"Spiders in COVID Space: more stories of adapting to unwanted change" is an anthology of articles about inspiring pivots made during the COVID-19 pandemic. The series is a sequel to, and draws on the 11 adaptive traits identified in, the bestselling book Spiders in Space: Successfully Adapting to Unwanted Change by Todd Hirsch and Robert Roach (2017).
The spiders in the title were sent into space by NASA to see if they could spin webs without the aid of gravity. After some false starts, they adapted to the new conditions and were able to spin brand new structures of webs in a totally different environment. The pandemic has presented all of us with a wide range of situations where our gravity has been taken away.
This series has two goals:
Enjoy these stories of adaptability!
- Todd and Rob
The spiders in the title were sent into space by NASA to see if they could spin webs without the aid of gravity. After some false starts, they adapted to the new conditions and were able to spin brand new structures of webs in a totally different environment. The pandemic has presented all of us with a wide range of situations where our gravity has been taken away.
This series has two goals:
- to share some inspirational examples of adapting to change during COVID-19; and
- to revisit the adaptive traits outlined in our book to see if they still apply and, in turn, be of use to others who've lost their gravity in the pandemic.
Enjoy these stories of adaptability!
- Todd and Rob
Building the plane while flying it
Engaging artists living with disabilities during the pandemic
An interview with the Indefinite Arts Centre
Jung-Suk (JS) Ryu, Chief Executive Officer and Karly Mortimer, Director, Artist and Program Development
21-SEP-2020
______________________________________________________________
Unwanted change is, by definition, something you don’t seek out. Often the best you can do when it comes along is weather the storm and try to repair the damage when, and if, the storm subsides.
But sometimes the adaptive process provoked by unwanted change leads to a positive outcome that may not otherwise come to pass. It’s not the disruption that deserves the credit, but how we respond to it.
Take Calgary’s Indefinite Arts Centre (IAC), a nonprofit organization that facilitates the creative expression of over 300 artists living with developmental and physical disabilities through training, mentorship, studio space, exhibitions and other programs. Housed in a repurposed community centre, IAC is a hub where creative people gather to work and support one another.
At least it was.
Suddenly, gathering in an art studio was no longer an option. The pandemic had come to Alberta and the flurry of in-person activities had to stop. IAC,or at least its physical space,was on lockdown.
One option—and not an unreasonable one—would have been to say “well, that’s that” and simply wait for the pandemic-related restrictions to be lifted so the programming could resume.
There were a bunch of reasons this was a non-starter.
First, knowing that the artists receive a tremendous amount of value from the programs, the team at IAC did not want to cancel them and wait for things to get back to normal. Second, as an organization that gets paid to deliver programs, mothballing them would mean no jobs for the staff. If the group is not delivering programs, it would be tough to argue for funding to continue. And given the always tenuous nature of government funding, there was also the fear that a temporary closure could turn into a permanent one.
It was time to adapt.
What they knew how to do—deliver programs to artists living with disabilities in person at a physical location—was off the table. Like the spiders NASA sent into space to see if they could spin webs without the aid of gravity, the team at IAC had to figure out a new approach. And fast.
“The whole proposition of building webs depends on gravity. At IAC, our whole proposition depended on gathering together in the same building. That was the thing that was removed. I definitely feel like a spider in space.”
Who are you? Who, who, who, who?
As luck would have it, the team at IAC had recently gone through a fruitful strategic planning process that gave them a solid understanding of their core story, which just happens to be one of the 11 characteristics of successful adapters explored in Spiders in Space.
They concluded that IAC was much more than a basic day program at which persons living with disabilities are dropped off to do crafts for a few hours.
“Rather than thinking of our participants as clients—which is what we called them at the time—we recognized that what they are doing is art, so they should be called artists. Each of them is on a creative journey, developing and advancing their artistic practice, and what they need is to be supported on that journey by fellow artists. We wanted to be the Banff Centre for artists living with disabilities.”
Knowing their core story made it clear that they had to find ways to truly engage with their artists during the lockdown. As the centre’s CEO, JS Ryu, put it: “We couldn’t just do Zoom.”
Video meetings via Zoom or some other platform can be very useful and make a great deal of sense during a pandemic, but they are not a sufficient way of supporting the creative development of artists. This challenge was compounded by the fact that not all of IAC’s artists were adept at using computers or had the right equipment or connectivity at home.
After an initial sense of panic, the team at IAC had the insight to ask themselves: What are the non-negotiables?
“We immediately thought there is a culture and a connectedness at IAC that cannot go away. Everything else—every assumption—was on the table. There was, for example, this idea that artists with disabilities don’t handle change very well. We were wrong about that! And it made us realize that we were being too careful with them on an artistic level as well. We were always advocates of their choice and agency, but we realized that, like all artists, they need to be challenged. The artistic development we’ve seen as a result has been huge.”
With their core story shining like a neon sign in the dark, the team created over half a dozen new programs and hit the launch button within just 10 days of their physical space closing.
“We took it down to the individual level. We know this particular artist is not going to be able to participate online, so what do they need to be creative and stay connected? For this artist, it’s calling her on the phone and sending her materials she can work with at home. For another, it’s sending hand-written letters and asking for a response.”
Drawing inspiration from the Fluxus art movement of the 1960s and ‘70s, one of the new programs involves packing and delivering Flux kits to the artists at their homes. The kits contain a range of materials that the artists use to complete a project.
To make online sessions possible, the team did everything from getting equipment donated to stopping by artists’ homes to help them get their Wi-Fi working. Through hard work—another, perhaps obvious, but still critically important, adaptive trait—about 95% of the artists are now able to take part in virtual programming.
