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While we’re all spending much more time inside, it feels like the right time to write a little something reflecting on my time living and working in a house share as a tiny hermit. 

Just before social distancing came into full force, I moved house. I waved goodbye to my home of three and a half years, all of my housemates and 3 inches of each of the legs of my favourite chair. I packed up more belongings than I knew I had. Then I made the long long journey to my new home – or rather I walked 13 roads over.

The one thing people are always shocked by is that I shared my old house with at least 6 other people at any one time. They question how we all fit (very easily) and how I coped as an introvert (not so easily). But the more I think about my time there, those people shaped the space I lived in as much as any of the walls did. 

Over those three and a half years, I’ve lived with James, Adeline, Nick, Sarah, Ariella, Ed, Sam, Emma, Rineke, Ben, (another) James, Liz, Dana, Lucy, Luc, Joe, Greg, and Pete.

I’ve listed their names here so I don’t forget them, and so I don’t forget they were real people with their own lives outside of my experience of them as part of the fabric of the house we shared. It’s easy to pull out quips and anecdotes that capture moments where we happened to exist in the same space and tell them as if those glimpses are indicative of who they were, not just who I knew. For that reason, and their privacy, I won’t be telling any tales of kitchen hijinks here today, although I know they’ll probably be stories I share in pubs for years to come. I will say that those 3 years included more nudity, fires, cameras and paddling pool incidents than I could have ever expected.

Instead, this is how living in that house, as made by its walls, inhabitants and location, shaped me.

There will always be a James in the living room 

I think one of the first things I learned is that no shared space is equally shared. In my house that meant that there was always someone called James who was most comfortable in the living room and made it their own. At the beginning this frustrated me, why couldn’t I just be that comfortable in there too? Why couldn’t I just stretch out across the sofa and turn on the TV? Then I realised I could have. There will always be a James in the living room, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t take up space of your own. They were able to expand to fill the space, because they decided they belonged there. I don’t think I ever wanted to belong there, so I didn’t. Now, I’m in a different space, I’m choosing to enter every room as if it were my own. While my boyfriend and I definitely inhabit the spaces differently, and have spaces that we are more comfortable in than others, we’re both the James in the living room now.

Doors shouldn’t be transparent

In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, safety is right near the bottom. It’s what you need once you’ve got the basics of shelter and food in place. That was something I struggled to establish at times in the house. I didn’t feel safe in the shared spaces, because they weren’t mine and I felt like I had to hide somewhat. I found refuge in my room, but I had a patio door that led onto the garden. At times that door was a joy. It gave me some much needed vitamin D and let me watch the chonky cat who stalked around our road. But it also meant that if there were people in the garden, my one safe space didn’t feel quite so safe from prying eyes. I think everyone needs a room (of one’s own) where they can shut the door and just be, no matter how comfortable they are with the other people in their home. That always takes me back to when we first got my dog

A little fire is good for you 

I am largely risk averse. I don’t like danger. I have a lot of OCDs around household safety. So, the fact that I lived and survived in a house that had more than one small fire is no mean feat. Essentially, they created the best test bed of exposure therapy I could have asked for. While I don’t wish fires, burglaries or floods on anyone, knowing you can survive those things and seeing how you cope in the moment is terrifying and empowering.

Don’t listen through the wall

My room backed onto the kitchen, so I heard a lot through the wall. They were thin walls. While I’m almost always in headphones (for that reason), I did hear things I didn’t want to and shouldn’t have. Sure there were gross things. But I also heard other people talking about me AKA everyone’s continuing teenage nightmare. Not everything they said was nice and that was hard. At first, I internalised everything. Then I pretended not to hear, and secretly listened in torturing myself. Then I realised that I didn’t need to listen and what’s more than that I shouldn’t. I say that not only because it wasn’t productive for me (I was never going to ask anyone about it) but because those were their conversations to work out their own feelings and perceptions. Gossiping is a key part of social bonding and understanding where we sit in the world. When I chat with my friends, I only talk about the things that I’m working through or that will bring us closer together. I’ll hyperbolise. I’ll let my insecurities show. I’ll add my own perspective as I try to understand how I exist in relation to other people and things. That’s exactly what they were doing, and they were entitled to it. It wasn’t the entire opinion of me and it certainly wasn’t a representation of who I actually was. 

