Explore a diverse and creative pallet of writing styles in academic writing practices. In this workshop of 3,5 hours, we explore ways of expressing the story of your text. The session is designed around sample texts, and includes on-the-spot writing exercises. There will be time for peer-review, and we will take time to reflect on what it takes to make space for creativity within our academic work.
The session takes place on July 6, 2021, starting at 10.00 am and ending at 1.30 pm CEST (Amsterdam time).
The choices we make when we write have profound effects on the reality that we observe. Giving an account of our observations requires a multitude of styles of writing for achieving the greatest accuracy. Finding the most accurate style of writing for a particular purpose sometimes implies letting go of a seemingly neutral style of writing, instead embracing a plurality of voices, such as staging a dialogue or exploring a more poetic style.
This space aims to explore what happens when we loosen up the frame of our habitual academic writing practice, inviting multi-layered stories to bubble up and become part of the conversation unfolding on the page. In these interactive workshops, I lead you through a series of hands-on exercises to make you experience creative writing within your academic practice.
Make space to explore a diverse and creative pallet of writing styles in your academic writing practices.
The choices we make when we write have profound effects on the reality that we observe. Giving an account of our observations requires a multitude of styles of writing for achieving the greatest accuracy. Finding the most accurate style of writing for a particular purpose sometimes implies letting go of a seemingly neutral style of writing, instead embracing a plurality of voices, such as staging a dialogue or exploring a more poetic style.
In this introductory workshop spread over two sessions, we practice writing scenes, working with sensory details, defining the main characters driving the story of our work, and staging conversations between them. All sessions are designed around sample texts, and include on-the-spot writing exercises. There will be time for peer-review, and we will take time to reflect on what it takes to make space for creativity within our academic work.
A few places are still available for this upcoming workshop taking place on 8 and 15 June, 10.00 – 13.30 CEST. Book yourself in!
What people say about it:
I tried a few similar workshops recently, and I find Marie’s ones by far the best: they are not only extremely helpful but also a pleasure to do.
Chiara, associate professor
This course has inspired me to develop my own writing style in my papers. It helped me to be creative and productive (for it makes one want to write!), and it has given me perspective regarding the use of poetic, experiential and metaphorical language in crafting academic texts.
Rodante, PhD candidate
Resorting to our body feelings and sensations, bringing them to our awareness while entering a scholarly conversation, opens up a spectrum of alternatives to engage in discussion. Thank you for your expert guidance, so human, that allowed me to feel at ease while exploring “the feeling” of theoretical argumentation. Your workshop contributes to awareness in academic writing, to taking responsibility for choices, to freedom, to integrity. A real eye opener.
Marina, PhD candidate
Marie’s expertise lies in the fact that she used to be a highly successful academic, and is now both an inspired writer and a gifted teacher. This combination is what makes her creative writing for academics courses so inspiring!
Ida, PhD candidate
I’m grateful for participating in Marie’s workshops. The creative writing sessions have helped me enter the scenes of my research, and to shape these worlds while I write with all my senses. Marie’s prompts facilitate a somatic opening for engaging with my data in ways that my whole body is there; writing-as-inquiry from this space enhances fieldwork memory, feelings, creativity, and clarity. It has been a joyful experience to learn on-the-spot techniques for doing this. After these sessions, I wanted to keep writing! Thank you Marie for sharing your gifts with us.
• What do you bring to the spaces you are part of?
• What do you need from the spaces you are part of?
• What do you learn from these spaces about the culture/s you are part of?
The DCP Space will offer a series of invitations, enabling you to curate your own experience where you can explore, observe and play with these questions within the containing frame designed by the Deepening Creative Practice community – participants, artists and faculty who have been part of the first, prototype year of Deepening Creative Practice with organisations.
This space will take place virtually via Zoom. Details on how to join will be sent on the morning of the event at 9am (GMT) via Eventbrite – please remember to check your junk inbox.
The Lunchtime Space is part of the 5th exhibiting season of the Tavistock Institute’s Deepening Creative Practice with organisations programme. This trans-disciplinary programme is exploring organisational dilemmas; through the weaving together of arts and social sciences – focused on experimentation, reflection, difference, and risk.
Find out more about the next programme, starting in Autumn 2021 and join this developing community.
Contact talks@tavinstitute.org if you would like further details and/or you do not receive the Zoom details by 10 am on the day of the event. Please ensure to email before 1 pm (GMT).
Join us in a collective space to explore intersections and overlaps through the unconscious. Creating new meaning and making connections between dreams and our social context.
Ode to the eggsafter Pablo Neruda
Fields,
beaches,
ponds,
and trees
sing
as you
fall
on twigs
and bridles,
feathers,
moss,
sludge,
and sandbanks.
You hug
in groups
of seven,
thirteen,
or fifty-three.
Fragile
and immobile,
you lie
side by side,
defying
your
hungry
predators.
Brown
patches
or turquoise
patterns
become
a soft
embrace,
an act
of camouflage
that protects
your
burgeons
of life
from
our greedy
hands
and
growling
stomachs—
nothing
can stop
our appetite
for
the
vital
protein
running
inside
the elliptical
shape
of your chalky
beige
shells.
In the protected
space
of your
nesting
nature,
your viscous
substance
creates—
a
beating
heart,
followed
by
blood
vessels,
a tail bud,
wings and legs,
eyes,
brains,
beaks and claws,
feathers and scales.
