Episode #4: Kindness for crabs, thoughts on the creative slump and learning to see the world as strange

In this episode I reflect on the big creative slump I found myself in August, explore how learning to see the world as strange can help us experience wonder and share the story of a beach trip with Poppy the dog that inspired me to make a little zine entitled “Be kind to crabs”.

TL;DL
4’ 08”   Kindness for crabs
12’ 11”   Thoughts on the creative slump
24’ 20”  Learning to see the world as strange
34’ 36”  What the February?! Book, backgammon invitation and About Time podcast

Links to things I mentioned

A video of my “Be Kind to Crabs” zine
Print off a copy of my “Be Kind to Crabs” zine
What the February?! Book
The Back Gaemen project
The “About Time” podcast

The written substack version of this episode: Stevexoh’s substack thing

Comments, questions, requests and stuff to stevexoh@gmail.com

(Total listening time 40’ 30”)

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode 4 of Creative Adventures, an accidental podcast. And if you're wondering why it's an accidental podcast and want to know the backstory then listen to the first five minutes of episode 1 and it might make more sense, I don't know. But thank you for all of your kind messages for the episodes so far. I genuinely only record this for me because I'm finding it quite therapeutic to just sit down in front of a microphone

and talk and the fact that people listen and people are enjoying it and people are recommending it and writing messages to me is wonderful and thanks to all of you that have rated it and stuff on Spotify and various things I've no idea if it makes any difference to the algorithm or helps helps the podcast show up more or anything like that but I appreciate it anyway. So it's early evening here in in London and there's

traffic. Well, I've realized there isn't a good time, unless I soundproof my flat, there isn't a good time to record. But actually, there are worse times, there's times that are extra bad to record. And I've realized that now it's September, it's the first time since the schools have gone back, and I live opposite two schools. So recording first thing in the morning or around between three and four o'clock is a really, really bad idea. Unless you just want to hear

loads of screaming children in the background. So it's early evening and it's just getting dark and the weather here just turned very suddenly. Like right at the start of September there was a day where it suddenly shifted and I think I timed that perfectly. I grabbed the last sunny warm day of the year by the beach which was a last minute thing really. It was a last minute road trip with Poppy the dog who's

who's my dog that due to life circumstances, I don't see much of her and she can't come and stay at my flat because there's no pets, claws, etc, etc. That's a whole whole other episode. So I don't get to see her much. So I spotted a discounted Airbnb cancellation thing like at two days notice for a beach hut right by the sea. I mean, literally open the door and you're out on the beach. So I jumped at the opportunity and booked it and

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Poppy and I went to stay there and we had such an amazing 36 hours together. It's like Poppy's company is just that real easy, simple, I don't know, like unconditional dog company. Maybe you get that with other creatures, but it just felt effortless. And we had an amazing 36 hours there. We lay on the beach, we swam together.

We played silly chasing games. We flopped and snoozed like contented seals with the whole time no one else being around because the kids had gone back to school. And just the sound of the waves, like underscoring everything that we were doing because we were literally right on that beach. And then the extra bonus, which I didn't realize is we watched the Harvest Moon rise and then eclipse over a dark and amazing, moody, inky sea.

And that was fantastic, just sitting outside with Poppy watching the stars, watching the moon. And there were binoculars, there were binoculars at the place. And every time I use binoculars, I think, I'm going to have to get some for myself. And I never do. They do confuse me. I don't know how to use them properly. I don't know how people use binoculars. People explain it to me, but I don't think my brain can work them out.

Anyway, I managed to have a good look at the lunar eclipse and we had a lovely time. But it was only one night which was, it sort of felt enough really. And the next morning on the way back we stopped off at a harbour to have a little walk together and we went looking for crabs. And if you've listened to any of previous editions of this or follow my art or know anything about me, you'll know that crabs are one of my absolute favourite things.

not just one of my favourite creatures, they're my absolute favourite things and I have been since I was a kid I remember going to visit my cousin who used to live down near Southend-on-Sea in Essex and instead of like playing in the arcades and things like that I just want to look at crabs I to find crabs and look at them and study them and that's the thing living in London is I don't get to hang out with crabs much although I did discover there are Chinese mitten crabs in the River Thames where I live

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And even though they're an invasive species it's still nice to see crabs very occasionally. But the river's not that clear and I don't really get to see crabs that much in London. Especially since the Jackdaws stole my crab shell collection. I don't even have the crab souvenirs of ones that I've found. So any opportunity where I'm at the sea I get a chance to hang out with crabs. I get so excited.