The creation and implementation of the new approaches also relied heavily on the adaptive trait we refer to as open-mindedness. Simply put, adapters need to step back and see the possibilities. If the team at IAC looked at the problem and said “there’s no alternative to conducting or work in person as a group” or “this is too much change for our artists to handle,” there would be no article to write as IAC would have closed down or, at best, offered a few half-hearted versions of their programming online.
The open-mindedness required to adapt and actually thrive rather than just survive is also evident in how the IAC team came to see that the artists were not just recipients of programming, but leaders with a lot to offer other artists and the broader community.
“We came to appreciate that our artists are leaders. We learned a lot about the social isolation that persons living with disabilities have to deal with all the time. As a result, they can help us figure out how to navigate through the pandemic.”
One way that IAC is highlighting the voices and leadership skills of their artists is through an interview series that asks them how they are staying creative, inspired and connected during the pandemic. The results will provide a valuable resource for other artists and the general public.
The IAC team is also asking the artists for their advice on the future redevelopment of workshops, how to make online engagement work, and the themes they want to explore and. Listening in this way is what makes open-mindedness truly effective.
It’s important to note that being open-minded doesn’t mean that every hairbrained idea should be pursued. From the stories of adapting we’ve collected, it’s clear that you have to think big, but you also have to be practical. We call this adaptive trait realistic faith. If you think small in the face of fundamental or large-scale change, it’s like shooting arrows at a tank. But if your dream is unrealistic, disappointment is certain.
“We asked ourselves: how can we be smart about this opportunity? We looked at art history— artists have always overcome challenges.”
In IAC’s case, they thought big when it came to maintaining meaningful engagement with their artists, but they understood that doing so would still have to comply with public health restrictions and their budget. “Let’s buy an island, isolate ourselves there, and create a self-sustaining commune for artists until this blows over” might sound nutty. That’s because it is. When it comes to adapting to change, being realistic is as important as aiming high.
Mmmm, this is good lemonade
As with so many other cases of adapting to unwanted change, a number of unexpected benefits materialized.
“Prior to the pandemic, our artists tended to have a set routine when they came to the studio. This is where I sit, these are the materials I use, this is when I take my break, this is who I interact with. When these routines were disrupted by working virtually and using the materials in the Flux Kits, the social and artistic development has been incredible. They are working with the studio facilitators and each other in different ways—ways that involve more communication, more sharing and more mutual support.”
Karly finds that there is more meaningful engagement happening online than when the physical space was in use.
“We feel more of a sense of community as 10 people on Zoom than we did when we were 30 people in together in the studio.”
The IAC team is now asking themselves how they can retain this enhanced sense of community and the artistic motivation that arises from new and difficult situations after the pandemic. One way they are planning to do this is by not being afraid to challenge the artists to work together more.
Another glass of delicious lemonade made from the pandemic’s rather sour lemons is a greater degree of trust among the IAC team.
The new level of trust was generated by a conscious effort to be more positive, focus on what can be done, celebrate success and share the risk. There was a clear sense that they were all in it together rather than working on separate projects. Experimentation, “failing for the right reasons,” and making sure everyone was included in the conversation were encouraged and reinforced the sense of trust.
“We decided to focus on the opportunities instead of what wasn’t working and this energy has driven us forward. We go around the room at our morning meetings and talk about what we can accomplish and what we need from each other. Then, at our meetings at the end of the day, we share our wins. We communicate with each differently than we did before and this allows us to be more creative. We are stronger today because we know how to trust each other more as a team.”
Getting the right people on the boat
One of the most brutal things we learned talking with successful adapters is that if you don’t have the right people on your boat, you’re dead in the water. Nothing will kibosh moving forward than members of your team who are unable or unwilling to adapt. This doesn’t mean that there won’t be disagreements along the way, but it does mean that everyone has to be willing to chip in, go along with experiments, stay open minded and support the core story or they have to be let off at the first port of call you can find.
In IAC’s case, this happened before COVID-19. As the organization embraced its role as an arts organization focused on artists and their development rather than a social service providing craft time for persons living with developmental disabilities, it became apparent that a new team with the right skills and a shared vision needed to be assembled. And this is what IAC did. Staff who embraced the new vision and had the skills to pursue it were brought on and old staff that didn’t get the core story were let go. As a result, when it came time to deal with the lockdown, the right people were already on the boat.
“It picked up steam and went well because we had put the right people on the boat long before the pandemic.”
The new IAC team was already battle hardened going into the pandemic by a previous spiders in space moment. The unwanted change came in the form of having to vacate their facility after the adjacent arena’s roof collapsed in February 2018. The programs were moved to a temporary site for six months while the old building was made safe. Unfortunately, the temporary space was not particularly accessible and added to the long list of challenges created by moving to a temporary location.
The roof collapse was one of the spurs urging forward the strategic planning process. The loss of their space got them thinking about their core story and some important “what if” scenarios.
“We weren’t preparing for a pandemic by any means, but were thinking through how to deal with an uncertain future.”
These conversations came in handy when they once again found themselves without a physical space they could use.
The importance of passion
Sometimes it’s best to forget about adapting to unwanted change and just move on. This is especially true if your heart's not in it.
Say you own a business that’s failing. When you started it 20 years ago, you loved every minute of what you were doing even though it was stressful and hard work. You have some decent ideas about how to turn things around, but you desperately want to do something else. In this situation, the passion required to propel you through a difficult adapting process is not in play and you are likely to fail.
If there is one thing that is clear about the team at IAC is that they are passionate about the work they do and the community they serve.
“The pandemic has made me feel even stronger about why we exist and that we are a place where great art takes place. Our artists are an integral part of the art community and supporting them in this matters a great deal. And the message we have received from our artists and family members is that these programs mean the world to them.”