There are worlds behind doors

It’s easy to quickly put people into boxes, particularly when you don’t see them very often. Greg, at 6’8” almost instantly became “tall Greg”. But you have to be careful not to hold onto those boxes too hard. I think there were definitely moments, where I’d already decided who someone was and I came into the room with that belief and wouldn’t let them be anyone else. But no matter how hard I held onto those boxes, everyone always proved themselves to be something more, to have so many more sides than the six of the container I’d given them. I do wonder whether I got to see those sides more easily, because I was spending time with them at home. So I’m trying to give people more space and more light now to show me whatever sides they’re comfortable to share. 

Life is richer with other people (in small doses)

As much as I tried to keep to myself in the house, some of the brief moments I spent with people in the kitchen or the garden were some of the best moments in the house, or at least the most entertaining. I wouldn’t have had half as many stories or interesting conversations without them, and their often bizarre TV habits. 

So that’s what I learned from living in a big ol house share. I think I came out of that house a better, stronger person. But I’m glad to have a bit more of my own space now. I’m sure there will be plenty of new challenges, particularly with the next few weeks/months of spending so much time inside, so let’s see what I have to report back after the next however long of being a person in the world living in a place.

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I didn’t start this year with many resolutions or goals. But I did make an active decision to turn my recent attempts to try to learn new crafting skills into an annual tradition. Over the past little while, I’ve tried to teach my hands to do something new every year whether that’s an intro to throwing pottery on a wheel, carving jewellery from wax, screen printing, or woodcarving. This year I’m going to, hopefully, learn how to weave.

I’ve gained so much through dedicating time to crafting. As someone who spends most of their day on the computer, whether that’s in the office or illustrating digitally, I think I need to make the effort to remember that my hands can do more than just make pixels appear on a screen. That’s probably why I love cooking and DIY too. 

So I wanted to try to articulate that love of making and create something of a manifesto for making to try and get more people relearning how to use their hands with me.

Let’s start at the end and unravel the experience together.

Using the thing

Whenever you use something you’ve made with your own two hands, you get to relive the joy of its creation. Every wobble and groove tells a story. I have a set of wonky little bowls, which are more tiny trays because they’re so shallow, that I would never find a use for if I’d bought them. But every time I have a snack I want to put them in my little bowl because I made it.

A finished thing

After a few ugly stages, there’s always a magical moment when you’re making something with your hands when you can see the final product start to appear. In that moment I like to look back to the materials I started with, whether that’s a round of wax that turned into a ring, a log that turned into a spoon, some yarn that turned into a tapestry, some clay that turned into a bowl, and reflect on the alchemy my hands have managed.

Making the thing

When people describe making as meditative, I don’t think they mean that they aren’t thinking about anything but rather that they’re using their whole mind to think about one thing. That kind of focus in the attention economy feels like an act of rebellion almost. You can’t be texting at the same time, whatever is in your hands has to be your primary focus. It’s slow and steady (unless you’re a speed knitter). It’s a respite from a fast paced digital world. Pulling screen prints is simple but there’s a careful balance of physical actions you need to focus on everytime you roll the weegie across the silk.

Learning the skill

When I went woodcarving we were given one simple mantra: the knife won’t do anything you don’t tell it to. That to me translated as, when you’re carving wood you have to mean it. You make a decision about where you’re trying to get to. Then you make a decision about what you want the next cut to do. Then you decide on the best technique to use. Then you do it, as decisively as you can.Those long, clean, curling shavings only happen when you know what you want to tell the wood and you say it clearly. I found a lot of mental respite in focusing on learning technique, on making those shavings and being a beginner.

Imagining

If there’s magic in seeing something appear out of raw materials through your hard work, there’s just as much magic in starting with nothing and just imagining what’s possible. It’s a conversation between you and the material. The first step into the world of making things bey hand is one you have to take together with the environment you’re in. I think that’s what I love the most about crafting, particularly outdoors. It reminds you that you’re part of the physical world and you have just as much ability to shape that world, to make it beautiful, purposeful, or fun, as anyone (or anything) else. 

