most likely ADHD.

With this new information, I didn’t quite know how to hold it. Like maps, and much ADHD diagnosis, it has been shaped by the priorities and preferences of individuals and society.

Again, my creative practice gave me space to relate to ADHD and neurodiversity more broadly. I made friends with people who were further along than me in understanding their neurodiversity. My friend Lizzie blew my mind with Mel Baggs video in my language (please watch if you have not) and the concept of neuroqueer (coined by Nick Walker, to Neuroqueer, is to actively reimagine the many structures that seek to define, exclude and erase us. It is to reclaim our-being and to give more full expression to our uniquely weird potentials and inclinations). 

Learning about Gaelic and neurodiversity has been less about a map or diagnosis, and more about relatedness and being-ness that continues to evolve. A bit like how Nan Shepherd writes about exploring the Cairngorms at a time when most literature about mountains was written by men and aimed at reaching a summit, she created space for a more sensuous/sonorous approach and tells us that in the mountains, “the body may be said to think”.

It is a repositioning, a reimagining, reframing and for me this chimes with Layli Long Soldier who suggests that language is something to reach with — an active, relational motion rather than a fixed object.

List of references and links –

Mel Baggs – In my Language – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnylM1hI2jc

Neuroqueer – https://neuroqueer.com/neuroqueer-heresies/

John O’Donohue – The Inner Landscape of Beauty (audio interview – On Being, https://onbeing.org/programs/john-odonohue-the-inner-landscape-of-beauty/)

The Living Mountain – Nan Shepherd

Reading the Gaelic Landscape: Leughadh Aghaidh na Tìre – John Murray

Literature of the Gaelic Landscape: Song, Poem and Tale – John Murray

A lot of this thinking come out of my E Land https://www.janee.co.uk/p/e-land.html 

Together | Apart: Celebration and Resistance

Great artists don’t magically fall from the stars. They are grown from the grassroots. It is through small, local organisations that artists can develop their practice, make connections, get inspired and access the opportunities that kickstart their careers.

Curator Amy Milner reflects on the launch of Neuk collective’s latest exhibition and the contradiction of celebrating a success in a time of instability in Glasgow’s grassroots cultural landscape.

Part 1: Celebration

Last week was an exciting milestone for Neuk Collective. After months of work and planning, we were so happy to finally open our third members’ exhibition, Together | Apart, at Glasgow’s Project Ability. This is our first exhibition in Glasgow, and we are thrilled to be expanding our reach beyond Edinburgh.

Together | Apart brings together the work of 68 Neuk Members. The exhibition explores experiences of separation and connection – and the ways these can exist simultaneously. Artists were invited to reflect on what it means to be both distinct and interwoven: separated by geography but connected through shared experience, identity and community. 

First of all, I would like to say a huge congratulations to our exhibiting artists – your work is incredible and it really was a joy to curate the show. We were thrilled to see so many of you at our opening events, and we hope you all feel proud. Thank you for sharing our work with us!

Thank you also to everyone who came along to our opening events to celebrate. The events had a remarkably relaxed and friendly feel – it almost felt like one of our ‘Create and Connect’ meetups! Looking around, I felt a deep appreciation for the community we have built within Neuk Collective and it was lovely to see so many members chatting away and celebrating each other’s work. I am truly grateful to have had the opportunity to curate Together | Apart and I am personally very proud of how the exhibition has turned out and of the growing success of Neuk Collective.

The gallery feels warm and inviting, full of rich and moving work. Of course, as the curator, I was very familiar with the work, but when we finished installing it, I was still struck by the textural depth of the exhibition. All art is a sensory experience, but it felt like there was a particular deliberateness present in the sensory aspects of these works. I don’t know whether this can be attributed to our neurodivergence, but it is evident how much care was taken by many of our artists to consider how they invited their audience to participate in the work. This came across in the feedback I heard from visitors and the fact that so many spent over an hour exploring the gallery and engaging with the art.

One of these places where people can sit down and engage with the art is our Artist Book Project.

Our Artist Book Project was an experiment in how we could collaborate on a project as a collective despite being spread all over Scotland – a way of us working together while physically apart (see what we did there?!). 43 of our members created a ‘signature’, a mini-book, expressing their own artistic vision in whatever form or media they wanted. Tzipporah and I then curated them and Tzipporah bound them together into a series of books with collaged covers. What resulted was a beautiful collection of books, as rich and varied as the larger exhibition – a mini exhibition within the exhibition! They serve as a snapshot of Neuk Collective at this moment in time.

You can explore our Artist Books here: Artist Book Project

You can see the work in the exhibition in our online gallery here: Together | Apart

---

Part 2: Resistance

I would like to express our gratitude to Project Ability for inviting Neuk Collective to exhibit in their beautiful gallery and for sharing their space with us. It was particularly generous of them to continue to share this space with us despite the sudden insecurity faced by the whole building, Trongate 103.

As many of you know, the site of our exhibition, Trongate 103, has been at risk of closure due to the actions of City Property and Glasgow City Council. This threatens the work of Project Ability and all the other arts organisations who are tenants in the building.

It would feel remiss not to acknowledge this situation, as my pride and happiness about the exhibition are contrasted by a deep concern for the future of grassroots arts in Scotland. Our exhibition would not exist without this space. Furthermore, the important work of Project Ability and the other arts organisations in the building would not be possible without a physical space to do it in.

The situation is ongoing, and we were heartened this weekend to hear that Trongate 103 have managed to secure another 12 months in the building, during which time negotiations will continue. This is thanks to the combined efforts of the organisations in the building and local councillors, press and activists.

While this agreement is a step in the right direction, we need to keep pushing for a long-term solution. We need funding and long-term protection for physical space in the arts. While it is expensive for funders to cover the costs of a premises, in the long run it is more financially sustainable. Otherwise, money is funnelled into the establishment of grassroots organisations, only for them to collapse when their precarious occupancy agreements are terminated. Such attitudes cause harm and erode trust within communities – how can people get invested in local culture when the places they love are shut down time and time again? 