Leading the way
Out of the 11 adaptive traits we identified in Spiders in Space, the Indefinite Arts Centre exhibits all of them and then some. The trust generated, and relied on, by the IAC team as they navigated the unchartered waters of life during COVID is an adaptive trait we didn’t dig into in the book. Trusting one another is integral to embracing risk and demonstrating leadership—both of which are evident in how the IAC team dealt with the loss of their physical space. But it stands out in the IAC example as an adaptive trait on its own and one that can, and should, be consciously cultivated when facing unwanted change.
Rebuilding a team, defining a core story, creating space for experimentation and taking risks, and establishing trust requires another important adaptive trait: leadership. With about a dozen staff, IAC benefits in this regard by being small. It’s easier to include everyone in a conversation about what’s next when you can all fit on one Zoom screen than among a team of hundreds or even thousands. But a small team comes with its own challenges, including the expectation that everyone will be involved.
Prior to the pandemic, there was a lot of energy put into a vision for new physical space that would truly meet IAC’s needs. Mid-COVID, the spiders at IAC are wondering if there are other factors and possibilities to consider. They still need to spin some new webs, but the designs might be different this time around.
“There is a willingness to potentially change tactics. Our big idea was a new building—a new physical space—but given what we’ve learned during the lockdown, is this the end all and be all?”
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We’d like to say a big thankyou to JS Ryu and Karly Mortimer for taking the time to share IAC’s story of adapting with us. We also want to thank the rest of the IAC team and the hundreds of artists living with developmental and physical disabilities who have had to do a lot of their own adapting during this difficult time.
If you would like a hard copy of Spiders in Space: Successfully Adapting to Unwanted Change, visit the "ABOUT TODD" tab at the top of the page and go to BOOKS. An ebook version is also available from Amazon.
Smile for the camera
An interview with Neil Zeller of Neil Zeller Photography
15-SEP-2020
“I had my car packed and was headed to Saskatoon to be the photographer for the winners at the Junos,” he says with a hint of regret. For Neil Zeller, it was an incredible opportunity, one that would doubtless have vaulted his photographic career higher.
But like a lot of things in 2020, it didn’t happen.
“I got to the end of my block when the phone rang. It was the Junos saying: it's over, we're done.” The same pandemic that had cancelled events around the world had also kiboshed Canada’s largest music awards and celebration.
“That was the first of many many dominoes that fell,” Zeller says. He wasn’t alone, of course. But for someone whose livelihood requires being in close proximity to his subjects, Zeller watched helplessly as the pandemic slammed the brakes hard on his business.
Zeller wasn’t always in photography. For 14 years he sold office furniture for a major dealership, and was quite successful. But then, as he describes it, he had a “midlife creative” (as opposed to a midlife crisis).
He chose to learn photography. “It kind of went from there. My business built up with a focus on major events photography, corporate and commercial photos, lifestyle photos, headshots and food products.”
“Five or six years ago, I started teaching photography as well. I taught six or seven beginner classes where I’d do a weekend course with eight people at a time, and then I started touring them all over the world—places like Tanzania and the Arctic and all over Alberta and Saskatchewan,” says Zeller.
“We had some very cool experiences.”
And 2020 was supposed to be the best year yet. With both he and his wife Traci working as employees for Neil Zeller Photography Corp, the stars were aligning, especially with the opportunity at the Juno Awards.
For Zeller, like a lot of small business operators during COVID, the shut-down of large portions of the economy created a tremendous financial challenge.
“That's the hardest thing. It wasn't just cancelling a tour, it was refunding the money for the tour registrations. I was supposed to be in the Arctic for 10 days, floating up the Mackenzie River Delta on a river boat, staying in whaling camps with this photography tour that I was hosting.” But it was all cancelled, so Zeller refunded the money. And when or how that revenue would be replaced remained a daunting question.
The pivot
As the pandemic set in, Zeller was forced to think differently.
“The idea crossed my mind to do something to memorialize the time,” he says. “A colleague in Yellowknife started taking just a few photos of people and families through their windows. When I spotted that, I texted a friend down the street, ran down to her place, and took her photo. I texted another friend on the other end of the block and took her photo,” he says.
“Isolation portraits is what I called it. People saw it and said ‘this is great’ and it took off! It created kind of a worldwide stir.”
Aside from having your picture taken from your porch or behind a plate glass window, what made the concept even more unusual is that it was free. But that may have also contributed to its huge success.
“If you want me to come to your house and capture this time, it's free. There's a donation button and I suggested that if they have the money, they can donate $25.” And people did donate. “We survived because of it.” It wasn’t the income he was earning pre-COVID, but it was enough to keep his business and his family going.
But rather than being proprietary about the idea, Zeller did the opposite: he shared his method and ideas with other photographers without charge. Soon, dozens of other photographers in Calgary were doing the same thing. “I was booking 10 to 20 of these families a day! But there's 350,000 families in Calgary,so there's no way I'm going to get around to everybody. There's still a waiting list.”
The project caught the media’s attention with stories on the local news and in the paper. Social media picked up on it too—photos of families on their lawns, through patio windows, rolling around on the grass with their pets, both beautiful and a bit haunting. The images capture the joy of family and also the sadness of isolation. The ability to harness tension in this way—to see, live in and embrace the contradictions and liminal space between different options and outcomes is a critically important adaptive trait.
The photos were good. So good, in fact, that they caught the attention of The Glenbow Museum. During the pandemic, the museum had asked people to send letters and stories of their life during COVID, to capture for posterity the impact it had on the city and the province. Neil sent in his letter and included some of the pictures he’d taken. And with the national and international attention his work was attracting on social media, it gave the curators at the Glenbow an idea.
A proper museum show of his work, entitled “Porchraits: Calgary Families in Isolation During COVID-19” opened on September 5. “The images reflect the diversity of lived experience in Calgary during this time, showing our resilience and the importance of family and friendship to get us through turbulent times,” says the museum’s website.