And quite often I'll just find a nice clear rock pool and observe them and see what they're up to Rock pools can be fascinating to just observe without disturbing them in any way and then sometimes you'll see a claw or something run across or a shrimp or something like that And if I do have a look and if I do put my hands in and move some rocks and pick up crabs I make sure I do it with great respect

do it very gently and I always pay the crabs a compliment before I put them back and thank them thank them for indulging my passion and it makes me feel really sad when I see people treating crabs badly I mean don't get me wrong I abhor the mistreatment of any creature but there's particular about crabs that makes me sad I don't know if it's maybe the

general lack of understanding and interest people have in crabs. People don't know much about them seems. Or maybe it's just that thing of because crabs aren't cute and fluffy they're relegated to be a lower order species that don't need much care and attention or are treated more like a walking rock than a sentient being. And I also wonder if like it was with me if crab fishing is just passed on as a thing between generations which is okay I mean

I like it that people are interested in crabs but it's passed on in a way where no one actually pauses and goes hold on a minute what do the crabs think about this? A bit like feeding bread to water birds it's just a tradition that's happened and no one's really stopped and thought actually this is probably really bad for them. So had all of these things on my mind when Poppy and I went for a walk to this local harbour and there were loads of people crab fishing I mean absolutely loads.

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And most of them were doing things that I know distressed the crabs. Things like having a bucket with like 10 or 20 poor crabs just all piling on top of them or just tipping them back into the water from a great height or letting them run around the harbour side where they're getting stressed out because they're getting chased by dogs or seagulls. And I also got annoyed where Poppy and I sat down just looking into the water. There was a guy there with a group of kids and the kids said to him,

something about can the crabs breathe out of water? And he said, yeah, of course crabs can breathe out water. They're amphibians like frogs, so they can breathe on land and in water. And I just wanted to say to him, no, no, stop spreading fake news. Crabs are crustaceans, they're not amphibians. Crabs have gills, they're just hidden under their shells. So with all of this going on, this mistreatment or misunderstanding of crabs, these fake facts about crabs, it started to become a bit of an intense experience for me. A combination of my ethics about

creature treatment and crab treatment mixed with my almost obsessive special interest with crabs but then all topped off with like a social awkwardness. I wanted to talk to these people maybe tell them some crab facts and how they could be kinder and more considerate to the crabs needs. But as always in these kinds of situations I just cannot work out how to do it in a way that isn't one of two extremes that I can't work out how to do something like that in a way where

I don't come across as angry or aggressive but equally don't come across like a lunatic that's just suddenly preaching this stuff about crabs. And I was extra paralysed by how many people were there. I mean, there must have been around 10 groups, each with like between two and five humans in each group, each with a big bucket of stressed out crabs. So it's like, what am I gonna do? Is I'm gonna just pick one or am I gonna talk to them?

And then I started thinking maybe I'll stand on the bench, there's a bench on the harbor side and address everyone like some sort of crab town crier and maybe tell them some facts like, hi there, I've got some thoughts about crabs that you might like to know. Did you know crabs have been on earth for more than 200 million years? Like that predates not only us, but the dinosaurs and their crustaceans. So they have gills like...