A manifesto

So that’s it, my manifesto for making. If you love to craft or haven’t made anything since you were in school, I’d love to hear from you and to hear about what you and your hands will make next. I’m always up for new crafting inspiration. 

I still haven’t learned to knit and I’d love to try wood turning, because I had so much fun carving last year. But I’m taking it one skill at a time. I’ll keep you updated on my journey into weaving.

FYI I book all of my classes in London through Obby. If you’re interested in trying it out (it’s got all kinds of classes from crafters across the city), you can get £10 off your first class. This isn’t sponsored, it’s just a super useful service, but that is my referral code.

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In past years I’ve created and collated illustrated quotes for International Women’s Day. But this year, for IWD 2020, I wanted to take the opportunity to really consider the history of the day, how it came about and what it has meant through the years. So, I’ve put together an illustrated timeline of how this day of protest, solidarity and celebration has developed from the early 1900s to today.

Illustrated timeline of international women's day
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Over the past few years of writing for this blog I’ve shared a number of posts about the tools I use. It’s something I like to revisit semi regularly to see how what I’m using has changed and what has endured. In previous posts I’ve separated out the physical and digital tools I use, but that’s not how I work. So, for this year’s edition I wanted to talk about my toolkit in its entirety from pens and pencils to apps and skills. 

Digital

Procreate

When I first invested in my iPad, Procreate was the only drawing tool I used. It’s super simple to pick up and wonderful to draw with. It’s my favourite digital sketching tool still. It feels like a safe space to play around. It’s what I use for first drafts and ideas. Plus,  if you see anything on my Instagram you can almost guarantee I made it in Procreate.

Affinity Designer

Affinity has been my number one for a good while now. I love it on Desktop and now I love it on iPad too. I’ve done a full and gushing review on Affinity already so I’m not going to repeat myself here. But suffice to say that there’s a reason it’s my desert island digital creative tool. There’s nothing I need to do that I can’t handle (I’ve even found workarounds for mock ups) using it and it’s an absolute joy to work with, especially on iPad where you have the added wonders of the apple pencil. Although, I will say I’ve been having some issues with pressure sensitivity recently.

GoogleDocs

I was slow to embrace the GSuite. But the more I use it (despite my fears about giving up more of my data) the more useful it becomes in terms of organising files to share with clients, working on documents between devices and conditional formatting my life away in sheets. I’ve even found a way to format offline sheets well enough that I no longer use QuickBooks to manage my accounts.

Buffer

I realised in my blogging reflections piece when I hit the two year mark here that I needed to take social media more seriously. I’ve been trying to have a more structured approach to how I share my work and to be more consistent it. A big part of that change has been moving to Buffer. In the past I’ve used Hootsuite. There was nothing wrong with Hootsuite but I wanted a social tool that worked with Pinterest because that’s where I have the most reach. A year and a bit in and it’s still such an easy tool to use, I can queue up all of my posts for a week in less than half an hour, which has probably been the only reason I’ve stayed consistent on social media. 

Mailchimp

Mailchimp looks after my newsletter. It’s so good I have very little to say about it. By that I mean it fits so seamlessly in my workflow that I almost forgot I use it.

Semplice / WordPress

Towards the end of last year I redesigned my portfolio using Semplice. It was such a liberating experience to move away from the constraints of Squarespace and have almost complete control. I say almost because it doesn’t quite have the blogging control I would like just yet. While Squarespace was gorgeous and simple, I’m enjoying how empowering it feels to run both of my sites myself through a combination of Semplice and WordPress.

