I had fun playing with a new scanner I bought to help me upload the physical Moon Letters to my computer. The quality is great, and I immediately thought—this would be perfect for digitising my Asemic writing.
I decided to experiment: I uploaded a piece of Asemic writing, then tried a translation tool to read the text from the image. I wasn’t expecting much, Asemic writing is by definition without a fixed meaning, existing in a space between language and pure form. But to my surprise, I got three translated lines.
This unexpected outcome was a moment of algorithmic improvisation, a piece of text I never wrote was suddenly part of the work. The machine involved itself in the process, introducing an element beyond my control, much like the way audiences reinterpret asemic writing in unpredictable ways.
Two questions immediately came to mind:
• What does it mean for an asemic text to be “translated”?
• Does this process create a new kind of auto-generated asemic language, where machine logic meets human mark-making?
This might just be the beginning of a new asemic project. And, I’m excited to experiment more, to invite the machine into the asemic process, and to see where this unexpected collaboration between human intention and machine misinterpretation leads me.
Our last session of Art for Earth’s Sake Peer Learning, was a powerful experience exploring the intersection of creativity, sustainability, and community action.
Key Highlights:
1- Leading by Example: We discussed how artists can practise sustainably, acting as role models for others by reducing their carbon footprint and promoting eco-friendly approaches. This includes minimising the use of fossil fuels and exploring innovative tools such as digital carbon offset initiatives like Ecology.
2- Art as a Vehicle for Transition: Art has the power to shape people’s decisions and inspire social and environmental change. We explored how slow, mindful processes can create space for reflection and dialogue about the future we want to build.
3- The Role of Heart and Mind: It’s not just about being an artist but about raising awareness and fostering learning. We emphasised the importance of balancing rational thinking with heartfelt creativity to address environmental.
We took inspiration from artists such as Rebecca Chesney and Anthony Hall, and projects like the Soil Exhibition in Somerset. Additionally, ideas from thinkers like Stephen Covey’s “Three Spheres of Influence” helped us focus on what we can control, what we can influence, and what we need to let go of as individuals and as a collective.
We are encouraged to continue organising events, engaging the community, and taking part in initiatives like the Engage. By working together, we can use art as a catalyst for positive change in the world.
Stephen Covey’s concept of the Three Spheres of Influence is a framework that helps individuals focus their energy on what they can truly affect. This idea is derived from his book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. The three spheres, also known as the Circles of Concern, Influence, and Control, are a way to prioritise actions and efforts effectively. The Three Spheres Explained:
1. Circle of Concern:
This represents everything you care about, including external issues such as climate change, world events, and things you have no direct control over. While it’s important to be aware of these issues, focusing too much energy here can lead to feelings of helplessness.
2. Circle of Influence:
This sphere includes aspects you can influence, such as your local community, workplace, and people around you. By focusing efforts here, you can make a meaningful impact even if you can’t solve global issues. This is where actions like raising awareness, inspiring others, and leading by example can make a difference.
3. Circle of Control:
This is the smallest sphere, encompassing only what you can directly control, your own actions, decisions, mindset, and responses. By focusing on this sphere, you ensure that your efforts are grounded in what you can actually change.
By prioritising your focus on the Circle of Control and the Circle of Influence rather than the Circle of Concern, you can channel your energy more productively, avoid burnout, and create more positive impact. This approach is particularly valuable in projects related to sustainability and social change, where large-scale problems can feel overwhelming.
In the context of “Art for Earth’s Sake” understanding these spheres can help artists and activists focus on what they can do, such as creating art that inspires action, practising sustainability in their own work, and building local community initiatives that promote change.
Today, I led a session at Bootle Library with my usual cultural group of ladies, joined by my colleagues from Rule of Threes, a representative from Liverpool Biennial, and artists from Darch Collective. It was a special gathering, as we’ll be contributing to their work for Liverpool Biennial: Bedrock 2025.