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like fish, they're hidden under their carapace, under their shell. And there are over 6,800 species of crabs in the world. Isn't that amazing? Now here's some tips for you. Crabs get really stressed out when they're overcrowded, a bit like us being on an overcrowded tube train. We don't like it. It stresses us out. It makes us aggressive. So when you have loads of crabs in a bucket, they really don't like it. It's really stressing them. So it's a good idea to keep just two or three crabs in a bucket.

blah blah blah blah and so on. Like, I don't know, I don't know what would happen. Maybe if I dressed as a crab it get that sweet spot between being lunatic and aggressive and might just come across as like some eccentric education. But in the end I did what I always do and just built up frustration inside. Frustration it might inaction and then just left. Then just left feeling sad for these crabs and

No, it was about to start raining so I was hoping the rain might at least drive all the people away and maybe the people would put the crabs gently back in the water, lower them in so that they don't break their little legs. And just felt sad. But when I got home, I made a little zine, a little booklet that's called Be Kind to Crabs and in it I drew some pictures of crabs, I put some crab facts in but then also just some

some of that crazy stuff that I would have probably shouted out from the harbour side, like care tips for crabs, how to, if you can use a bucket and do stuff with crabs then here's some tips. And I think that means that for future trips to the seaside where I see that happening I can take some copies of these zines and I can disseminate the information and then be gone before anyone interacts with me and hopefully it will educate, hopefully people will become fascinated by it.

And I've put it online, the little Be Kind to Crab scene is online. If you want to download it and print off a copy and help my cause. But even though it was a troubling crab experience that day, the time with Poppy was just so renewing. And like I say, it felt like it marked the end of summer and the start of winter, but it also marked the emergence out of a rather difficult and long creative slump for me. I've been thinking a lot about

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creative slump recently, having found myself in a rather big and deep one throughout most of August. And I think I spoke about it a little bit last time. And it's a regular occurrence, but by sharing it more overtly, via the sub stack or via this podcast or like on Instagram, it means that I've made a bit more sense of it. And I've also got some supportive and encouraging messages from people telling me that are this slump soon going to pass and I'd soon be making fantastic

are again sometime very soon. And these messages are nice to receive. It's nice to know that someone cares and it's always good to hear that my art means something to other people. But the messages also cause me to reflect on the fact that my experience of a creative slump is so much more than just the diminishing of my artistic output. I mean maybe the diminishing of artistic output is the most visible thing to other people but for me it's

is so much more all-encompassing than that. One of the things that's become more noticeable for me over the last 15 years since I sort started working freelance for myself and aspiring to, I guess, live my life in a more creative and spontaneous and adventurous way, one of the things that I've noticed is that the boundaries between different parts of my life seem to have slowly dissolved or disappeared.

It's like I find it hard to distinguish between what is work and what isn't work. And really all of this is only a problem when I have to articulate it to other people. It makes complete sense to me. But yeah, that boundary between what is work and what isn't work, what do you do for work? I sort of can't compute that as a question. Now, if the question is, can I distinguish between what earns and doesn't earn money? That's really easy, because that's like a transaction.

And I know when my bank balance goes up or doesn't go up or goes down, what earns or doesn't earn me money. But that distinction between what is work and what isn't, find really hard. And I find it even harder to distinguish between which modes of work that I'm doing. Because like at various different times, I'm in a different mode of being an artist or being a podcaster or an audio producer or a coach or a speaker or an academic or a facilitator or

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whatever other number of different things that I do and all of these forms feel like maybe slightly different patternings of the same spontaneous self-expression I really don't I haven't even got words for it I really don't I can't differentiate between them and I find labels problematic especially these labels to do with who I am and what I do which is why I gave up on the idea of having an eloquent elevator pitch

long time ago. I mean, unless it's an elevator that goes on for hours that will allow me to ramble about the types of different things I'm interested in. And I remember my friend and colleague, psychotherapist, who wrote some brilliant stuff around transactional analysis and things like that, Charlotte Sills, she said to me that her supervisor once told her, labelling is the last thing that you do when you make jam.

So labels I find problematic. So this lack of boundary division between parts of my life really works for me. It just means that I can settle more into like a continual flow of my here and now experience without clunky gear changes between different modes of being, which I really remember being hard work and draining when I worked in a more traditional job and had more traditional structures and processes in my life.

But often others find this lack of division concerning and there's always the question about what about your work-life balance? When do you relax? Where's the leisure time? What about hobbies? Like don't work too hard. This isn't good. And again, I appreciate the concern, but can't help but feel all of that comes from this social construction of the work versus life balance, which is a concept that I appreciate is helpful for some, but I just cannot relate to it in any particular way.