After days
or weeks
or months,
you crack—
in the fields,
and in the trees,
on beaches
and in the reeds,
creatures
crawl,
squawk
and walk
tasting
the air
and the
nourishing
juice
of
food.
Now
rack
and ruin
you stay
behind
as little
dirty
white dots,
composing
compost,
sand
and soil.
Carried
along by
flowing
water,
you become
fertile
ground,
sediments,
and the source
of a new
cycle
of
life.
Morning glory
For K.P.
I was queuing this morning to buy bread
at the boulangerie, when I saw a
man dragging his dog; he had done a shit,
the man grabbed it, and I watched how he
absorbed his disgust as he felt the waste’s
warmth come through the thin plastic layer shielding
his skin from the shit, which now stunk
inside the blue bag. Further down the street,
I saw the man stop by a tree. It seemed
tired, its leaves already in free fall,
leaning against a brick wall covered in
moss. Now the man looked around
anxiously, his brown eyes staring but not
seeing me nor the tree; his hands shaking
faintly in his khaki jacket too big
for his body. He dropped the blue plastic
bag full of shit on the ground, looking around
one more time. I wished he had left the shit
alone. Now it was our own blue shit
that I saw, soiling
the earth by the copper beech tree.
Gathering scholars working in political science and international relations and whose work enact visual arts, performance, photography, sound, and narrative writing, this roundtable addresses the power of creative and visual methods when doing critical work in political science and international relations.
The aim of this roundtable is to discuss why it matters to include creative and visual methods when doing political analysis; how creative methods work in the interplay between research, theory, and communication strategies; what are their potentials, and what are their limits?
Speakers:
Marie Beauchamps (host and coordinator) Marie Skłodowska-Curie postdoc fellow, School of Politics and International Relations, Queen Mary University of London. Website: http://mobilisingaffects.org/
Yoav Galai Formerly a photojournalist, now Lecturer in Global Political Communication at Royal Holloway, University of London. Website: https://yoavgalai.com/
Ruben van de Ven Artist and PhD candidate in Political Science at the Institute of Political Science, Leiden University. Website: https://rubenvandeven.com/
Raz Weiner Theatre maker, performer and researcher of the politics of performance, Queen Mary University of London.
L’amour, c’est de ne pas avoir peur du vide, d’oser entrer dans le néant. L’amour, c’est ce moment d’écriture engagée dans le temps. Certains l’appellent écriture automatique.
Image: Autonomous artists anonymous
« Donne-moi ta plume pour écrire un mot. » La générosité de cette comptine est peut-être au centre de l’activité de l’écrivain.e. Parfois, on a besoin de la plume d’un.e autre pour pouvoir écrire. Ou tout du moins, on croit avoir besoin de la plume d’un.e autre pour pouvoir écrire. Mais finalement, ce n’est pas la plume que l’on trouve, mais un cœur à qui se confier, une âme sœur peut-être. L’écriture s’arrête alors pour le moment d’un câlin. Ce qui reste c’est une connivence, un moment de partage. La porte s’est refermée, on ne les voit plus. Ce que l’on peut voir, c’est notre imagination. Deux corps qui s’étreignent, deux souffles qui mergent en un souffle pour le moment de l’étreinte. Un sourire qui nait, un soupir qui souffle les heures, les jours, les semaines d’angoisse emmagasinées dans le corps, là, juste au dessous du plexus solaire. Ce sont des choses banales, mais même les choses banales se transforment en tension. Le pain trop dur trouvé au petit matin. Le thé tiède. L’eau qui ne chauffe pas, ou qui est trop chaude et brule le bout de mes doigts. Le rythme de la langue qui tremble et qui claque, qui s’élance et se cramponne au dernier morceau de ligne, au dernier son de la tirade à peine entamée. Qu’est-ce qui pourrait apporter de la joie dans ce cocktail de détails oubliés sur le rebord de la fenêtre ? J’entends la voix de Christian Bobin interjeter le texte. « L’amour, c’est un morceau de soleil oublié sur un mur, c’est un fantôme en robe bleue. » L’amour, c’est un éclair qui caresse la peau. L’amour, c’est une étreinte qui ne serre pas. L’amour, c’est le coup de marteau qui nous révèle un monde juste à porté de main, jusque là caché par un rideau d’inquiétudes. L’amour, c’est l’endurance de la dance, la sueur de la valse qui n’en finit pas de tourner. L’amour, c’est le son qui s’estompe pour se transformer en vibrations internes. Ces vibrations qui révèlent le cœur sous la poitrine, qui éveillent un frisson oublié au coin d’une côte brisée. L’amour, c’est l’envie d’en faire encore un peu plus, le monde n’est jamais trop plein d’histoires, il en faut toujours plus pour révéler nos vies et nos destins. L’amour, c’est de ne pas avoir peur du vide, d’oser entrer dans le néant. L’amour, c’est ce moment d’écriture engagée dans le temps. Certains l’appellent écriture automatique, moi je l’appelle écriture créative. Écriture tout court, parce que finalement, écrire, c’est écouter son cœur, c’est-à-dire, écouter les vibrations de mes os qui se mettent à chanter. Mes os se sont mit à chanter par un samedi après- midi brumeux. Je marchais sur la route, portant mon poids en traversant la rivière, tombant sur les pierres. Leur chant se mit à gonfler comme une éponge, absorbant le sol, épongeant le flot, transformant le vent qui tombait sur les arbres de ma trachée…C’est un de mes poèmes qui résonne ici. Écoutez-le en entier, c’est par ici.