The session had a wonderful turnout, and I received 15 more letters for The Moon Letters project. I’m so grateful to everyone who has taken the time to contribute, and I can’t wait for the moment when I finally hold the book in my hands.
There’s something deeply personal about letters. I find myself attached to each one, treating them as precious objects. They arrive in different ways: through messages, emails, and in person. Each carrying unique thoughts, emotions, and perspectives. People respond in their own way, and I appreciate every word, every feeling that has been shared.
This project is becoming more than just a collection of letters, and I’m excited to see where it leads and to share these stories with a wider audience.
Watching Jonathan’s lecture A Messy Introduction for the second time was a completely different experience from the first. Three months ago, it felt like a relief—as though I had finally been given permission to embrace the uncertainty and messiness of my practice. I realised that nothing was wrong with how I work or feel about the creative process. Rather than viewing my approach as chaotic or unfocused, I began to see it as a form of action research—a way of learning embedded in the act of doing!
I returned to this lecture with a question that arose after last week session How to Be an Explorer: How is my practice guiding me, rather than me controlling it? Watching the lecture again allowed me to refine my thinking and embrace my process as an ongoing cycle of reflection and experimentation.
I learnt that action research isn’t about gathering knowledge and then applying it in a controlled way. Instead, it’s about researching through practice, learning as you go, and allowing discoveries to emerge through action.
The lecture reminded me of how I’ve found my most valuable insights through interaction—whether with people, materials, or space. For example, I realised that my time spent working and engaging with people in the library was far more effective than simply sitting and reading. That moment of recognition was, in itself, action research.
Jonathan introduces four key characteristics of action research:
1. Cyclical: The process is not linear; it loops back on itself, following a rhythm of planning, acting, observing, and reflecting.
2. Collaborative: Research is not done in isolation; it involves engaging with people and/or materials.
3. Qualitative: Not quantitative.
4. Reflective: The practitioner is constantly questioning, not just the work, but their own position within it.
The idea that research is cyclical resonated with me deeply. I often feel like I’m going in circles—revisiting ideas, reworking concepts, and questioning everything. But what if this isn’t a flaw, but rather the natural rhythm of research? Instead of seeing it as going backwards, I now view it as deepening my understanding.
This brings to mind the concept of social sculpture, which, like action research, does not aim for fixed outcomes. It is a living process, shaped by dialogue, participation, and continuous enquiry.
My socially engaged work as a creative producer at The Library is an example of how action research operates in real-world settings. Rather than following a rigid structure, my approach is fluid and responsive.
For instance, I’ve observed that:
• Engaging with people in the library is more valuable than just reading there.
• Learning happens through doing, not just planning.
• Reflection is not just a retrospective process, it happens in real-time.
This aligns with Jonathan’s reflection-in-action model, where the practitioner allows uncertainty and improvisation to guide their decisions. My sessions at the library are not about delivering a pre-determined programme; they are about co-creating an experience with the participants, allowing the outcomes to emerge organically.
One of the slides in the lecture included a quote by Martin A. Schwartz:
“The more comfortable we become with being stupid, the deeper we will wade into the unknown and the more likely we are to make big discoveries.”
This really stuck with me. In artistic practice, there’s often pressure to have everything figured out, to justify every decision, and to present a polished narrative. But this quote suggests that true discovery happens when we allow ourselves to feel lost and unsure.
This resonates with my experience as a member of Ghost Art School, where I always allow myself to experiment with materials freely, without the fear of losing anything or being judged. Most of the work I present at Ghost Art School exhibitions is experimental and joyful.
Instead of feeling like I have to map everything out in advance, I am learning to trust that my research is unfolding in its own way. This lecture reinforced the idea that my artistic process isn’t about arriving at answers, but about learning how to ask better questions.
The first session of Art for Earth’s Sake by Engage:
Peer Learning Programme was both inspiring and thought-provoking. This initiative, designed by Engage members, brings together diverse voices to explore how visual arts can respond to the pressing environmental and ecological crises of our time. The online session created a dynamic space for connection, exchange, and collective learning.
