I attended my first Open Space meeting recently. Open Space Technology is gaining huge ground in the arts sector and is increasingly becoming the toolkit of choice for meetings, debates and conferences. So what is it, how does it work and is it an effective means of communicating, innovating and, crucially, getting things done?
Open Space Technology was developed in 1985 as a way of running meetings. It is based on a self organising process where the group that meets takes ownership of the direction of the meeting and the topics discussed. Proponents of Open Space believe that this method of running meetings allows a diverse group of people to come together to address complex and controversial issues in a practical way.
The Open Space meeting is instigated by an invitation – usually from the facilitator, who is responsible only for initiating and closing the proceedings and explaining the methodology.
Open Space is based on Four Principles and a Law but, like all meetings, also incorporates an element of ritual. Instead of a tap on a glass or a polite but load cough, attendees’ focus is drawn into the meeting by gathering in a circle. The facilitator then enters the circle, states the theme of the meeting and invites people to raise topics that they are passionate about for discussion.
Anyone who wants to raise a topic must enter the circle, write down their topic for discussion, articulate it to the group, choose a place and time for the discussion and take responsibility for convening that discussion group and writing up notes on it. Through this ritual (which can take up to an hour) the agenda for the meeting is created.
Participants are then invited to view the agenda and get involved in any of the discussions that they want to. Open Space philosophy is Free Will for All.
The philosophy is underpinned by four principles:
- Whoever comes is the right people
- Whatever happens is the only thing that could have
- Whenever it starts is the right time
- When it’s over, it’s over
And one law of 2 feet:
“If at any time during the meeting you find yourself in a situation where you are neither learning nor contributing, use our two feet”
Whilst I was sceptical of the premise and rigor of the law and principles, I had not heard enough to send my feet out of the door yet. The tools of open space aim to enable a democracy of thought to prevail and the agenda for the day was much broader than it perhaps would have been if a more ‘traditional’ method of debate had been used. The theme of the day was Beyond Diversity: Can there be a better conversation? An agenda was quickly filled with a wide range of discussion topics from Why am I here? to Is social class a bigger issue than race? and Is there too much bad diverse work?
Discussion groups were convened and people quickly got down to the topic of discussion. I attended an interesting debate on the quality of culturally diverse work which stimulated my thinking (see future blog entries) and animated discussion continued throughout the day.
As for practical actions and effecting change, I’m not so sure. The modus operandi of this particular Open Space discussion was to explode the diversity debate beyond its usual framework, and whilst the environment for discussion was different, it was frustrating that there was no sense of any consequent action The open nature of the event meant that tangible actions were not drawn together and agreed. Open Space Technology enables the conversation to continue beyond the meeting space and Theatre Bristol are hosting conversation space on their website. To date (and almost a month since the event) only one comment has been posted and it remains to be seen whether this will prove a useful mechanism for ongoing debate or action. And this leaves me considering the effectiveness and purpose of the day. Sure, it’s good to talk and network but isn’t it as important to use these opportunities as a catalyst to do?
At the Centre
Until recently I lived in a provincial city in Devon. I was there for 13 or so years. When I first moved in a local magazine used to run an “on the street” photo-column, snapping the young and cool of the city. They would ask a series of questions to run alongside their vital statistics (name, age and occupation) like “where do you buy your clothes?”, “what kind of music do you like?” and “where do you go for a good night out?”
The answer to the latter was invariably “Bristol”.
Bristol. Just a short hour-and-a-half each-way, 180 mile round trip.
In those 13 years, not much changed. The city is still predominantly middle-class and monocultural. Bands rarely gig there, strong exhibitions are scarce and it’s difficult to see more than a couple of good dance performances a year. And as someone who works in the arts, I was travelling to Bristol for work as well as pleasure, sometimes on a daily basis.
Last year, I moved to Manchester, where I could say I am tired and poor but that would be a facetious indication of the sheer volume of art and culture available to me right on my doorstep. I rarely travel outside of the M60 (though if I want to I can easily reach Liverpool, Sheffield, Leeds and Nottingham in the time it would have taken to get to Bristol) and in my first year I have seen over 40 performances and a handful of exhibitions.
Of course, I’ve moved from a small, provincial city to a large, international one. It stands to reason that there are more venues programming a wider variety of work by new as well as established artists. But this change in accessibility of art prompted me to think about the role of art and arts venues in more rural communities. What is their remit? What should it be?
In rural communities, where access to art is limited, it is vital that venues programme a diverse range of work that seeks to cater for as many people in the community as possible but this shouldn’t – and needn’t – compromise the quality of what they offer.
Programmers have a responsibility to work outside of their comfort zones, take risks and challenge people’s expectations of what a local arts centre can provide. Being rural doesn’t have to mean that you forfeit being cosmopolitan or that you can’t have access to the newest and the best of what’s on offer.
A really strong example of this is the Brewhouse Theatre and Arts Centre in Taunton, a venue that was not successful in gaining funding in the recent Arts Council England NPO application process and (like the majority of arts centres in the South West) has never been swimming in cash. What it does have is a coherent vision, a sense of place within its community and a confidence to programme work which is challenging, new and connected to the national picture.
The venue operates a mixed economy, as the majority of venues must, balancing populist work (an evening with…) with a strong profile for comedy, in-house productions, touring work and visual arts. It is beginning to get to grips with its profit-making potential through the café bar and believes in animating all areas of the building to maximise the possibilities for audiences to encounter art.
Over the past five years this vision has placed an emphasis not just on audiences; there is a clear articulation of the venues responsibility to support and invest in artists too.
What is most refreshing from a producer’s perspective about working with the Brewhouse is that they work hard to avoid saying “we just don’t have the budget”. If they like your idea, they will always try to find ways in which they can support it.
As an audience member, I got to see a wide variety of work, across art forms and I was challenged by the work I saw. Audiences are encouraged to broaden their palate and be part of a developing local arts landscape.
There are similar models elsewhere, of course. It is perhaps the need to work entrepreneurially and engage with decisions on value-for-money that encourages a strength of purpose that can be lacking in venues that enjoy the security of regular funding.
A rural audience accepts that they are unlikely to be blessed with a large-scale venue with a budget to programme international work on a regular basis. However, living in the country doesn’t mean checking your brain out in the M5 corridor and believing that culture is hard to come by.
Back in Exeter, the Northcott is aware of this and is working hard to establish itself as an exciting venue for dance and theatre at the mid-scale and is working in partnership to achieve this. But, at the small scale, young artists have taken matters into their own hands. Unable to access their local arts centre, a collective of artists have established an 80-seat theatre and bar and are running a business alongside supporting the development of their own work. They are building networks with partners like Dance in Devon and have established a consistent programme.
An arts centre like the Brewhouse provides the transition for artists like these to extend their artistic development beyond the small-scale, to tap into management support and connect to the national landscape, ensuring that their work is not being made in isolation. And this is the responsibility that arts centres should have to local artists. Without this they will move to major cities to get that support and the perpetual circle of rurality is maintained. A critical mass of high quality artists living in rural areas is never achieved and we will always look to the bright lights of the big city for our culture. After all, it’s just an hour-and-a half each way, 180 mile round trip.