A wonderful part of the story of this hugely successful play is missing from this Guardian article. Sure, part of being a designer is being in the background, but in this case, it’s not just us; it’s a wonderful collaborative effort involving thousands of members of the public.
Simon Daw and I, then working under the collective name Scale, were approached by Duncan and George to create an installation to accompany readings of the short story that would eventually become Every Brilliant Thing. If memory serves, it was then called Sleeve Notes. We assembled a team of volunteers at our studio to write the list.
The installation was then shown at the Village Underground in Shoreditch, East London, as part of a club night, the name of which I’ve now forgotten. People were encouraged to add to the list. I have no idea how many did, but it was quite a lot.
At some point, a Facebook group was set up to generate more items for the list. There are around 5000 entries.
The piece was also taken to the Latitude Festival, where, again, the public was invited to add to the list.
Performers from other projects were invited to come and read the monologue.
There’s also a picture of Simon and me looking alarmingly young. (He’s on the left, I’m centre.)
Obviously, I am delighted with the play’s success, which is absolutely deserved. I’ve worked with Duncan a few times, and he is definitely brilliant himself. But it seems a shame to miss out on the fantastic collective effort that was a small but wonderful part of Every Brilliant Thing’s story. Perhaps it also reveals something about the individualistic way in which we think about creativity.
When I’m not designing shows for other people, I run a company called Daedalus, which makes work co-creatively, giving space to a multiplicity of voices. Our current focus is queer ecology and environmental justice. We’ve also done a lot around refugees and immigration. I wonder if the world might be better if collective, co-creative work was given the same respect as individual artistic achievement.
To end, in a spirit of acknowledging who did what, here are some terrible photos of the credits from Latitude:
Paul Burgess 