Art has long served as a powerful medium for addressing complex issues. During the session, we reflected on how art can function as a “place” — a vital space for connection, communication, and fostering belonging. This concept resonated deeply with me. As an artist, I believe meaningful change begins when we create spaces for open dialogue and shared experiences.
Today’s headlines—be it Gaza burning under human conflict or wildfires ravaging Los Angeles—serve as stark reminders of our interconnected crises. Climate change, political instability, and violence are all deeply entwined. As humans, we bear the responsibility to make a difference, no matter how small. Saying “no” to war, violence, and greed is critical before the Earth pushes back. This realisation drove me to join this programme, especially as a producer working with refugees and students eager to learn about socially engaged art around themes of politics, migration, and the environment.
A recent discussion at Liverpool’s “ghost art school,” which I co-organised, reminded me of the importance of shared spaces. A fellow artist remarked, “Living is a way of research.” I would add that living with others—and fostering environments where people feel safe and free—is essential for authentic collaboration and growth.
One of the most compelling topics from the session was ecocentrism—a philosophy that centres Earth and its ecosystems rather than humanity alone. This approach challenges the anthropocentric mindset dominating contemporary thought.
Ecocentrism is not a modern idea; it has been integral to indigenous cultures for millennia, embedded in their traditions and laws. This was a moment of profound clarity for me. To genuinely tackle the climate crisis, we must transition from a human-centred worldview to an Earth-centred one.
The session also showcased artist-led projects that weave ecological concerns with social engagement. One example was Scotland’s Deveron Projects, which has been creatively connecting people with the land for over 30 years. Initiatives like their “soil spa” and a dance project inspired by the land demonstrate art’s capacity to reconnect us with nature in meaningful ways.
This session reaffirmed my belief in art’s ability to inspire dialogue and action. By embracing ecocentric perspectives and fostering collaboration, we can address the ecological crisis holistically and inclusively.
In my ongoing exploration of social sculpture, Letters to the Moon stands as a testament to how art can shape social spaces through collaboration. Rooted in Joseph Beuys’ concept that everyone is an artist and society itself is a work of art, this project reflects the interconnectedness between individuals and their collective contributions.
The project is inherently collaborative. By engaging artists and the public, I aimed to dissolve barriers between “individual” and “community” artmaking. Each submission becomes part of a greater whole—like letters sent to a shared destination, carrying unique perspectives yet contributing to a collective narrative.
This process mirrors my research interest in social sculpture: how creative practice can transform not just physical objects, but relationships and shared understanding. Letters to the Moon creates a social space where people from diverse backgrounds, ages, abilities, and styles co-exist, their works forming an invisible conversation with one another.
At its core, my work often explores the complexities of communication. In Letters to the Moon, the art itself becomes a form of communication—visual “letters” that reflect feelings, thoughts, and experiences. By curating these individual voices into a unified book, I aim to highlight how creative gestures, when shared, can transcend the limits of language and hierarchy.
Social sculpture is about more than the artwork itself; it is about the relationships, processes, and transformations that occur along the way. Through Letters to the Moon, I have witnessed how this project fosters a sense of belonging, participation, and emotional resonance. It invites artists to engage in a collaborative process and, in doing so, creates an artwork that is as much about the process as the final outcome.
Photo credit: Donald Takeshita-guyDear Moon,
I know why you are called the Moon–because you say ‘mo’ and ‘on’. By Arwa (6 yrs old)
Letters to the Moon is a social sculpture that explores how art can connect diverse experiences, emotions, and perspectives, fostering meaningful dialogue between art and the wider public.
To bring this vision to life, I invited family, friends, artists from Creative Peers, members of Ghost Art School, MA classmates, and the public. Donald kindly extended the invitation and offered people some brown paper bags to write their letters on. This act of kindness touched me and made these letters more special as they are handwritten. Each participant receives a unique moon photograph, carefully selected from a collection of 670 images I have captured since 2018.