Grassroots organisations are the bedrock of the arts and culture. They are the foundation that sustains the arts. The big galleries may hold a lot of clout, but make no mistake – grassroots organisations feed them, not the other way around. In nature, innovation happens in the fringes and biodiversity is found on the edges. Grassroots organisations are the hedgerows of art and culture. We simply cannot afford to lose them. 

Project Ability is one such vital pillar at the heart of Glasgow’s arts scene. Since the 80s, they have improved the lives of those they support and their families. They have increased awareness of disability art and advocated for accessible and inclusive practices. The ripple effects of this work are hard to quantify, but I’m sure they spread further than we could imagine.

In 2018, Project Ability hosted Nnena Kalu’s first solo show. In 2025, she became the first learning-disabled artist to win the Turner prize. She wouldn’t have got there without the support of the smaller organisations that supported her – Action Space and Project Ability.

Great artists don’t magically fall from the stars. They are grown from the grassroots. It is through small, local organisations that artists can develop their practice, make connections, get inspired and access the opportunities that kickstart their careers.

And producing great artists is not the only or, even, the most important output of these organisations. It is also these organisations that reach communities, particularly those communities that feel left out of larger arts institutions. They bridge the gaps between the mainstream and the people who often get excluded. They bring vibrancy to communities and enrich people’s lives.

Neuk Collective is an example of the power of grassroots movements. What started with just 4 neurodivergent artists getting together to showcase their art has grown into an established, funded organisation with hundreds of members and a staff team. We share our resources and connections; we collaborate and learn from each other, make friends and grow our careers. 

So, as we celebrate the wonderful collective achievement that is Together | Apart, let us also take this as an opportunity to renew our energy, determination and fighting spirit for protecting our grassroots art scene. Let’s get inspired by the art and by each other and keep using our voices to speak up for organisations like Project Ability, whose work we cannot afford to lose.

I encourage you all to keep turning up, getting involved, and demonstrating that your local arts scene is valued and necessary. And, most importantly, keep believing that we can make a difference – particularly and especially when we come together and support each other as a community. We must remain hopeful, even in the face of great losses. If we lose hope, we lose. 

So, keep fighting for the arts, keep using your voice, keep supporting each other and keep imagining a better future. 

I, personally, am excited to be part of the bright future of Neuk Collective. 

Once again, congratulations to our members on Together | Apart!

Stay determined and stay hopeful.

Together | Apart is showing now at Project Ability in Glasgow, until the 23rd of May.

You can visit between 11am and 5pm, Wednesday to Saturday.

The Umbrella Practice: Why Creativity Doesn’t Need One Box

Neuk Member Dominika Jackowska on how finding your niche can be overrated.

Back when I was at university, someone said that to succeed, you should find your style, your niche, and just go for it. The idea was that if you have a recognisable style or look, people will know you for it

I tried to do that, but I have to be honest, I struggled with it. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been interested in so many different things, and it was difficult for me to stick to just one. I find many different things fascinating.

I started with animation, first traditional and then digital. At some point early on, I came across the work of MUTO, the Big Bang Big Boom animation by street artist Blu. He created animation on a huge scale using murals. It was incredibly impressive and it always stayed with me.

Later I discovered VJ Suave, a group from Brazil that creates “guerrilla animation” projections from a cargo bike. I loved the idea of making animation on a large scale and bringing it into public spaces. It felt very different from what I had been doing before.

These artists and creatives I came across really shaped my idea of what is possible.

The more you discover and the more you learn, the more your understanding of what is possible expands. I’ve always liked a challenge and trying new things. Somewhere along the way I realised I wanted to make work that brings animation into physical spaces, work that I’m excited about.

I started with animation, but over the years my practice has expanded into physical work, interactive projects, projection mapping, theatre, metalwork, and interactive installations. Animation is still at the centre of it all, but it has found ways to exist beyond the screen.

I sometimes think about creativity less as a straight path and more as a network of routes. The core ideas remain the same, but the medium changes depending on what the idea needs. Sometimes a story works best as a film. Sometimes it needs light, movement, physical space, or interaction with people.

Curiosity kept leading me into new territories.

And now I don’t mind that I don’t have one specific style. Instead, I think of my creative practice as an umbrella for exploration.

I’ve made peace with the fact that this is how my brain works. I no longer fight it, I embrace it. And this way of thinking has led me to many interesting projects and collaborations.

If you are interested in something new, go for it. You might not know yet how it will fit into your practice. Maybe not in the next month, or even the next year. But the things you learn won’t disappear. At some point they might become useful in a future project or idea.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is how important play is in creative practice.

Being a freelancer means there are many things aside from the fun, creative making that you have to deal with, such as applications, emails, planning, etc. All of those things are necessary, but they can take up a lot of your time and mental space.

That’s why it’s important to carve out time for your own making, sometimes with no purpose at all. It doesn’t have to be a huge block of time. Even 15 or 30 minutes once in a while can make a difference.

I run a lot of creative workshops, and something I’ve realised is how nice it is to attend a workshop run by someone else. Recently, I went to a sashiko stitching workshop. It was a wonderful experience to learn something new while simply being a participant rather than the person organising everything.

That’s why workshops and experimental spaces are so valuable. They allow you to make something without pressure or expectation. No brief, no deliverables, no outcome that needs to justify itself.

Just curiosity.

Those moments often reconnect me to the original joy of making.

Something I’ve noticed is that ideas rarely appear fully formed. Often they start as small experiments.

You try something out of curiosity, maybe on a very small scale, without knowing exactly what it will become.

Then months or even years later, the idea comes back. Suddenly there is an opportunity, a project, or a collaboration where that experiment finds its place and grows into something much bigger.

Nothing you learn or try is wasted. Even the smallest experiment can become part of something larger in the future.

Being a freelance creative also means living with a constant flow of tasks that exist outside the creative process.

There are applications to write, emails to send, people to contact, funding forms to complete, and budgets to plan. Projects vary between short-term and long-term commitments.

One of the hardest parts can be the feeling of never finishing your to-do list. It’s very easy to underestimate how long things take, and suddenly the day disappears into admin tasks.

Rejection is also part of the process. Applications get declined and ideas don’t always find support. Over time you develop a thicker skin and learn to keep going.