The project is also going to be made into a book, featuring photos of over 330 families and some of their life-during-COVID stories.
But not only are the photos themselves museum-worthy pieces of art, there was other beauty in the project: bringing families together in a moment of crisis and anxiety.
“The goal was to make it an excellent moment,” Zeller reflects. “People were living in fear, everybody down each other's throats at home, they're in a weird place. We are stuck here. We can't travel. Everything's cancelled. So my goal was to give them a moment when they could forget the pandemic, a moment of joy in this never ending news cycle, this never ending monotony.”
“I became a dog whisperer,” he laughs. “I understand dogs so well now because of this. I created a way to let their dogs relax in these photos and become a part of the family portrait, without stress. In the case of little kids, let's let the little kid be the art director of this, you know — ‘follow whatever this three year old does!’ Beautiful family photos of them rolling around on the grass. Puppies were the same way.”
“One of my son’s teachers reached out to me and said ‘we're really sad that we can't come down to see your show at the Glenbow.’” The COVID restrictions had prevented student field trips, so a class outing to the Glenbow wasn’t possible.
“And I said, well it's ironic because if it wasn't for the pandemic, I won’t have a show at the Glenbow at all! The reason that you can't come down is the same reason for the show,” says Zeller with a chuckle.
The project connected Zeller with his community in a new way, and even though he earned far less income than before the pandemic, it raised his awareness of supporting the local business community.
“We will work hard to spend our money locally on a small business and we've created really neat habits around shopping at local butchers and local cheese shops and local breweries,” he says.
Tough times
Yet for all the success, media attention and even major museum exhibition the project has brought, Zeller doesn’t mince words. “This might be a shock,” he jokes. “But I do not like COVID-19.”
“It was supposed to be a banner year, it’s so disappointing and depressing to have to watch that wash away. It's just been a battle every day to try to reinvent yourself and start from zero.”
“I never took a single photo for myself in four months. My hobby is wildlife and nature photography. And I don't have a single photo other than portraits of these families. I would come home exhausted. And there were days I hated photography and I hated this portrait thing because we had to do it, it was something that we were forced to do.”
“It was a chore for a while.”
Traits of a successful spider
One of the traits of successful adapters, as identified in the original Spiders in Space book, is that pivoting is hard work. There’s no short-cut. There’s no easy recipe for adapting to unwanted change. It’s tough, grinding work. And Zeller’s story highlights this clearly.
“This is the most amount of work, this is the hardest I’ve ever had to work, for the least amount of money,” says Zeller, reflecting back on the early days of the project. “I’d wake up almost in tears every day, it was such hard work.”
But another important trait of adapting to change from Spiders in Space also comes into play: successful adapters seek help and take it.
Neil’s wife Traci, who also works for the company, and his 13-year-old son Andrew were incredibly helpful and supportive throughout the pandemic as Neil shifted his business.
“I give full credit to my wife and son. Traci would see my mood and activity level, how grumpy I was, and she would make me laugh. She’d make these beautiful adult Lunchables—we'd go to the cheese shop and buy some meats and cheeses and crackers and she built me these beautiful lunches to eat while zipping around town taking the pictures.”
And for all the grief of watching his photographic business unravel as the pandemic set in, Zeller knows that he is also fortunate to have support within the community. “I have that backing me and that's what saved me. I don't think it'd be possible without that network supporting me and uplifting me,” he says.
Neil’s passion for photography was also a key factor. Years earlier, he had looked inward and discovered that his core story was about taking pictures rather than selling office furniture (not that there’s anything wrong with selling office furniture!). This clarity and the drive to make that core story come to life is evident throughout the Porchraits project.
Neil had to power through something that was not always fun and put on a brave face—no one wants their photographer to show up looking broken and exhausted. This is an example of the mental toughness exhibited by successful adapters.
The cool quotient
The Porchraits show at the Glenbow was significant for Zeller as a professional photographer and artist, something he describes as “a true pinnacle” of his career thus far. “I don't think I'll ever be able to fully understand the benefits to me because of it,” he says.
But perhaps even better for Zeller is the “cool quotient” that the museum show has given him in the eyes of his 13-year-old son Andrew.
“My son is so proud of me because he goes to the Glenbow every year. He goes through an inquiry-based learning style of school, so they're out at these places all the time, and he knows that the Glenbow is important. He’s just so proud of me!”
When the Glenbow show opened, Zeller and his family were treated to an advanced tour of the exhibit. “We got to walk around an hour before the public came in. My mom, dad and sister were also with us. And you know how they display the title of the show and the artist’s name in vinyl letters on the wall? When we came up the elevator and walked around the corner and saw that, all six of us started bawling.”
Say cheese!
Neil Zeller’s story of pivoting in the face of a pandemic is not only inspiring, it’s also instructive.
To pivot, you don’t need to come up with a ground-breaking idea on your own. Zeller credits his friend in Yellowknife for giving him the idea. But you do need to be open minded enough to recognize the possibilities and have the entrepreneurial spirit to act on it, which is what Zeller did.
Forced to abandon his traditional photographic work, he took up the isolation portraits project out of necessity. It was arduous work—and he admits that, at times, he hated it. He felt discouraged that he couldn’t take photos of the things he loved, but was forced to pivot under a new reality.
He endured long work hours for little pay, but leaned on the support of this family and his professional network to get by.
But ultimately the project brought him joy. It also brought him a major museum exhibit, national attention, a greater sense of community and the enormous pride of his teenage son. As we argue in Spiders in Space, it may be a cliche, but you can make lemons from lemons.