And I have to say I've also got some suspicions about distinguishing between work and life actually might be a really, really unhealthy philosophy to live our lives by. But I think that's a different podcast episode. But even though I find it hard to relate to that work-life balance, that doesn't mean that my resilience and wellbeing are not important. That they really are. My resilience and wellbeing is so important to me. So rather than paying attention to the balance between work and life,

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because it doesn't make any sense to me. The important thing is whether my activities balance out in terms of expending and renewing. And I think the important factors for me there are how much energy, meaning and spirit am I getting from my work and how much of that am I expending. And it's not really a well thought out theory, but those three things feel important in my work, energy, meaning and spirit.

And some of the activities I do will use up more of those than they renew and other ones will renew them. But it tends to be that most of the time I end up at the end of the day or at the end of the week or at the end of the month with a nice balance. I end up in the black. But every now and then this balance starts to slip and it tends to creep up on me and it's already out of balance before I have a chance to notice it.

It seems to sneak up on me really gradually with like different experiences and life circumstances slowly eroding my energy and meaning and spirit until I suddenly realize I'm starting to slide down a slippery slope. And then when I find this happening, I realize there's little I can do about it. My capacity to maintain that balance or to take action to regain the balance, that capacity starts to disappear. And the more I fight the downward trajectory, the worst it gets because

I'm using up even more of the depleted resources to do that. And it's then when I start to hit what I call the creative slump, which I think is just a nice way of describing what's likely a combination of stress, anxiety, exhaustion, depression, burnout, and all of those things. Creative slump just feels like a nicer way of describing that bag of horrors.

And it's when this happens that that lack of boundaries between the different parts of my life becomes problematic. It works for me most of the time, but when I hit this creative slump, it really is a problem. Because it's not just my artistic output that suffers, everything does. Because if everything I do is part of that same stream of creative self-expression, then literally everything becomes heavy and hard and I just have to go into some sort of standby mode, just preserving those vital functions of

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eating and sleeping and exercising and drinking water and then just wait for it to pass. And I find it difficult to do anything in that time. I started avoiding going to the studio when I'm in that mode because I found that when I went there it just imbued the place with the wrong memories and so I just choose to not go there until I'm starting to emerge from the slump.

But as hard as it is, it's this process of sitting with the slump that I've become fascinated by, particularly this time and through sharing more about it with others. And I've learned that the only way out of the slump, for me at least, is to learn to fully surrender to it, to deeply experience everything that's going on, the thoughts, the emotions, the feelings, the body sensation, the self-talk, the imaginings.

to experience it as fully as possible to acknowledge all of the elements of it be curious about them but not try to change them or fight them in any way and I really find comfort in that Buddhist mantra or the Buddhist philosophy of the obstacle becomes the path or the obstacle is the path that idea of moving towards the thing that I'm trying to resist rather than fighting it or running away from it

And that became a lot of the philosophy in the inner critic work that I did many years ago. The idea of surrendering and meeting whatever's going on with that energy of compassion and curiosity. But it always feels counterintuitive. It always feels counterintuitive to move towards something that I'm trying to resist. But I remember reading an Eckhart Tolle book. I don't know if that's how you pronounce it. I've never said it out loud, I don't think. But Eckhart Tolle, you know what I mean. Is anyone...

with a similar sounding name but he said, it's a snappy phrase but I still sort of like it what you resist persists so that idea of the more I resist the slump of fully feeling it the more it's going to persist and I found this philosophy of surrender helps me in ways that I don't quite understand yet but it feels like through doing it I eventually emerge from a slump having shed some layers maybe some layers that needed shedding and

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maybe feeling closer to my spontaneous and raw and vulnerable core of my creative self-expression. And maybe the creative slump is actually like some sort of instinctive hibernation, a call to withdraw and shut down and temporarily enter some sort of weird metamorphosis in order to emerge lighter and more full of wonder on the other side. And...