The responses have been both inspiring and humbling. People with distinctive styles and personal voices have contributed works that reflect a broad range of emotions and narratives. A key aim of this project is to ensure that people outside the art world feel encouraged to take part, breaking down the barriers that can make creative engagement feel intimidating.
This project, while still ongoing, has already reminded me of the importance of artistic variety and community. While numbers have been promising, I hope they will continue to grow as more people see themselves reflected in this vision. I look forward to the next steps—curating these works, weaving them into a book, and creating something that speaks to the complexity of art as both a personal and collective process.
Today, I attended an engaging online workshop, Thinking Through Social Practice, facilitated by David McGoven. The session offered a reflective space to explore social practice. What made the workshop especially rewarding was its small, interactive format, allowing participants to share their practices, collaborate on tasks, and develop manifestos that resonate with their creative values.
What Is Social Practice? Social practice, as discussed in the session, is rooted in the idea that art’s value extends beyond objects—it lies in relationships, conversations, and the transformations they inspire. Pablo Helguera, in Education for Socially Engaged Art, defines it as work dependent on social interaction as a key factor of its existence. Unlike traditional conceptions of the artist as a visionary or critic, social practice views the artist as a collaborator working with society in a professional capacity.
One of the workshop’s highlights was crafting personal manifestos to articulate our roles and responsibilities as socially engaged artists. Here’s my manifesto:
1. My work remains private while in progress and becomes public once complete.
2. I am the creator of the idea and responsible for its execution.
3. You, as a participant, are a valued contributor to this social work.
4. Your submission remains your intellectual property.
5. By contributing, you agree to its use in this project’s context.
6. This project prioritises collective learning and dialogue.
7. It is non-profit and exists as a form of social sculpture.
This manifesto reflects my ongoing exploration of collaboration, ownership, and the boundaries between individual and collective creativity.
The workshop reaffirmed my belief that social practice is about relationships—not just between people, but also between ideas, disciplines, and systems. As an artist, I am constantly navigating these relationships, finding ways to balance personal vision with community needs.
The Thinking Through Social Practice workshop was a powerful reminder that art is not just about creating—it’s about connecting. It’s about asking questions, challenging systems, and imagining new possibilities alongside others.
The interview between Pedro Reyes and Cara M. Jordan is a fascinating exploration of social sculpture and its potential for societal impact. Reyes presents a compelling perspective on social sculpture as a medium where human relationships become the material, transcending traditional artistic boundaries and incorporating tools from diverse fields such as theatre, therapy, and rituals.
Reyes’ reflection on Joseph Beuys as a foundational influence further enriches the discussion, particularly through his project Palas por Pistolas, which transforms weapons into tools for reforestation—a direct homage to Beuys’ 7,000 Oaks. This project exemplifies dynamic, living art that evolves over time, reflecting the transformative power of human collaboration. His appreciation for Beuys’ humour and dedication to socialism underscores an optimistic yet critical vision of art’s role in addressing complex social issues.
Reyes’ commitment to accessibility is especially notable, as he advocates for art that transcends traditional audiences and creates transformative experiences regardless of participants’ familiarity with the art world. Collaborative projects like Sanatorium and People’s United Nations (pUN) highlight his dedication to co-creation and role-play, fostering a sense of ownership and shared authorship among participants.
His belief in the transformative power of materials is equally inspiring. The act of turning rifles into flutes, for example, embodies his philosophy of relational objects—artifacts that catalyse social encounters and spark psychological shifts. This approach strongly resonates with my interest in social sculpture and the symbolic potential of everyday materials.
This interview has deeply influenced my practice, offering inspiration for integrating participatory frameworks, addressing sociopolitical themes, and ensuring inclusivity. Reyes’ approach aligns with my focus on creating art that bridges communication gaps and meaningfully engages audiences, providing valuable strategies to advance my work.
Karema 