Physical

iPad and pencil

By far and away the tool I use the most when illustrating is my iPad. I have a refurbished 1st generation iPad Pro which I bought back in 2017 and to say that it’s revolutionised how I work would be an understatement. It’s such a pleasure to draw with and having taking the step up from a wacom bamboo where I had to look at the screen rather than what I was drawing I can really feel the benefit. I use the paperlike cover on mine, which means it’s not as great for watching Netflix with but it does give just the right level of texture for drawing.

iMac

I ummed and ahhed over either getting a new macbook or an iMac at the start of last year. As I don’t work outside of the house that much on my own projects and was actually looking forward to the idea of not having my work being able to follow me where I went, I went with the iMac. I love having the bigger screen and better processing power. Plus I think my body is grateful for my more ergonomic set up. It’s not revolutionary but it is great to use, other than charging the mouse which is some of Apple’s worst design work to date.

Rhodia Webby Notebook

I’ve been using Rhodia notebooks as bullet journals for coming up to 7 years now. If that’s not a consistent favourite I don’t know what is. For me, it’s all about the paper.  It’s so smooth. There’s no bleed through, there’s no feathering. It is a pleasure to write on, and I don’t say that lightly. Also, dot grid paper is the only way to go. It allows you to line up your writing whilst giving you plenty of freedom and still leaving the page mainly free compared to squared pages. Plus I love that it’s orange! I can almost always spot it across the office, and everyone knows which one is mine. The soft touch hardcover wears really well and is always easy to spot in the office. It’s also worth noting the elastic fastener, ribbon and back pocket are all properly sturdy as well. I picked up a landscape version for sketching recently, moving away from Moleskine, and I’m so pleased I did because it’s the only sketchpad I’ve used where I take it everywhere with me because it’s just a great notepad too.

Rotring 300 Mechanical Pencil

I’ve been using the Rotring 300 in 0.5mm for three years now. And you know what, I wouldn’t be without it. It’s comfortable to hold and to draw with. The even with of line really suits my style now and works particularly well if I’m writing or doing thumbnail sketches which is actually a lot of what I do. I originally wanted to have one for sketching and one with a coloured lead, but now I’m happy with only using a 2B.

Pilot VBall 0.5

There’s nothing too special about this pen. It just writes really nicely. I have it in black, blue, red, pink, purple, green and turquoise, but I mainly just use the black ones. It’s smooth and comes out with a good even deep black line. 0.5 is the perfect width for the size of my handwriting and the size of the dot grid – and is clearly the only size I like because it’s what I have my pencils in too.

Sharpie

I don’t think there are any service designers who don’t carry at least 3 of these about their person at any one time.

Pentel Signpen

These are my favourite felt pens. You can vary the width you’re using without the nib being too brushlike if that makes sense.

Promarker

I don’t use these as often as I would like, mainly because I’m never as into colour as I imagine I will be. But if I’m ever sketching ideas out and need to add a pop or wash of colour I use these. I have the double sided fine and chisel nibs (because those were the ones that were on offer when I was looking for pens) in yellow and red, as well as light washes of blue, pink and green.

Post-it Notes

I wrote a whole design stories piece on post-it notes because they’re that formative in my research and design practice. Participants often joke about quite how many we go through in workshops, but there’s nothing better for quickly gathering, making visible, and organising ideas when you’re working together. They’re also a great tool for organising yourself – I use them to keep track of everything from my big projects and their deadlines to my shopping lists.

Washi tape

Washi tape isn’t a necessity for me, but it’s the one pop of aesthetic flare in my otherwise very plain bullet journal.

Canon Autoboy

I bought a Canon Autoboy at the start of last year as a way to try to encourage myself to take more photos. While I’m still not a pro by any stretch of the imagination, I love getting my rolls of film back and I’m trying more and more to incorporate these snapshots into my work.

Human

Design research

This is what I do almost everyday when I head into the office, or more likely out into the field. I do a mix of interviews, mapping exercises, ethnography and user testing to understand the context that a service sits in within someone’s life, what they need it to do and how to make those two things work in a way that’s accessible.

Service design

I’ve only recently started to consider myself a service designer. But bringing together my design research practice, visualisation skills, codesign experience and more strategy work it’s something that’s come along naturally. 

Illustration 

I just like to draw and for those drawings to convey a message. 

Sketchnoting

I use sketchnoting as both a toll to help me organise and remember my thoughts but also as really engaging research outputs.