Like I say, I'm never thinking this positively when I'm in it, inevitably when I do emerge from the other side, exciting things happen. A lot of exciting things emerge from the slump, like big projects or experimental ideas, or just in general a renewed enthusiasm and fascination with the weirdness of life. I mean, this podcast and the sub stack came out of the most recent slump. The Backgammon project came from it.

my trip to the beach hut with Poppy and there's loads of other things sort of bubbling up at the moment that I feel motivated and intrigued and excited by right now that I might not have conceived of or noticed had I not had that slump. So it feels helpful to recognise this cyclical nature of it that it's an ebb and flow of up and down and every now and then I'm going to enter this and thinking of it maybe more as a natural necessary part of

ongoing flow of my experience feels helpful. The same as I need to sleep or I need to rest, I need to exercise. But as I sit here in my flat recording this I notice that one of the other advantages of reverting to very basic tasks during the slump is that I find the energy to to organize things and to to tidy. It sort of becomes a bit therapeutic, maybe like a bear making its hibernation nest tidy.

Would a bear have a herbenation nest? Maybe in this cave? I don't know, who knows? And what I did this time is after three years of living in this flat I finally sorted out a box of books that had been laying around, that's sort of in the way. I think I've been stepping over this box of books for a few years. And it was only small. It was a very small box, but I just hadn't got round to even seeing what was in it. And my collection of books has diminished drastically over the last 10 years since I accepted that

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Hold on, I find books hard work and I never finish them and I start them and I get distracted and they take up a lot of room so a lot of them I gave away or I sold but it was nice to find this little box of books that I had left over and one of the ones that I found and I remember I only half read it was called How to Teach Quantum Physics to Your Dog by Chad Orzel

And again, it was a book that I didn't finish, but I didn't stop reading it because I didn't like it. I think I just forgot. I think I just forgot that I was reading it. But one paragraph from the book I remembered and I looked it up and it stuck with me ever since. And it says this. Quantum mechanics seem baffling and troubling to humans because it confounds our common sense expectations about how the world works. Dogs are a much more receptive audience.

The everyday world is a strange and marvellous place to a dog and the predictions of quantum theory are no stranger or more marvellous than, say, the operation of a doorknob. And for me that passage beautifully articulates the experience of wonder. That the concept of wonder, which is a word I've grown to adore more and more over the last few years, but a word that seems wistfully absent in our modern lives.

We're born into an experience of wonder where nothing makes sense and meaning is fleeting and if we're feeling safe and secure enough everything can become an object of fascination and curiosity. And then as we get older we learn the way the world works and our perceived place in it. We start to replace that raw and visceral wonder with knowledge and experience. And the saddest for me in all of this is that

Human wonder can be such a powerful force for change and connection and dialogue and empathy and creativity in all areas of humanity but often is left in childhood whereas as adults we might have the power to use that wonder to make change to do incredible things but it seems that concept of wonder sits in a stark opposition to those dominant positivist ideas of

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of logic and strategy and agency and expertise that have sort of become the unquestioned norms of what it means to be a productive, effective and mature adult human being. It's like wonder, if it hasn't been totally eradicated, it gets consigned to the sidelines only to be indulged in when the important work's been done. And I've come to believe that the practice of not knowing sits at the heart of nurturing wonder. I don't think we can force ourself

to wonder or I don't think I can force myself to wonder like to sit and go right I'm going to wonder I've said wonder so much now the word doesn't seem right I don't know if you've ever done that where you say a word so many times that you drain it of its meaning but I'll persevere because I'm probably gonna say wonder quite a few more times but yeah I can't can't force myself to wonder so the way I think about it is the practice of not knowing is the way to nurture wonder

The practice of not knowing sits at the heart of moving towards an experience of wonder. And the practice of not knowing is one of the most important and one of the most difficult practices in my own life. And it lies at the heart of all of the work I do, whether that's doing a talk, running a workshop, facilitating a group, working one-to-one with someone. If we can't nurture our ability to not know together, then it always feels like the creative potential of the work is significantly dampened.

even if it is big innovation work trying to tackle and solve big problems, if we can't enter a space of not knowing and welcome that space of not knowing, we're not going to generate wonder and we're not going to generate experimentation and prototyping and playfulness. And this is why I aim for my talks and workshops to fascinate and intrigue, but not really make sense.