There are also moments where you’re not entirely sure what the next step is. You might not know exactly where things are heading, but you know the direction will still be creative.

Sometimes that uncertainty is part of the journey.

We are also surrounded by constant messages about productivity.

Online platforms often push the idea that we should always be improving, producing more, monetising our work, and optimising every aspect of our lives. On some level that advice can be useful, but seeing it every day can start to distort reality.

Creativity doesn’t always work on that kind of schedule.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is unplug for a while. Step away from the algorithm. Make something without documenting it or sharing it immediately.

Over the years I’ve also learned the importance of being forgiving towards yourself.

Creative life is not constant productivity. There are periods of intense making and periods that feel quieter. Times where ideas flow easily and times where everything feels slower.

We are not machines.

I’ve started thinking about creativity more like nature. A plant grows upwards, but it also grows downwards, building roots beneath the surface.

Those roots are not always visible, but they are important. In creative work, they might be learning, experimenting, observing, or simply giving ideas time to develop.

Creativity also moves through seasons. There are times of growth, when ideas flourish, and quieter periods that feel more like hibernation. Those slower moments can feel unproductive, but they are part of the process.

Just like in nature, not everything is meant to be in bloom all the time.

Often when we look at other artists or creators, we see the flower.

The finished film.
The installation.
The exhibition.
The performance.

What we don’t see are the roots beneath it, the years of learning, failed attempts, workshops, experiments, and quiet moments of doubt.

Creative work grows in both directions: upwards and downwards.

Both are necessary.

Someone once asked a simple question: Why do we make films?

There are many answers.

To tell stories.
To imagine new worlds.
To communicate something personal.
To escape reality for a moment.

All of those reasons are valid.

For me, a lot of my work is about creating moments of pause. Our brains wander constantly throughout the day, thinking about the past or the future. Through installations, light, visuals, and sensory experiences, I often try to bring people back into the present moment.

Even if only briefly.

Earlier in my career, I sometimes thought creative work had to make a huge impact to matter.

Now I’m not so sure.

If someone experiences something new through a piece of work, if a workshop sparks a new idea for someone, or if even one person walks away seeing the world a little differently, that already feels meaningful.

Impact doesn’t always have to be massive to matter.

Art and music also have a powerful way of bringing people together.

They create shared spaces, a bit like modern town squares. Places where people gather, experience something collectively, and connect through emotion or curiosity.

Film festivals are a great example of this. Watching short films from different parts of the world can widen your perspective without travelling anywhere. You see glimpses of other cultures, ideas, and ways of storytelling.

Those experiences remind you how many different voices exist.

Looking back, working across different disciplines was never really a strategy. It simply came from following my curiosity and allowing ideas to move between different forms.

Animation still sits at the centre of my practice, but it continues to evolve through new materials, technologies, and collaborations.

There will probably always be new skills to learn, new ideas to explore, and new routes that lead back to the same creative core.

And maybe that’s the point.

Creativity doesn’t need to fit into one box. Sometimes it grows best when we allow it to move freely between many.

On the importance of creativity in troubled times

When the world feels increasingly irrational and fragmented and we are facing so many crises, why is art more important than ever? 

Neuk member Eleanor Buffam reflects on why creativity is not a luxury in times of crisis, but a vital force for connection, resistance and renewal.

Art and creative play can sometimes feel frivolous, especially as we’ve internalised capitalistic ideas about inherent value. Or it can seem superfluous. Surely we should be doing something more important in the face of the many crises we are facing? Sometimes it seems as though the act of creating, of making visual art, music, dance or poetry is not doing anything to help change the world.

Of course, direct actions and political struggles remain important. Protest, mobilise, do all the things! But alongside that mobilisation, and indeed within that mobilisation we need to nurture ourselves, we need to connect to each other, and we need to look for innovative solutions, and that’s where creativity is absolutely indispensable. With collaboration, reinvention, daydreaming, playing, singing, dancing, painting, and writing (indeed with any and all sorts of artistic actions) we can nourish ourselves while reinventing our present and our future, pivoting away from the neoliberal capitalist system that is destroying the planet and destroying our health.

Art is integral to humanity, it is part of us, and has been since prehistoric times, from the time of the earliest cave paintings and carved figurines. It is essential to our development. Children begin mark making at an early age, usually by the age of two. Marilyn Goodman writes that “Art is an integral activity to a child’s development. It allows children to discover, explore, experiment and learn independently… drawing with a variety of mediums encourages children to figure out how they feel about themselves and things around them.”^[1] Art is how we make sense of the world, and importantly it’s enjoyable.

Yes, that’s right. Art is fun! Pleasure is important, and not something to feel guilty about. The fact that this seems revolutionary in our culture is wild to me. Let’s stop venerating suffering. Why are we on this earth if not to enjoy ourselves? I’m not talking about mindless hedonism here, which importantly is not actually pleasurable, as it leaves one with a sense of emptiness. Creativity does the opposite.

The importance of art and creativity is so huge, I feel that I could write a book on it. Maybe I will someday. For now, I will limit myself to illustrating my point with a few specific examples.

Art reminds us what we are fighting for, what a better world can look like. Iain M. Banks’s Culture series of science fiction novels describe a post-scarcity anarchist-communist society in which everyone is free to live the life that they wish to. Ursula K. Le Guin, in The Dispossessed, depicts another vision of an anarchist society, one that isn’t post-scarcity and for that reason is perhaps more relevant to where we are today. These books build worlds that feel believable, templates that we can imagine ourselves living in and can therefore work towards creating.

There are many examples of such utopias in writing and films, and of course the converse is also true, that there are many examples of dystopias. Terry Gilliam’s film Brazil, for example, depicts a nightmare of bureaucracy and state control. George Orwell’s 1984 is a book that describes a society so evocative and chilling that it has literally given us the adjective ‘orwellian’. These dystopias are critiques of the contemporary society and are also warnings as to what can happen if we remain on our present course, but importantly they are also beautiful and entertaining in the way that they evoke the imagery of their dystopian realities. We go on an adventure with the characters, we can imagine ourselves in their shoes, and we can start to recognise the parallels in the societies that we currently live in. Take warning!

