Stories, stages and scribbles from a UK creative.
A QR code looks like the tidy little bow on a marketing plan. In practice, it is a doorway with a draught. Here is the audience journey from curtain-down curiosity to mailing-list sign-up, plus the consent, privacy and link-rot bits that get forgotten between the printer and the interval.
My artist statement once described my work as 'interrogating the liminal space between materiality and memory'. A dishwasher manual had more warmth. Here are three drafts of the same statement, plus a repeatable method for sounding like a person rather than a product label.
Why do we still refuse to say the Scottish play in 2026? A tour of the small rituals that cluster around UK dressing rooms — where they came from, which ones actually do something useful, and the one habit a Carlisle am-dram society swears by.
Running owenshipp.co.uk means every email, invoice and awkward question arrives addressed to me personally. Three years in, here's what that intimacy actually costs — in time, in boundaries, and in the odd Sunday afternoon spent rewriting an About page at 11pm.
A notebook-and-camera wander through the lamppost flyers and church-hall posters that make up a town's creative life. What gets promoted, what gets overlooked, and what a soggy A5 sheet can teach anyone publicising a small show in 2026.
A working inventory of the charity-shop lamps, cardboard walls and borrowed curtains that actually make it through a small UK tour. Some of it collapses by the second night. The rest earns its place in the hallway.
This year I helped turn an empty retail unit on a UK high street into a tiny theatre for a 2026 show. Here is what the permissions, the clip lights, the curious shoppers and the awkward silences taught me about making performance visible.
I spent 2026 trying to keep writing, drawing and performing alive around a day job, and the answer was not a five a.m. routine. It was ten small, low-drama habits, including a single envelope for every rejection.
I've spent this year loading a one-person show into parish rooms with badminton lines on the floor and a kettle that takes eleven minutes to boil. Here's why village halls have quietly become the most interesting rooms in the country, plus a practical checklist for anyone thinking of joining me.
My sketchbook is not a portfolio. It's a workshop floor — coffee rings, crossed-out ideas, half a set design and one very rude note to myself. Here are seven pages that changed how I make work, in the least tidy way possible.