Back in 2020, during lockdown, I had a small studio at the end of a garden where I used to live and I spent so much time in there during lockdown. I think I probably spent more time in there than in the house. But on the wall, I had a quote by Nietzsche and it's a quote about not knowing. And what he said is, learning to see the world as strange makes us unhome in the everyday and thereby restores it as a potential place of wonder. I say that again.

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Learning to see the world as strange makes us un-home in the everyday and thereby restores it as a potential place of wonder. And I had this on the wall because I was doing a lot of online workshops and ended up referring to it every time. Not only because the nature of the work that I was doing was around nurturing, not knowing and moving towards not knowing, but because of the nature of lockdown and how weird and strange and un-home we felt in that entire experience. But I also kept it there and

I've got it somewhere in the flat here. I drew it up and I'll put a link to it in the podcast notes, the version I drew up. But I kept it and I keep referring to it because it speaks to me in a number of ways. It's like each element of that quote seems to articulate exactly why the practice of not knowing has become so important to me. So taking it bit by bit, learning to see the world as strange.

That for me speaks of the importance of continually challenging the things I've come to regard as normal or real. I'm doing normal in air quotes again. To question what Alfred North Whitehead called the fallacy of misplaced concreteness, which I love that. The fallacy of misplaced concreteness. Misplaced concreteness being believing that something is real. Believing that something is solid.

And this idea of learning to see the world as strange encourages me to strive to experience at least a tiny fraction of my day in the same spirit as the dog in Chad Orzull's book. To gaze at a tree or a spider or a calf from a state that genuinely enables me to think, what the fuck is that thing? What is that? Why is that thing? Why is it there? So learning to see the world as strange. And then the next bit makes us unhome in the everyday.

And this for me speaks to the importance of confusion and dissonance and disorientation and being frozen in paradox. All of those things that feel like unpleasant experiences, this part names them as a vitally important part of our human experience and a sign that we are on the edge of not knowing. And how developing a tolerance of these experiences and regard them as important as things like clarity and lucidity and certainty.

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And this bit speaks of the importance of developing enough of a sense of safety in these situations to allow ourselves to sit in that un-homeless for a little bit longer each time. Maybe even seek experiences that engender that un-homeless. And then through doing that we can start to realize that these experiences aren't necessarily a sign that something's going wrong, but are in fact a sign that we're on the edge of something new. We're on that precipice of not knowing.

So learning to see the world as strange makes us un-home in the everyday. And then the final part, and thereby restores it as a potential place of wonder. And that final bit, that just ties up the whole quote and encapsulates the importance of not knowing for me. I mean, there's so much written about not knowing that doesn't really articulate why it's important. But for me, we're not practicing not knowing as like an act of self-flagellation or to develop toughness or to develop some sort of stoic resilience.

We're doing it because it starts to shift our experience of reality to be one that glistens and sparkles a little bit more. That allows us to experience everyday wonder in a way that energizes us and motivates us to take action and to play and to experiment. There's a brilliant book that's out of print but if you can find it I recommend it. It's really confusing as well. I think it's called On Not Knowing How Artists Work and it's a collection of essays. I think I found one.

online in Germany secondhand like a number of years ago it really wasn't cheap but I loved it and there's an essay in there called On the value of not knowing wonder beginning again and letting be by Rachel Jones and in that essay Rachel suggests that the major challenge facing artists is to resist that desire to reduce the strange to the familiar and I could relate to that I can relate to how tempting it is to reduce the strange to the familiar

And Rachel proposes that a vital part of any artist practice is to remain open to the strangeness, to be prepared to lose ourselves in the encounter and risk not knowing as the condition of possible transformation. So that idea, I mean, it follows on from the Nietzsche quote, remaining open, being prepared to lose ourselves and risk that this whole process of not knowing is a condition for transformation.