Art can inform and give voice to difficult issues. Yinka Shonibare, who tackles issues of racism and slavery in beautifully patterned sculptures says, “I believe that art is not about giving instructions; it’s more of a poetic exploration… it provides a poetic lens through which we can explore and understand complex issues.”^[2] Because his sculptures are so visually stunning, brightly patterned and beautiful, they invite us in, engaging us and enthralling us while giving us (and himself) a chance to consider and process the heavy and complicated issues he is referring to.

Two days after 900 people were arrested in London protesting against the banning of the group Palestine Action, Banksy installed a mural on the wall of the Royal Courts of Justice building in London depicting a wigged judge attacking a protester with a hammer. This mural clearly struck a nerve as it was immediately covered up and guarded, and later scrubbed off.^[3] Ironically the scrubbed version, artistically speaking, is even more evocative than the original, as it rather proves Banksy’s point. Its shadowy form is a monument to censorship. The fact that the powers that be felt so threatened by a mural shows the importance of art in confronting oppression and speaking truth to power.

Toni Morrison talks about the threat to power that art has at great length in her 2015 essay ‘No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear: In times of dread, artists must never choose to remain silent‘. She writes about feeling paralysed with depression and unable to write after George W. Bush wins the election. Then a friend points out to her that “This is precisely the time when artists go to work — not when everything is fine, but in times of dread. That’s our job!” She remembers that: “Dictators and tyrants routinely begin their reigns and sustain their power with the deliberate and calculated destruction of art: the censorship and book-burning of unpoliced prose, the harassment and detention of painters, journalists, poets, playwrights, novelists, essayists.”^[4] Do you think that censorship of art would occur if art had no power to change the narrative, to change the world?

Recently, in the city of Portland in the United States, an unlikely hero has emerged on the streets: an enormous puffy frog. As the government attempted to frame protesters as dangerous and violent, Portland fought back in a very creative way. Protestors donned costumes of every kind, danced, sang, and staged tea parties in the streets. There were unicyclers and jugglers and flash mob dancers. When a protestor named Seth Todd, wearing a puffy frog costume, was pepper sprayed, the video went viral. Soon the frogs had become the symbol of the resistance.

An article in the Associated Press notes that: “For protesters like Todd, the costumes are a way of fighting absurdity with absurdity: a playful counter to Trump’s portrayal of Portland as ‘war ravaged,’ ‘burning down’ and ‘like living in hell.’”^[5]

So far, these examples have examined art that is specifically and consciously political. But what about art that is not consciously political? Is it also important? I say yes, indeed I would argue that all art and creativity is inherently political, whether it seems so at first glance or not.

One powerful thing that art can do is to show us what the world looks like through different eyes, what it’s like to be someone else, how another soul lives and feels, which plays an enormous part in nurturing empathy and respect. Art can speak across different languages and cultures to connect and nurture us. A film or a painting can also teach us to look at the everyday in a new way, in the way that the artist sees it, and of course the making of art helps us to share this insight into the heart of ourselves with others. This kind of communication and empathy is a direct threat to those who would seek to divide us, for example those who demonise migrants, refugees, disabled people, neurodivergent people, queer people, and so forth.

Visual art, film, writing (if translated, obviously), and music can speak across languages, and can put us in touch with others in very different situations than our own.

Several nights ago I watched the film Un Dessert Pour Constance.^[6] This is a film set in Paris which follows a pair of African immigrants who are best friends. In their job as street-sweepers they find a cookbook which changes their lives and enables them to win a large sum of money in a competition. With the money they are able to send their sick friend home and then open an African restaurant. This film brings the viewer into their lives. I experienced an intimate portrait of their friendship, of their joy and despair, of their progression from street-sweepers to restauranteurs, and the diverse society which forms around them. The protagonists are not people that I am ever likely to meet. They live in another country, they speak in a language in which I am not fluent, they live in a world which is very different to mine. And yet I now feel that I know them, at least a little. What matters to them has mattered to me. The film has expanded my empathy and my compassion for people who are different to myself.

Films that are made by people from a similar background can also spark revelations, as they show us the very specific viewpoint of the director. For example, after watching David Lynch’s film Mulholland Drive, I found myself looking at reality in a new way, hearing incidental sounds in the environment as charged with meaning. Reality itself seemed to have changed somehow, but the change had merely been in my perception. Reality had always been this strange, this beautiful, this tinged with magic and adventure. This point of view is incredibly inspiring. It opens my eyes to the magic that is all around me in my own life, and encourages me to express my own personal viewpoint, to share and connect with others.

This is perhaps one of the most important things that art can do: art creates new artists. And we need all the artists we can get. We need to hear from everybody’s specific and personal viewpoint, we need all the diversity and creativity in the world if we are to survive as a species.

After looking at impressionist paintings such as Claude Monet’s Poplars on the Epte, I find myself appreciating the way that sunlight moves through trees. This painting of some trees in France has caused me to appreciate the trees that I see every day in Edinburgh in a new way. I admire the brushstrokes, the use of light and shadow. It’s a beautiful painting, and beautiful paintings make me want to paint.

It seems possibly ironic that many of Monet’s tranquil and colourful paintings were created as a personal response to the senseless violence and death of the First World War. Monet could hear the gunshots from his studio. Fighting was taking place just 50 kilometres away, and he had family members in the army.

Painting, for Monet, was his life. It was the way he expressed himself, the way he understood the world around him, and the way he processed his emotions. He wrote, “It’s the best way to avoid thinking of these sad times. All the same, I feel ashamed to think about my little researches into form and colour while so many people are suffering and dying for us.”^[7]

Should he have felt ashamed? I think not. I think it is wonderful that he responded to ugly, savage brutality with its opposite: with the beauty of the natural world. If only more people saw the world this way, the futility of war would be obvious.

Monet was also processing his emotions by painting. The power of creativity to process trauma has been well documented and has spawned the practices of art therapy, music therapy, dance therapy, and so forth. The process of creating art is known to reduce stress, to improve mental health, and to help transmute difficult emotions. Visual art can do this when words fail.