Perhaps most significant to his success in this pivot is the fact that Zeller always gave back. He didn’t even charge for the photo sessions, asking only that the families consider a donation to help supplement his income. And he shared his “isolation portraits” concept and methods freely with other photographers, encouraging them to get in on it rather than being possessive of the idea. You reap what you sow. This is the essence of another adaptive trait: leadership. In this way, Porchraits has helped not just Neil and his family during the pandemic, but thousands of others as well.
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We’d like to say thanks to Neil for taking the time to share his story of adapting with us. Click here to learn more about Neil’s Porchraits show at the Glenbow Museum.
If you would like a hard copy of Spiders in Space: Successfully Adapting to Unwanted Change, visit the "ABOUT TODD" tab at the top of the page and go to BOOKS. An ebook version is also available from Amazon.
Engaging artists living with disabilities during the pandemic
An interview with the Indefinite Arts Centre
Jung-Suk (JS) Ryu, Chief Executive Officer and Karly Mortimer, Director, Artist and Program Development
21-SEP-2020
______________________________________________________________
Unwanted change is, by definition, something you don’t seek out. Often the best you can do when it comes along is weather the storm and try to repair the damage when, and if, the storm subsides.
But sometimes the adaptive process provoked by unwanted change leads to a positive outcome that may not otherwise come to pass. It’s not the disruption that deserves the credit, but how we respond to it.
Take Calgary’s Indefinite Arts Centre (IAC), a nonprofit organization that facilitates the creative expression of over 300 artists living with developmental and physical disabilities through training, mentorship, studio space, exhibitions and other programs. Housed in a repurposed community centre, IAC is a hub where creative people gather to work and support one another.
At least it was.
Suddenly, gathering in an art studio was no longer an option. The pandemic had come to Alberta and the flurry of in-person activities had to stop. IAC,or at least its physical space,was on lockdown.
One option—and not an unreasonable one—would have been to say “well, that’s that” and simply wait for the pandemic-related restrictions to be lifted so the programming could resume.
There were a bunch of reasons this was a non-starter.
First, knowing that the artists receive a tremendous amount of value from the programs, the team at IAC did not want to cancel them and wait for things to get back to normal. Second, as an organization that gets paid to deliver programs, mothballing them would mean no jobs for the staff. If the group is not delivering programs, it would be tough to argue for funding to continue. And given the always tenuous nature of government funding, there was also the fear that a temporary closure could turn into a permanent one.
It was time to adapt.
What they knew how to do—deliver programs to artists living with disabilities in person at a physical location—was off the table. Like the spiders NASA sent into space to see if they could spin webs without the aid of gravity, the team at IAC had to figure out a new approach. And fast.
“The whole proposition of building webs depends on gravity. At IAC, our whole proposition depended on gathering together in the same building. That was the thing that was removed. I definitely feel like a spider in space.”
Who are you? Who, who, who, who?
As luck would have it, the team at IAC had recently gone through a fruitful strategic planning process that gave them a solid understanding of their core story, which just happens to be one of the 11 characteristics of successful adapters explored in Spiders in Space.
They concluded that IAC was much more than a basic day program at which persons living with disabilities are dropped off to do crafts for a few hours.
“Rather than thinking of our participants as clients—which is what we called them at the time—we recognized that what they are doing is art, so they should be called artists. Each of them is on a creative journey, developing and advancing their artistic practice, and what they need is to be supported on that journey by fellow artists. We wanted to be the Banff Centre for artists living with disabilities.”
Knowing their core story made it clear that they had to find ways to truly engage with their artists during the lockdown. As the centre’s CEO, JS Ryu, put it: “We couldn’t just do Zoom.”
Video meetings via Zoom or some other platform can be very useful and make a great deal of sense during a pandemic, but they are not a sufficient way of supporting the creative development of artists. This challenge was compounded by the fact that not all of IAC’s artists were adept at using computers or had the right equipment or connectivity at home.
After an initial sense of panic, the team at IAC had the insight to ask themselves: What are the non-negotiables?
“We immediately thought there is a culture and a connectedness at IAC that cannot go away. Everything else—every assumption—was on the table. There was, for example, this idea that artists with disabilities don’t handle change very well. We were wrong about that! And it made us realize that we were being too careful with them on an artistic level as well. We were always advocates of their choice and agency, but we realized that, like all artists, they need to be challenged. The artistic development we’ve seen as a result has been huge.”
With their core story shining like a neon sign in the dark, the team created over half a dozen new programs and hit the launch button within just 10 days of their physical space closing.
“We took it down to the individual level. We know this particular artist is not going to be able to participate online, so what do they need to be creative and stay connected? For this artist, it’s calling her on the phone and sending her materials she can work with at home. For another, it’s sending hand-written letters and asking for a response.”
Drawing inspiration from the Fluxus art movement of the 1960s and ‘70s, one of the new programs involves packing and delivering Flux kits to the artists at their homes. The kits contain a range of materials that the artists use to complete a project.
To make online sessions possible, the team did everything from getting equipment donated to stopping by artists’ homes to help them get their Wi-Fi working. Through hard work—another, perhaps obvious, but still critically important, adaptive trait—about 95% of the artists are now able to take part in virtual programming.
The creation and implementation of the new approaches also relied heavily on the adaptive trait we refer to as open-mindedness. Simply put, adapters need to step back and see the possibilities. If the team at IAC looked at the problem and said “there’s no alternative to conducting or work in person as a group” or “this is too much change for our artists to handle,” there would be no article to write as IAC would have closed down or, at best, offered a few half-hearted versions of their programming online.
The open-mindedness required to adapt and actually thrive rather than just survive is also evident in how the IAC team came to see that the artists were not just recipients of programming, but leaders with a lot to offer other artists and the broader community.
“We came to appreciate that our artists are leaders. We learned a lot about the social isolation that persons living with disabilities have to deal with all the time. As a result, they can help us figure out how to navigate through the pandemic.”