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And even though as a creature that simultaneously craves safety and stimulation, I really see the value in what she's saying there. And I think all of this, the Nietzsche quote, the essay, the whole idea of practicing not knowing is a wonderful invitation, not just for artists, but for any human wishing to live a life that's more imbued with creativity and adventure and wonder. And I'll try and put some links to

all of those things in the podcast notes. I refuse to call those things show notes. I don't know why. I just have a reaction when people call them show notes. Check the show notes for those things. I mean, none of the platforms call them show notes. I call them podcast notes. It's a bit like when I'm working one-to-one with people, I refuse to call it a chemistry meeting for that first initial meeting. It's an exploratory meeting.

There's something about chemistry that just sounds weird So that's it for this episode, I hope you found it interesting But a few things before I go is a couple of plugs for things And one is we're sort of approaching the holiday season, I guess Even though because there's no divisions in my life it's literally no different for me apart from London gets busier and more annoying So I had a plug for the ideal festive gift

which is my What the February book. And if you didn't know, back in 2020, I did an experiment where I thought, I wonder what would happen if I asked people on Instagram to do weird things. And What the February came into existence. And every February for four years, I'd post a daily weird creative challenge. And people around the world did it. And it was a mix of challenges. Some of the challenges were art-like things, some were movement-like, and some were weird.

social experiments like drinking a glass of water in public which is one my daughter came up with that sounds simple but is very strange and then there was like film based things music based things but what was wonderful is no matter what I posted I was totally blown away by how people responded and there's quite a lot of the challenges I thought no one's gonna do this one it's just too weird and people did

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And so I did that for four years and I like all of my projects to end well, end intentionally and end at a peak. I think that that's really important in my work because everything has to fade at some point and I'd rather anticipate a peak and then end it at that peak. So I killed off what the February is an Instagram challenge in February 2023 and people were really sad about that. But it was only when I killed it off that I realized that

Hold on a minute, those last four years have been research for what then became a lovely weird little book. 108 weird creative challenges that have been tested on human beings around the world. And then the books went on to become one of the best selling items in my shop. So this is all a long way around of doing a seasonal plug that if you want to get a book that is 108 weird creative challenges tested on human beings around the world, then...

I'll put a link in the podcast notes or go to my shop there. Buy one for a friend or buy one for someone that's always moaning that they're stuck or buy one for someone that needs cheering up or if you've got a team, buy one for your entire team or just buy one for yourself. Buy one for yourself, you can dip into whenever things feel a bit too normal and restrictive. And a couple of other things is the backgammon project that I mentioned.

In the last episode, a project that came out of me awkwardly going to a board games night, learning to play backgammon and they are playing backgammon with random strangers. If you want to be part of it, then again, I'll put a link to it. You can read more about it. Just drop me, drop me an email. I mean, the structure is really simple. It's face to face rather than online, which sort of limits it to the London area. But the structure is simple is we meet, we play between one and three games of backgammon.

We co-create a haiku to summarise our experience and I draw a portrait of you that you get to keep. And the backgammon project is as simple as that, so if you want to be part of it. And then the other thing is I really enjoy appearing on other people's podcasts because I like doing this because it's sort of like leaving a big long voice note for someone. But then when someone else is involved, I find it a lot easier because they can prompt and steer.

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and guy called Chris Nichols who I've only met a few times and it's always been like in weird occasions. He invited me to be on his About Time podcast recently and it's just come out and again I'll put a link to that in the notes and in that we chat about life and art but also the importance of having people in your life that see something in you that you maybe don't or can see a potential in your weirdness. So we speak about all of those things in that episode which is out now.

your favorite podcast player. And then there's a load of other stuff that I probably should mention but I can't be bothered like workshops and things like that and how to support my work financially. But the best thing is go to my website canscorpionsmoke.com and you can work it out for yourselves. So I feel like I've rambled on for a long time here and it's dark now. It was light when I started recording but the traffic's less actually. So maybe between

7.30 and 8.30 is the best time to record the podcast. But thank you so much for listening. The next episode, episode five, will be out in about four weeks time, something like that. Take care, speak to you soon.