The benefits of becoming more mentally healthy are not confined to the individual, of course. Anyone who heals emotionally will have a ripple effect through the society that they live in. Healthy people are less likely to traumatise others, for one thing.

All art conveys difficult emotions, but music especially excels in this. Anyone who has ever lost themselves dancing to their favourite song while singing along at the top of their lungs can testify to this power of music: it’s cathartic. 

Not many people can listen to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and fail to be moved. The Ninth is famously a celebration of the interconnectedness of humankind, using the lyrics of Friedrich Schiller’s poem “Ode to Joy” in its final movement. Beethoven also overcame his own physical impairment to write the music, as he was profoundly deaf at the time. Its power is perhaps best encapsulated in a famous quote by Mikhail Bakhunin, the Russian revolutionary anarchist: “Everything will pass and the world will perish but Beethoven’s Ninth [Symphony] will remain.”^[8]

Incidentally, this quote is reminiscent of a Scottish Gaelic proverb which states “Thig crìoch air an t’saoghal ach mairidh gaol is ceòl” (The world will pass away, but love and music will endure).

As I type this, I am listening to a particularly moving performance of Beethoven’s Ninth by the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, conducted by Daniel Barenboim. This orchestra is made up of young musicians from Israel, Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Lebanon, Jordan, and Spain, as a conscious effort to bring young people together who would otherwise learn to hate and fear each other.

The proceeds from this benefit concert were donated to music education programs in Palestine.^[9]

When struggling to process difficult emotions, I have always found release and comfort through punk music that expresses sheer visceral anger and joy. Operation Ivy expresses this well in their lyrics to ‘Sound System’:

Sound system gonna bring be back up, yeah

One thing that I can depend on

Static pulse inside of music bringing us escape

It’s always temporary, changing nothing in its wake

Just a second while were leaving all this shit behind

Just a second, but it’s leaving just this much in mind

To resist despair that second makes you see

To resist despair ’cause you can’t change everything

To resist despair in this world is

What it is, what it is, what it is to be free!

I’d like to take a moment to look at creativity through a specifically ADHD lens. I have ADHD, perhaps you do as well, or perhaps you know someone who does? Or perhaps you don’t and you feel that this is an irrelevant diversion, in which case please feel free to skip ahead to the penultimate paragraph. I’ll see you there.

Now, where was I? Those of us with ADHD can often get distracted, can wander down side paths when we meant to be sticking to the main one, can go to the shops for milk and come back with a solar powered blinking owl and a lifetime supply of aluminium foil. ADHD is sometimes referred to as a “superpower”, which honestly I find annoying. Losing keys, forgetting important events, double-booking, getting constantly distracted… a superpower? Please.

And yet, when it comes to creativity, ADHD really might be a superpower. We excel in pattern-spotting, innovation, and as we tend to jump in and out of obsessions we can draw on many different fields and influences. Leonardo da Vinci, that quintessential Renaissance man, is believed to have had ADHD.^[10] One minute he’s inventing a helicopter, the next he’s dissecting a cadaver, then he pulls out his paintbrushes to work on his masterpiece, the Mona Lisa, endlessly refining the painting.

Our brains move at lighting fast speeds. We’ll spot connections and patterns while everyone else is still putting their reading glasses on. Our minds wander, darting like butterflies from idea to idea. Often this is seen as a negative feature — we can’t concentrate, we can’t stick to a task! But it is precisely this mind wandering that leads to greater creativity, as has recently been confirmed by a study at the European College of Neuropsychopharmacology. K.P. Lesch (Professor of Molecular Psychiatry, University of Würzburg, Germany) said regarding the study, “Mind wandering is one of the critical resources on which the remarkable creativity of high-functioning [sic] ADHD individuals is based. This makes them such an incredibly valuable asset for our society and the future of our planet.”^[11]

Yay! We’re going to save the world! No pressure, my fellow ADHD creatives. That quote is a little condescending, but on the other hand it is refreshing to have our talents valued in a time in which the mainstream media seeks to demonise us, constantly talking about ‘overdiagnosis’ when the truth is that ADHD is massively underdiagnosed in the UK, and many people wait years for an assessment. (I waited 4.5 years, and I am still waiting for medication.)

We need creativity and innovation more than ever in today’s world, as we are facing multiple civilisation-threatening crises. Please, all of you, whether you have ADHD or not — express your creativity. Release your inner child. Sing out loud, move to the rhythm that you hear, play in the grass like a toddler, frolic through fields of wildflowers, create a beautiful garden, paint a portrait of your cat, play the guitar, dye your hair, design a tattoo, colour your walls bright purple, make a stop-motion animation about three enchanted magpies, recite poetry, perform a one-person opera to a squirrel, write a novel, bake a delicious cake, design a complicated hat that turns into a pillow, build sculptures out of discarded pickle jars, perform an interpretive dance — express your soul in whatever way you want to. We need you and your specific creativity and we need the art that emerges from it, to nourish us, to heal us, and to inspire us.

The expression of creativity isn’t frivolous, it’s quite the opposite. Creativity not only helps us understand and process reality, it also shapes reality. Let’s change the world for the better together, creatively.

---

^[1] Goodman, Marilyn JS. Children Draw. Reaktion Books Ltd, 2018. p. 8

^[2] “Restitution and Reflection: Yinka Shonibare Challenges Colonial Legacies”, Whitewall. https://bit.ly/3M4K5kU

^[3]“New Banksy mural appears at Royal Courts of Justice”, BBC, 8 September 2025, https://bit.ly/4oHyaXv and “Banksy Mural Scrubbed from Royal Courts of Justice”, BBC, 10 September 2025, https://bit.ly/4pmjZIz

^[4] Toni Morrison, “No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear”, The Nation, 6 April 2015, https://bit.ly/4q7Wbbo Please, read the whole essay, it’s amazing.

^[5] “How inflatable costumes ballooned at anti-Trump rallies due to a protester’s frog outfit”, The Associated Press, November 2025, https://bit.ly/4oHMC1L

^[6] “Un Dessert Pour Constance”, Directed by Sarah Maldoror, France, 1981.