One way that IAC is highlighting the voices and leadership skills of their artists is through an interview series that asks them how they are staying creative, inspired and connected during the pandemic. The results will provide a valuable resource for other artists and the general public.
The IAC team is also asking the artists for their advice on the future redevelopment of workshops, how to make online engagement work, and the themes they want to explore and. Listening in this way is what makes open-mindedness truly effective.
It’s important to note that being open-minded doesn’t mean that every hairbrained idea should be pursued. From the stories of adapting we’ve collected, it’s clear that you have to think big, but you also have to be practical. We call this adaptive trait realistic faith. If you think small in the face of fundamental or large-scale change, it’s like shooting arrows at a tank. But if your dream is unrealistic, disappointment is certain.
“We asked ourselves: how can we be smart about this opportunity? We looked at art history— artists have always overcome challenges.”
In IAC’s case, they thought big when it came to maintaining meaningful engagement with their artists, but they understood that doing so would still have to comply with public health restrictions and their budget. “Let’s buy an island, isolate ourselves there, and create a self-sustaining commune for artists until this blows over” might sound nutty. That’s because it is. When it comes to adapting to change, being realistic is as important as aiming high.
Mmmm, this is good lemonade
As with so many other cases of adapting to unwanted change, a number of unexpected benefits materialized.
“Prior to the pandemic, our artists tended to have a set routine when they came to the studio. This is where I sit, these are the materials I use, this is when I take my break, this is who I interact with. When these routines were disrupted by working virtually and using the materials in the Flux Kits, the social and artistic development has been incredible. They are working with the studio facilitators and each other in different ways—ways that involve more communication, more sharing and more mutual support.”
Karly finds that there is more meaningful engagement happening online than when the physical space was in use.
“We feel more of a sense of community as 10 people on Zoom than we did when we were 30 people in together in the studio.”
The IAC team is now asking themselves how they can retain this enhanced sense of community and the artistic motivation that arises from new and difficult situations after the pandemic. One way they are planning to do this is by not being afraid to challenge the artists to work together more.
Another glass of delicious lemonade made from the pandemic’s rather sour lemons is a greater degree of trust among the IAC team.
The new level of trust was generated by a conscious effort to be more positive, focus on what can be done, celebrate success and share the risk. There was a clear sense that they were all in it together rather than working on separate projects. Experimentation, “failing for the right reasons,” and making sure everyone was included in the conversation were encouraged and reinforced the sense of trust.
“We decided to focus on the opportunities instead of what wasn’t working and this energy has driven us forward. We go around the room at our morning meetings and talk about what we can accomplish and what we need from each other. Then, at our meetings at the end of the day, we share our wins. We communicate with each differently than we did before and this allows us to be more creative. We are stronger today because we know how to trust each other more as a team.”
Getting the right people on the boat
One of the most brutal things we learned talking with successful adapters is that if you don’t have the right people on your boat, you’re dead in the water. Nothing will kibosh moving forward than members of your team who are unable or unwilling to adapt. This doesn’t mean that there won’t be disagreements along the way, but it does mean that everyone has to be willing to chip in, go along with experiments, stay open minded and support the core story or they have to be let off at the first port of call you can find.
In IAC’s case, this happened before COVID-19. As the organization embraced its role as an arts organization focused on artists and their development rather than a social service providing craft time for persons living with developmental disabilities, it became apparent that a new team with the right skills and a shared vision needed to be assembled. And this is what IAC did. Staff who embraced the new vision and had the skills to pursue it were brought on and old staff that didn’t get the core story were let go. As a result, when it came time to deal with the lockdown, the right people were already on the boat.
“It picked up steam and went well because we had put the right people on the boat long before the pandemic.”
The new IAC team was already battle hardened going into the pandemic by a previous spiders in space moment. The unwanted change came in the form of having to vacate their facility after the adjacent arena’s roof collapsed in February 2018. The programs were moved to a temporary site for six months while the old building was made safe. Unfortunately, the temporary space was not particularly accessible and added to the long list of challenges created by moving to a temporary location.
The roof collapse was one of the spurs urging forward the strategic planning process. The loss of their space got them thinking about their core story and some important “what if” scenarios.
“We weren’t preparing for a pandemic by any means, but were thinking through how to deal with an uncertain future.”
These conversations came in handy when they once again found themselves without a physical space they could use.
The importance of passion
Sometimes it’s best to forget about adapting to unwanted change and just move on. This is especially true if your heart's not in it.
Say you own a business that’s failing. When you started it 20 years ago, you loved every minute of what you were doing even though it was stressful and hard work. You have some decent ideas about how to turn things around, but you desperately want to do something else. In this situation, the passion required to propel you through a difficult adapting process is not in play and you are likely to fail.
If there is one thing that is clear about the team at IAC is that they are passionate about the work they do and the community they serve.
“The pandemic has made me feel even stronger about why we exist and that we are a place where great art takes place. Our artists are an integral part of the art community and supporting them in this matters a great deal. And the message we have received from our artists and family members is that these programs mean the world to them.”
Leading the way
Out of the 11 adaptive traits we identified in Spiders in Space, the Indefinite Arts Centre exhibits all of them and then some. The trust generated, and relied on, by the IAC team as they navigated the unchartered waters of life during COVID is an adaptive trait we didn’t dig into in the book. Trusting one another is integral to embracing risk and demonstrating leadership—both of which are evident in how the IAC team dealt with the loss of their physical space. But it stands out in the IAC example as an adaptive trait on its own and one that can, and should, be consciously cultivated when facing unwanted change.
Rebuilding a team, defining a core story, creating space for experimentation and taking risks, and establishing trust requires another important adaptive trait: leadership. With about a dozen staff, IAC benefits in this regard by being small. It’s easier to include everyone in a conversation about what’s next when you can all fit on one Zoom screen than among a team of hundreds or even thousands. But a small team comes with its own challenges, including the expectation that everyone will be involved.