Animation

I’m never going to be hired by Pixar but I am using animation and short gifs more and more in my work as a way to convey more tone or narrative in a single space.

Visual facilitation

I’m trying to use my illustration knowhow as a way to do workshops and help people communicate. I’m hoping this one’s going to get further up the list next year!

Writing

I’m certainly more of a rambler than a writer, but as someone who’s written hundreds of thousands of words worth of blog posts, newsletters and reports, I have to acknowledge it’s a tool I use and rely on. It’s one I need to work on sharpening, but I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without it.

Things that make it happen

I consider all of the stuff above my real job. But there are a whole raft of tools I rely on in order to be able to do those from creating and understanding contracts to doing my own finances to managing projects whether that’s for myself or for other people. There are so many “soft” interpersonal skills too. Those are the things that are often the most hard won and the most used, but also the most likely to be overlooked. As I guess they are in this list, by way of being at the bottom. Without soft skills you don’t get to use any of the others to their full extent.

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Do you ever see or do something small and have the instant realisation “this is a metaphor for …”?

I had one of those lightbulb moments of self-awareness while I was away in Cornwall last year. I was on a walk and I’d intended to follow a certain coastal route which took me around the headland and then across a beach while the tide was low. I’d made it round the first section of headland, taking off about seven layers as I went. I’m always overly cautious about layering. The start of the descent to the beach was just some stairs followed by a little viewing platform. But then there was a series of jagged rocks I would have had to scramble down.

I stood on that viewing platform not taking in the view but trying to work out a route down for a good 15 minutes. Or at least it was enough for a father and son playing football on the beach to have cocked their heads. 

I couldn’t do it.

I don’t like having unsure footing, particularly if I’m going down, particularly if there’s an audience. 

So, instead, I headed back up to the headland and found an alternative route round – the long way. It probably took me an extra hour, perhaps more. But that extra hour of sand dunes, wildflowers and well worn paths was probably my favourite hour of walking the whole trip.

I will always take the long route. I know there’s a sea of rhetoric and advice about working smarter and not harder, about risk and reward. But I’m happy to stroll slowly, to walk a little longer or a little further and enjoy the way round. I can get lost on solid ground, but I need the ground to be solid.

Quite often I work harder not smarter – to type that feels like an exposing admission in an age of productivity. I’ve done it since I was a child. I undertook art projects of vast scale and repetition. I solved maths problems (at least once) through brute force. I learned facts I needed to wrote style.

I find there’s a comfort in working through the work.

I was reminded of that feeling at the start of this year as I sat down to make my goals for the year. This is the first year I’ve not felt myself striving to take a ladder upwards. Where I’d been following a clearly signposted route for most of my career (university, graduate training, metropolitan elite type job), now I’ve been left to my own devices I want to explore a little more. I could keep racing up, but I think I’d like to look around for a while. 

I’m not scared of falling so much anymore, in both the metaphorical and literal sense (I conquered those rocks later that same year). But I remember that headland walk so fondly that I’m not ready to let go of the idea of just trying to see what’s on the level around me, to have an experience that’s broad and full of detours where you see more.

In A Field Guide to Getting Lost, Rebecca Solnit makes reference to the Tibetan word for track, shul. “A path is a shul because it is an impression in the ground left by the regular tread of feet, which has kept it clear of obstructions and maintained it for the use of others.”

There’s a sense of community in taking or even just touching on the path, the shul, well worn. Where we give ourselves time to wander more, we can find more common ground. 

There’s also an ability to clear space in your mind to explore through repetition because your regular tread of thinking has kept it clear. That’s how habits work. You wear down a clear path in your mind, then when you have to do a thing your path to the next action is clear of obstruction and so easy to follow you can do it without thinking.

There’s also so much to discover when you take the long route. While short challenges push us, long exertions give us time to look around and reflect. 

While we should carve our own tracks and I’m certainly not advocating avoiding everything that’s intimidating – fear based decisions can be so limiting. But I want to make something of a call to take the long way some of the time. 

So I’m going to keep taking the long route, not just because I don’t like jagged rocks.