^[7] As quoted in “Wartime water lilies: how Monet created his garden at Giverny” by Ann Dumas on the Royal Academy website: <https://bit.ly/4rIjZUT>

^[8] As quoted on Classical Music dot com, by BBC Music Magazine. <https://bit.ly/48EICub>

^[9] On YouTube here: https://bit.ly/48FmPT5

^[10] Daley, Jason. “New Study Suggests Leonardo da Vinci had ADHD”. Smithsonian Magazine, 5 June 2019. <https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/new-study-suggests-da-vinci-had-adhd-180972359/>

^[11] European College of Neuropsychopharmacology. “New research reveals how ADHD sparks extraordinary creativity.” ScienceDaily. ScienceDaily, 13 October 2025. <www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2025/10/251012054608.htm>.

On Writing and Neurodivergency

Neuk member Elspeth Wilson interviewed other neurodivergent writers reflecting on how it influences their craft.

When neurodivergent writers are interviewed or spoken about, there’s often an emphasis on their process. How and when do they write, do they have a routine, how does their neurodiversity impact that. And whilst this is all valid, interesting and potentially useful for other writers, there’s a lack of discussion about how neurodiversity impacts writing craft. As neurodivergent authors, we have so much to offer in terms of form and craft as well as representation and process – although perhaps neurodivergent style can be thought of as a kind of representation in and of itself.

“In writing horror, my neurodivergence is a massive gift,” explains Lucy Rose, best-selling author of The Lamb, a folk horror cannibal novel that explores mother-daughter relationships. “My relationship with textures makes me want to crawl out my skin.” As neurodivergent people, we often notice – and are potentially horrified by – small details such as flickering lights, the wrong shape of spoon or a clothing label rubbing against our back. Rose uses these everyday experiences to create a kind of creeping dread; it’s not so much transforming the mundane into the terrifying, but foregrounding the terror that already exists within it.

“The trick to writing good horror is that you don’t show the monster but you let us feel it”, Rose says – a sentiment that will be familiar to many neurodivergent people who are haunted by sensory issues that others may not even notice. And it’s not just horror where noticing small details enriches writing. Tom Newlands points out that “being autistic makes you very interested in the world, and in people, and very driven to learn.” In his literary coming-of-age novel, Only Here, Only Now, Newlands builds a rich sensory world in a coastal town in 90s Fife. “All that information that you take in over the years, paying attention to things, it accrues, and what you end up with is a picture of the world that is more advanced; richer and more multi-faceted – more overwhelming at times, too.”

As Rose notes, “there’s a huge misconception that people who are neurodivergent don’t feel empathy as much.” But for many neurodivergent people this couldn’t be further from the case. “I’m very curious about other people’s feelings,” Rose says. “I’m constantly trying to understand the people around me which is a really taxing pursuit.” And although it might be draining, it can allow a writer to get into the minds and feelings of their characters, including those who have different characteristics to the author.

Whilst this is a necessity for all writers, anyone who has been brought up in a mainstream culture that doesn’t cater to their needs arguably has a headstart on relating to and empathising with a whole range of characters. Because the fictional characters we grew up with were almost never (openly) neurodivergent, we’ve gotten used to both decoding neurotypical characters and empathising with those who are different from ourselves.

That said, neurodivergent characters may not always be legible or likeable to neurotypical audiences and that in itself offers something to a literary landscape where there’s a focus on likeability, particularly for female characters. In my debut novel, These Mortal Bodies, the main character, Ivy, makes dubious decisions driven by her fervent desire to belong when thrust into a glittering yet treacherous world at a prestigious university. For some readers, this might make Ivy unpalatable – and of course it’s every reader’s prerogative to have their own opinion on a book. But I believe my neurodiversity helps me write characters who are nuanced and complex, observant and watchful because I grew up studying and imitating others out of necessity. A character doesn’t have to be relatable or like the reader to be a good character or to offer them something. The ‘outsider’ main character has long been a method of giving a reader a way into a story – and neurodivergent writers are ideally placed to understand and interpret this feeling.

For Natalie Jayne Clark, author of the sapphic crime novel The Malt Whisky Murders, her own way of experiencing and thinking about the world directly influences the voice of her novel, told in first-person by the main character, Eilidh. Like Clark, Eilidh has ADHD, and the author describes it as “natural” for her protagonist to “take us through their thoughts and rationale in a similar way. There might be an image, detail or tangent that doesn’t initially make sense or feels unusual, but then we can see how her (or my) brain has connected the two.” Again, neurodivergent writers are writing against the grain of characters being instantly understandable to readers – and offering creative richness in the process.

Many writers write to make sense of their experiences and this can have an extra dimension for neurodivergent writers who are navigating a world that wasn’t made for them. Marcia Hutchinson, author of The Mercy Step which explores the life of a young girl in 1960s Bradford, describes her writing as autofiction; “I write about my own life, not just because I’ve had a relatively long and eventful life, but because I want to try and understand why I have behaved the way I have in so many circumstances.” This way of excavating one’s own emotions and behaviour will be familiar to many neurodivergent people; it allows Hutchinson to act almost like a detective of herself and transform her own experiences into fiction. She explains that “often with the benefit of hindsight I can see that I took people literally when they were speaking figuratively but I was unable to distinguish between the two.”

Neurodivergent writers also often approach language itself in particular ways. The main character of Newlands’ novel, Cora, is a teenage girl whose voice is immersive and lively throughout the book. “One of the reasons I chose to write in the voice of a teenager was because it would allow me to be playful,” he says. “There was scope for slang, brand names, compound words, weird spellings.” This was partly to entertain the reader “but most importantly keep my brain interested.”

Hutchinson, who has ADHD, also notes that she has to work on exactly what she’s drawn to at the time: “I would be terrified to get a two book deal because the pressure of having to write book two would do me in.” The tendency for many neurodivergent brains to get bored quickly can produce writing that is extraordinarily varied and imaginative at a sentence level as well as in relation to story and character.