Prior to the pandemic, there was a lot of energy put into a vision for new physical space that would truly meet IAC’s needs. Mid-COVID, the spiders at IAC are wondering if there are other factors and possibilities to consider. They still need to spin some new webs, but the designs might be different this time around.
“There is a willingness to potentially change tactics. Our big idea was a new building—a new physical space—but given what we’ve learned during the lockdown, is this the end all and be all?”
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We’d like to say a big thankyou to JS Ryu and Karly Mortimer for taking the time to share IAC’s story of adapting with us. We also want to thank the rest of the IAC team and the hundreds of artists living with developmental and physical disabilities who have had to do a lot of their own adapting during this difficult time.
If you would like a hard copy of Spiders in Space: Successfully Adapting to Unwanted Change, visit the "ABOUT TODD" tab at the top of the page and go to BOOKS. An ebook version is also available from Amazon.
Smile for the camera
An interview with Neil Zeller of Neil Zeller Photography
15-SEP-2020
“I had my car packed and was headed to Saskatoon to be the photographer for the winners at the Junos,” he says with a hint of regret. For Neil Zeller, it was an incredible opportunity, one that would doubtless have vaulted his photographic career higher.
But like a lot of things in 2020, it didn’t happen.
“I got to the end of my block when the phone rang. It was the Junos saying: it's over, we're done.” The same pandemic that had cancelled events around the world had also kiboshed Canada’s largest music awards and celebration.
“That was the first of many many dominoes that fell,” Zeller says. He wasn’t alone, of course. But for someone whose livelihood requires being in close proximity to his subjects, Zeller watched helplessly as the pandemic slammed the brakes hard on his business.
Zeller wasn’t always in photography. For 14 years he sold office furniture for a major dealership, and was quite successful. But then, as he describes it, he had a “midlife creative” (as opposed to a midlife crisis).
He chose to learn photography. “It kind of went from there. My business built up with a focus on major events photography, corporate and commercial photos, lifestyle photos, headshots and food products.”
“Five or six years ago, I started teaching photography as well. I taught six or seven beginner classes where I’d do a weekend course with eight people at a time, and then I started touring them all over the world—places like Tanzania and the Arctic and all over Alberta and Saskatchewan,” says Zeller.
“We had some very cool experiences.”
And 2020 was supposed to be the best year yet. With both he and his wife Traci working as employees for Neil Zeller Photography Corp, the stars were aligning, especially with the opportunity at the Juno Awards.
For Zeller, like a lot of small business operators during COVID, the shut-down of large portions of the economy created a tremendous financial challenge.
“That's the hardest thing. It wasn't just cancelling a tour, it was refunding the money for the tour registrations. I was supposed to be in the Arctic for 10 days, floating up the Mackenzie River Delta on a river boat, staying in whaling camps with this photography tour that I was hosting.” But it was all cancelled, so Zeller refunded the money. And when or how that revenue would be replaced remained a daunting question.
The pivot
As the pandemic set in, Zeller was forced to think differently.
“The idea crossed my mind to do something to memorialize the time,” he says. “A colleague in Yellowknife started taking just a few photos of people and families through their windows. When I spotted that, I texted a friend down the street, ran down to her place, and took her photo. I texted another friend on the other end of the block and took her photo,” he says.
“Isolation portraits is what I called it. People saw it and said ‘this is great’ and it took off! It created kind of a worldwide stir.”
Aside from having your picture taken from your porch or behind a plate glass window, what made the concept even more unusual is that it was free. But that may have also contributed to its huge success.
“If you want me to come to your house and capture this time, it's free. There's a donation button and I suggested that if they have the money, they can donate $25.” And people did donate. “We survived because of it.” It wasn’t the income he was earning pre-COVID, but it was enough to keep his business and his family going.
But rather than being proprietary about the idea, Zeller did the opposite: he shared his method and ideas with other photographers without charge. Soon, dozens of other photographers in Calgary were doing the same thing. “I was booking 10 to 20 of these families a day! But there's 350,000 families in Calgary,so there's no way I'm going to get around to everybody. There's still a waiting list.”
The project caught the media’s attention with stories on the local news and in the paper. Social media picked up on it too—photos of families on their lawns, through patio windows, rolling around on the grass with their pets, both beautiful and a bit haunting. The images capture the joy of family and also the sadness of isolation. The ability to harness tension in this way—to see, live in and embrace the contradictions and liminal space between different options and outcomes is a critically important adaptive trait.
The photos were good. So good, in fact, that they caught the attention of The Glenbow Museum. During the pandemic, the museum had asked people to send letters and stories of their life during COVID, to capture for posterity the impact it had on the city and the province. Neil sent in his letter and included some of the pictures he’d taken. And with the national and international attention his work was attracting on social media, it gave the curators at the Glenbow an idea.
A proper museum show of his work, entitled “Porchraits: Calgary Families in Isolation During COVID-19” opened on September 5. “The images reflect the diversity of lived experience in Calgary during this time, showing our resilience and the importance of family and friendship to get us through turbulent times,” says the museum’s website.
The project is also going to be made into a book, featuring photos of over 330 families and some of their life-during-COVID stories.
But not only are the photos themselves museum-worthy pieces of art, there was other beauty in the project: bringing families together in a moment of crisis and anxiety.
“The goal was to make it an excellent moment,” Zeller reflects. “People were living in fear, everybody down each other's throats at home, they're in a weird place. We are stuck here. We can't travel. Everything's cancelled. So my goal was to give them a moment when they could forget the pandemic, a moment of joy in this never ending news cycle, this never ending monotony.”
