Facilitating Imperfect Spaces
Looking at myself from an artistic perspective, I think I’ve built confidence in my practice and learned to use it in many different ways. When people ask me to deliver work, they’ll focus on the label: “Oh, you’re a poet—can you run a poetry workshop?” But I feel like my first big project outside of those more structured settings, like the Industry Days, was Red Balloon. That project wasn’t just about writing poetry; it was about exploring what building relationships means, what it takes to sustain a project, and how to create trust in a space.
It made me think about my own ideas of writing, poetry, and creativity—stretching beyond playwriting or poetry into tangible practices. It became about how to deconstruct these ideas and share them with young people who might not approach art in a traditional “sit-down-and-write-a-show” way. I think it really stretched me as an artist, and stretched what I thought a project could look like.
Before, I thought about projects as having clear, sharp edges: Day One, we do this. Day Two, we do that. But working with Cambridge Junction allowed me to have a bit more of a ‘fuzzy edge’. I could plan all I wanted, but once I was in the space, it became about what worked for those young people, led by their needs. As an artist, it made me rethink what my art means to others and the spaces it could live in.
I’ve realised it’s about how people feel, what’s happening in the space, and what we learn along the way—not just creating something polished at the end. Having other incredible facilitators in the room to help stretch and build ideas adds to this. I might be biased, but I believe the work we create is incredible because we prioritise the experience over the final product. For example, the first pamphlet I ever self-published as a spoken word artist – a year or so into discovering the poetry scene – was grammatically terrible, spelling mistakes everywhere! But looking back, I realise it wasn’t just about creating a perfect product. It was about making the effort, showing my passion for the art form, and contributing to the creative community. Similarly, when we introduce young people—especially those who may lack access—to creativity, we open the door for them to discover, experiment, and grow. It gives them the opportunity to explore new possibilities, much like that imperfect but meaningful pamphlet did for me.
For me, getting into poetry was almost accidental, but creating spaces where young people can engage meaningfully and intentionally feels so important. At 16, if you’d told me I’d become a poet, I’d have laughed and said, “No thanks, I’ll have a real job.” But being in these spaces now allows me to show young people that there isn’t just one path into the arts. Everyone’s journey looks different, and that’s OK. Panels from Industry Days highlight that there’s no one path; no one size fits all. Being able to be in those spaces and create these really tangible ideas of how to get into the creative industry, which are, again fuzzy at the edges, is so important.
I use the word “facilitator” rather than “educator” or “workshop leader” because, to me, facilitation is about creating a space that empowers others. Words like “workshop leader” feel hierarchical whereas when I went into Red Balloon or Olive Academy, I was able to learn as much as the young people I was working with. It was about getting these ideas, helping them to put it in order. I facilitate a space that enables them to do the things that they want to do or ask them questions that facilitate them to be able to ask another question that leads to somewhere else. These projects epitomise what it means to facilitate – to enable, to guide, to hold space for others to grow.
When reflecting on places like Red Balloon or Olive Academy, it’s clear these young people have been removed from mainstream education because the system didn’t work for them. This is why facilitation, rather than leading, becomes so important—it’s about collaboration. If you, as the facilitator, enter the space with a pre-made decision about how their time will be spent, it creates an imbalance, making it feel unequal, so we give them options. I prefer facilitation because it avoids replicating the environments that have caused them harm in the first place. What I truly value about working with Cambridge Junction is the shared understanding that there’s no “right” or “wrong.” You don’t give up on them, and you don’t give up on yourself—you just figure it out together.
All the projects I’ve worked on have had something significant for each participant. The beauty of this work is how every group changes you a little bit as a person and influences your art and practice, helping you grow for the next group you work with or the next creative project you work on. When I think about Red Balloon, I feel so honoured to have been in that space with those young people that have these incredible ideas but also had and these boundaries and barriers that don’t enable them to access things in the same way as for other people and been given the time to build something impactful around that.
One of the most significant experiences was building trust with a group of boys. Initially, I had assumptions about who they were, but they completely surprised me. Watching them go from refusing to play Wink Murder—thinking dramatic deaths were too embarrassing—to crafting scenes with amazing acting and confidence about what they wanted to produce was incredible. By the end of the project, they crafted their own scenes, involved their teachers and gave them lines, shared things that they thought were funny and created exactly what they saw how they wanted it to be. I thought that was just like, incredible to watch them be able to do that.
When you build something, it’s like, ‘Oh, this will be really fun’. Everyone will love it because it’s organised fun.’ But then there are these moments—like with Olive. There was a point where we’d built this level of trust and collaboration, and I said, ‘Let’s go film a scene in the arcade.’ So we did. It was fun; it was useful; it gave them complete ownership of their ideas.
For that day, or at least part of it, they were present. There was no running away: they didn’t have to. And I think that’s it. We have to create an environment where they don’t feel the need to run away. They want to stay because they’re having fun by accident. They’re involved by accident. They feel heard, like their ideas are important.
I think about that ‘running away’ scene—everyone was involved. We were literally asking them to run away, but they’d come back. Whereas before, they’d be running because nobody was looking.
I feel honoured when that happens. It’s like, “Ah, they like me. They really like me.” But I know it’s not about me. It’s because we’ve created a space where people feel present, feel heard, feel seen. A space where they can show up 100% as themselves. And if that’s for 15 minutes, then it’s for 15 minutes. Because even as adults, we don’t get that very often.
How wonderful is it, then, for these kids—who constantly have their guard up—to let it down for 15 minutes? To just involve themselves, to play. And the guard might go back up. But for that time, they were here, fully here. It really matters.
When I think about Olive Academy, I remember one student who didn’t say much at all. But when they were behind the camera, that was perfect; it was exactly where they wanted to be. Then, when we gently nudged them in front of the camera, they came up with these incredibly funny ideas. They engaged in a way that really fit where they were at. Their contribution was to “be asleep” in the film—not say anything—but it was hilarious and so thoughtful. It was an honest part of themselves that they brought into the space. They had done so much work behind the camera, but they also found a way to bring themselves in front of it, and it felt meaningful. It was one of those moments of real growth, both for them and for the space we’d created. It was so impressive. Who she was fundamentally didn’t change, but how she engaged with the space did. And that’s the key, isn’t it? Even if it’s just for 15 minutes, creating a space where someone can be their whole, authentic self is so powerful.
It’s not just something to feel proud of—it’s something to feel humbled by. I can’t imagine any other situation where these classmates would be OK with other classmates telling them what to do.
Many of these young people seem to operate with a strong focus on instant gratification—it needs to happen now. Yet, when we provide them with an experience that’s accidentally fun, something incredible happens. They engage without fully understanding the “why” or needing to see the full picture. Their minds shift from “I need to know the outcome to feel safe” to thinking, “this is fun.” That moment of change is deeply significant—it’s worth celebrating.
What I do matters because I have the ability to create spaces of learning for both myself and for the participants in the in a way that is outside of the realms of which they know what learning is to be. The learning that is done in these projects don’t fit inside of a cookie cutter, but they are huge learnings. And that’s not just emotional or mental health wise, or wellbeing, which does happen and is really important but there’s also learning in terms of tradable skills. There’s also literacy; there’s art; there’s drama; there’s confidence building, and there’s oracy; all of these things are put in a space that is outside of a classroom setting where there’s no right or wrong answers. The ability for young people to learn how to have agency matters. Just the sheer fact that it exists, and they enter the space willingly is why it matters.
Illustrations by Anglia Ruskin University students.