Neurodivergent people are increasingly visible – often as political scapegoats – and whilst there’s been greater representation in recent years thanks to fantastic novels such as A Kind of Spark by Elle McNicoll, our visibility can come at a high price. In the arts world, neurodivergent writers are still often pigeonholed or tokenised. But there’s a burgeoning, hugely varied neurodivergent canon out there which should be taken seriously on its own merits. We may still be the outsiders looking into a neurotypical (literary) world but that allows us to rebel, experiment, play and see things in interesting, insightful ways – even through the barriers that are placed in our way.

---

Spectra Leadership Development Programme

Our Spectra Leadership Development Programme is now live for applications!

Find out more about it on our dedicated Spectra site 👈

Proposed Access to Work Changes: What You Need to Know

You might have seen recent headlines about proposed changes to Access to Work (AtW). These changes, outlined in the UK Government’s Pathways to Work Green Paper, are deeply concerning – especially for disabled creatives and freelancers.

We know many of our members rely on Access to Work to make their practice sustainable – whether that’s through support workers, assistive tech, travel help, or mental health support. It’s not a luxury. It’s what makes working possible for many of us.

The proposed reforms risk:

• Making it harder to qualify for support
• Reassessing existing claims more frequently
• Increasing bureaucracy
• And potentially reducing or capping awards

This would disproportionately affect disabled people working in the cultural sector – a sector already facing inequality, burnout, and precarity.

What can you do?

We recommend reading Disability Arts Online’s clear and thoughtful explainer about what’s happening and what it could mean:

Disability Arts Online – Access to Work: Changes and Actions 2025

They also include ways you can get involved – including signing an open letter and sharing your experience.

If you currently receive Access to Work, or hope to apply, we know this news may feel overwhelming. We’ll be keeping a close eye on developments and doing what we can to raise awareness of how these changes could affect our community.

Meet the Artist – Marzena Ostromecka

This month we meet glass artist and Neuk member Marzena Ostromecka, whose playful work adorns our exhibition poster, and will be exhibited at this year’s Glass Biennale. Marzena chats to Elspeth about ‘coming out’ as an autistic artist, her drive to experiment, and the inspirational behind her latest piece.

Interview by Elspeth Wilson

---

Hi Marzena! It’s great to be able to speak with you about your art, especially as we are really excited about seeing it appear in the upcoming Neuk Collective exhibition! Does being part of a collective of neurodivergent artists impact your practice or your work at all?

Could you tell us a bit more about your journey with developing your art? We know interactivity is really important to your work – how do you make this inclusive?

In 2018 I graduated from Edinburgh College of Art with an MFA in Glass. After two intense years of studying, experimenting and making I produced my creative child Play_Zone, an interactive glass instrument. At that time, my part-time job involved supporting autistic adults with learning disabilities, many of whom were non-verbal with strong sensory needs. I was inspired by the way they experienced the world and I wanted to make something they could enjoy interacting with.

The music interpreted as colour in glass was the starting point of my work but what really made it special was the interactive element that was designed to give autonomy and choice to the spectator. Play_Zone brought joy to many diverse audiences and validated my need to connect with the viewers through my art.

Inclusivity is of paramount importance to me. This is probably the main reason I didn’t feel comfortable calling myself an artist initially because much of the art world is seen as exclusive, precious, and fragile, targeting a niche audience. I didn’t want to exclude anyone from experiencing my work. I had no specific target audience and I wanted to connect through the universal language of play.

---

---

You work with glass a lot but you use other mediums too. Can you tell us a bit about your process as an artist using different media?

I pursued glass because I fell in love with the medium through designing stained glass windows but somewhere along the way I discovered that connecting and communicating with others was of far greater importance to me as a maker than making pretty things. Having said that, I love pretty things and I think in colours so this of course has an impact on the aesthetic aspects of my work but this alone is not enough. I stand by my values and my work reflects that.

While I appreciate the aesthetic properties of glass, I am not confined to traditional studio glass techniques. I like to explore innovative techniques such as 3D modelling and printing.

Sustainability is a core value of mine, leading me to repurpose and reimagine glass forms and materials from previous projects or to incorporate elements of found objects in my work. I embrace experimentation with various glass techniques, including glass casting, fusing, slumping, painting, and copper foiling. Additionally, I incorporate mixed media such as metal elements of copper and brass sheet and rods, manipulating and bonding them together to expand the creative possibilities of my work.

I am also interested in using electronics to enhance interactivity and audience participation. I enjoy surrendering some control of my work once it’s completed and seeing it come to life through others’ experiences.

---

---

Your series ‘Decatstracted’ has been selected for the British Glass Biennale this year which is very exciting (and the work will also be in the upcoming Neuk Collective exhibition)! Congratulations! What inspired this series and how has your experience been so far as you prepare for the Biennale?

This series of five sculptures was inspired by feline senses. I find intriguing parallels between the experiences of autistic individuals and cats, and I am continuously inspired and amused by the unique ways cats navigate the world.

This body of work is a tribute to my beloved cat Miya and a celebration of her sister Velcro’s fragile life. We lost Miya suddenly two years ago due to a heart condition, a loss that hit me hard and took time to process. A year later, Velcro was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease. My role now, as a cat mum, is to keep her well and comfortable for as long as possible. This can be an all-consuming and upsetting experience, so channelling these emotions through art helps me process difficult feelings.

---

---

Despite all the grief, I had a lot of fun imagining and creating the ‘Decatstructed’ series. I surprised myself with the whimsical outcome. I aimed to embrace sensory and interactive elements in these pieces. They feature different textures, incorporate some mechanical movement, and one of my sculptures even includes real cat whiskers. I’m still developing the digital interactivity that will accompany the sculptures but at this point all I can say is that it involves the sounds of cats.

I was initially concerned about the fragility of my glass sculptures whilst on display and wanted to protect them from being touched and potentially damaged. However, I decided that providing an interactive experience for the viewer was more important to me as an artist. I trust the audience will be gentle with these delicate creatures and will approach them with curiosity and respect. I am excited to be sharing my work and hope the audience will find it amusing and fun.

---

---

You can see more of Marzena’s work on her website and social media:

Website: www.cooljazzcats.com

Instagram: @m.ostromecka

---

Photos of work courtesy and copyright of the artist. Portrait photos by Mike Smith.