“I became a dog whisperer,” he laughs. “I understand dogs so well now because of this. I created a way to let their dogs relax in these photos and become a part of the family portrait, without stress. In the case of little kids, let's let the little kid be the art director of this, you know — ‘follow whatever this three year old does!’ Beautiful family photos of them rolling around on the grass. Puppies were the same way.”
“One of my son’s teachers reached out to me and said ‘we're really sad that we can't come down to see your show at the Glenbow.’” The COVID restrictions had prevented student field trips, so a class outing to the Glenbow wasn’t possible.
“And I said, well it's ironic because if it wasn't for the pandemic, I won’t have a show at the Glenbow at all! The reason that you can't come down is the same reason for the show,” says Zeller with a chuckle.
The project connected Zeller with his community in a new way, and even though he earned far less income than before the pandemic, it raised his awareness of supporting the local business community.
“We will work hard to spend our money locally on a small business and we've created really neat habits around shopping at local butchers and local cheese shops and local breweries,” he says.
Tough times
Yet for all the success, media attention and even major museum exhibition the project has brought, Zeller doesn’t mince words. “This might be a shock,” he jokes. “But I do not like COVID-19.”
“It was supposed to be a banner year, it’s so disappointing and depressing to have to watch that wash away. It's just been a battle every day to try to reinvent yourself and start from zero.”
“I never took a single photo for myself in four months. My hobby is wildlife and nature photography. And I don't have a single photo other than portraits of these families. I would come home exhausted. And there were days I hated photography and I hated this portrait thing because we had to do it, it was something that we were forced to do.”
“It was a chore for a while.”
Traits of a successful spider
One of the traits of successful adapters, as identified in the original Spiders in Space book, is that pivoting is hard work. There’s no short-cut. There’s no easy recipe for adapting to unwanted change. It’s tough, grinding work. And Zeller’s story highlights this clearly.
“This is the most amount of work, this is the hardest I’ve ever had to work, for the least amount of money,” says Zeller, reflecting back on the early days of the project. “I’d wake up almost in tears every day, it was such hard work.”
But another important trait of adapting to change from Spiders in Space also comes into play: successful adapters seek help and take it.
Neil’s wife Traci, who also works for the company, and his 13-year-old son Andrew were incredibly helpful and supportive throughout the pandemic as Neil shifted his business.
“I give full credit to my wife and son. Traci would see my mood and activity level, how grumpy I was, and she would make me laugh. She’d make these beautiful adult Lunchables—we'd go to the cheese shop and buy some meats and cheeses and crackers and she built me these beautiful lunches to eat while zipping around town taking the pictures.”
And for all the grief of watching his photographic business unravel as the pandemic set in, Zeller knows that he is also fortunate to have support within the community. “I have that backing me and that's what saved me. I don't think it'd be possible without that network supporting me and uplifting me,” he says.
Neil’s passion for photography was also a key factor. Years earlier, he had looked inward and discovered that his core story was about taking pictures rather than selling office furniture (not that there’s anything wrong with selling office furniture!). This clarity and the drive to make that core story come to life is evident throughout the Porchraits project.
Neil had to power through something that was not always fun and put on a brave face—no one wants their photographer to show up looking broken and exhausted. This is an example of the mental toughness exhibited by successful adapters.
The cool quotient
The Porchraits show at the Glenbow was significant for Zeller as a professional photographer and artist, something he describes as “a true pinnacle” of his career thus far. “I don't think I'll ever be able to fully understand the benefits to me because of it,” he says.
But perhaps even better for Zeller is the “cool quotient” that the museum show has given him in the eyes of his 13-year-old son Andrew.
“My son is so proud of me because he goes to the Glenbow every year. He goes through an inquiry-based learning style of school, so they're out at these places all the time, and he knows that the Glenbow is important. He’s just so proud of me!”
When the Glenbow show opened, Zeller and his family were treated to an advanced tour of the exhibit. “We got to walk around an hour before the public came in. My mom, dad and sister were also with us. And you know how they display the title of the show and the artist’s name in vinyl letters on the wall? When we came up the elevator and walked around the corner and saw that, all six of us started bawling.”
Say cheese!
Neil Zeller’s story of pivoting in the face of a pandemic is not only inspiring, it’s also instructive.
To pivot, you don’t need to come up with a ground-breaking idea on your own. Zeller credits his friend in Yellowknife for giving him the idea. But you do need to be open minded enough to recognize the possibilities and have the entrepreneurial spirit to act on it, which is what Zeller did.
Forced to abandon his traditional photographic work, he took up the isolation portraits project out of necessity. It was arduous work—and he admits that, at times, he hated it. He felt discouraged that he couldn’t take photos of the things he loved, but was forced to pivot under a new reality.
He endured long work hours for little pay, but leaned on the support of this family and his professional network to get by.
But ultimately the project brought him joy. It also brought him a major museum exhibit, national attention, a greater sense of community and the enormous pride of his teenage son. As we argue in Spiders in Space, it may be a cliche, but you can make lemons from lemons.
Perhaps most significant to his success in this pivot is the fact that Zeller always gave back. He didn’t even charge for the photo sessions, asking only that the families consider a donation to help supplement his income. And he shared his “isolation portraits” concept and methods freely with other photographers, encouraging them to get in on it rather than being possessive of the idea. You reap what you sow. This is the essence of another adaptive trait: leadership. In this way, Porchraits has helped not just Neil and his family during the pandemic, but thousands of others as well.
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We’d like to say thanks to Neil for taking the time to share his story of adapting with us. Click here to learn more about Neil’s Porchraits show at the Glenbow Museum.
If you would like a hard copy of Spiders in Space: Successfully Adapting to Unwanted Change, visit the "ABOUT TODD" tab at the top of the page and go to BOOKS. An ebook version is also available from Amazon.