Quiet Please: A Personal Exploration of Public Inclusivity

Earlier this year, artist Gaelle Chassery undertook a residency with Neuk Collective, looking into quiet spaces in public life. In this post, Gaelle shares her findings and her thoughts on the critical need for these spaces, exploring both the challenges and transformative possibilities they present for neurodivergent people and people with invisible disabilities.

_{Pictured above: Quiet Space designed by original Neuk Collective artist Robyn Benson for the ‘who can think, what can think’ exhibition at Te Tuhi, curated by Bruce E. Phillips. Photo courtesy of Te Tuhi, Aotearoa New Zealand. Photo by Sam Hartnett.}.

---

Quiet Please: A Personal Exploration of Public Inclusivity

I recently completed a Research and Development Residency with Neuk Collective/Door in the Wall on the topic of quiet spaces in public places. The aim was to see what is out there in terms of resting spaces and to gauge the level of realism and helpfulness that has gone into designing them.

As a person at the intersection of invisible disabilities, chronic illnesses and neurodiversity, the research process helped me normalise my experience and confirmed that there is a universal lack of accommodation and access for a vast amount of people with many different conditions. This prevents us from going out as often as we need or wish, specifically due to the absence of adequate resting spaces that would help pace our energy through the outing.

Find out more about Gaelle:

Website: https://www.gaellechassery.com/
Instagram: @gaellechassery_soothing_art

---

Do quiet spaces in public venues make a difference for you? Why or why not?

Tag us on Instagram – @neukcollective – or twitter – @NeukCollective – to join the conversation

Meet the artist – Funmi Lijadu

This month we meet Funmi Lijadu – Neuk Collective member, writer, and collage artist with an interest in social issues, identity and surrealism.

Profile by Elspeth Wilson

---

Hi Funmi! Could you tell us a bit more about your work and what you do?  

I make collage art that often reflects social issues and explores identity. I make animations, and collages on paper primarily. I love dealing with a wide range of themes in my work and enjoy the experimentation that collage allows through cutting and pasting and more digital methods as well. In both 2018 and 2021, I was commissioned by Tate Collective for Black History Month to respond to the work of artists in their collection.

---

---

You recently ran a workshop on collage for Neuk Collective. Can you tell us about what drew you to Neuk in the first place?

I really enjoyed running the art workshop for Neuk! What drew me to Neuk is the conversations that I had about how disability and access need to be prioritised in the art world. Unfortunately, there is much, much more to be done, but I think Neuk is starting very important conversations. 

---

Profile written by Elspeth Wilson

Meet the Artist – Elspeth Wilson

We meet Elspeth Wilson – writer, poet, and Neuk Collective member – to talk embodiment, appreciating pop culture, and finding community with other artists.

---

Hi Elspeth! Could you say a little bit about who you are and what you do?

I’m a writer and poet who writes across non-fiction, fiction and poetry. I’m super interested in hybridity and blurring the lines between different genres. I often find myself coming back to the question of how we live in our bodies and I hope my work can widen the possible answers to that question. I’m really interested in how we make our bodies homes too!

I started out writing nature writing – ever since I was a child, I’ve loved spending time outdoors, exploring, playing and getting to know the world around me. I try to keep that sense of curiosity and playfulness in my work, but I also am very aware that writing about ‘nature’ in an era of climate crisis has a duty to confront that and even to problematise what we think of as ‘nature’. For instance, I’m fascinated in the distinctions we draw between animals we consider ‘wildlife’ and those we consider ‘livestock’. I hope my work can help pick apart some of the euphemistic language we use around other beings and consider different possible futures; I truly believe art – particularly art created by marginalised people – has a crucial role to play in climate justice.

Since I started writing, I’ve written more and more fiction and poetry but both are still very much imbued with a strong sense of nature and place. I’m currently working on my second novel and my debut novel, These Mortal Bodies, is coming out with Simon and Schuster in 2025 which I’m really excited about (as well as a little nervous!).

---

---

You write about pop culture in your work a lot. Can you say a bit more about that?

and like a reclamation. It was a bit like unmasking something – here were these things that I was so invested in, that I loved, that helped me to discover myself and I was able to re-examine all those aspects through writing.

It was also about shedding shame – often as neurodivergent people we can have a special interest in a piece of pop culture or love a certain world so much and find it supportive of our mental health. That’s something I wanted to celebrate; poetry is often about articulating emotions and experiences that can feel hard to describe in any other medium. In poems like ‘In Sims, I WooHoo with a Girl’ I wanted to communicate how euphoric and validating pop culture can be. Although my more recent projects don’t focus as much on pop culture having that kind of poppy, irreverent vibe at the heart of my work will always be so important to me. I thoroughly reject the idea of there being things we should and shouldn’t write about or things that are ‘worthy’ of art and poetry and things that are not.

---

---

What drew you to Neuk Collective?

Community is probably the short answer! I’d been feeling quite lonely for a while in the art world because opportunities often felt inaccessible and a lot of things were centred in London. I’d made some really close friends through writing pre-Covid but in lockdown I moved away from where I’d been living previously, and was looking to connect with other artists across a range of mediums as I expanded my practice. I was also just really keen for any information about accessibility and neurodiversity in the arts so when I saw Neuk’s initial research project on neurodivergent artists and their experiences I thought yes! I previously worked as a mixed methods researcher and this kind of research felt so sorely missing – I knew I’d found a special space.

What impact has being part of the collective had for you?

working with neurodivergent artists – or any artists really! Neuk pays fairly and on time, supports the development of its members and is really transparent and open. Whilst these things should be expected, they are all too infrequently provided in the art world, and it can become easy to settle for far less than ideal working conditions, especially when opportunities feel so few and far between. This is especially difficult for neurodivergent artists as in such a precarious world our needs are often (wilfully) overlooked, and it can feel difficult to ask for accommodations when even the most basic things like fair, on time payment are not being provided. Neuk’s work and being part of the collective has shown me a practical, hopeful vision for what a different art world could be like

---

You can see more of Elspeth’s work on her website and social media:

Website: www.elspethwilson.co.uk

Instagram: @elspethwrites

Twitter: @elspethwriter

---

Photos courtesy and copyright of the artist.