 Good morning. I would like to welcome you back to the John L. Kennedy Center's 16th annual League conference and our keynote for this morning, the amazing Jess Tom. Jess is co-founder of Tourette's Hero and may or may not lead a secret double life as a superhero. Artist, play worker and expert fundraiser, Jess currently helps coordinate a large play project in South London. Jess has had ticks since she was a child but wasn't diagnosed with Tourette's until she was in her 20s. With some encouragement from her friends, Jess decided to turn her ticks into a source of imaginative creativity and the Tourette's Hero project was born. Please join me in welcoming Jess Tom. Half-pitterbread, hetero, biscuit, biscuit. Hello, I'm Jess. I'm a writer, artist and part-time superhero, biscuit. And to prove it, here's a picture of me in my blue and white superhero costume, hetero and mask with the flappy ears, biscuit. I also have Tourette's syndrome, biscuit. A neurological condition that means I make movements and noises I can't control called ticks, biscuit. Having Tourette's means I'm neurologically incapable of staying on message, biscuit. So a good amount of what I'm about to say will be a surprise to everyone, biscuit. Including me, biscuit, biscuit. On the plus side though, biscuit, it does mean I only ever need to write half a talk, biscuit, biscuit, hetero, hat and awkward silences aren't something I worry about either, biscuit. Before I begin in earnest, I'd just like to thank the Kennedy Center, biscuit, for inviting me to speak at what I'm sure will be an incredible conference, biscuit. Right then, biscuit. There's three things you need to know straight away, biscuit. Firstly, you're going to hear the words biscuit and hedgehog are lost in the next hour, biscuit. And just so nothing gets lost in translation, biscuit. When I say biscuit, I'd like you to think cookie, biscuit. I hope you're all doing it, biscuit, cookie, biscuit. Secondly, if I say something funny, you're absolutely allowed to laugh. In fact, it'll be a bit weird if you don't, biscuit, hetero. Finally, several times a day, biscuit, my tics intensify and I completely lose control of my body and speech, biscuit. These episodes, which I call ticking fix, look to see as you like and need similar management, biscuit. If this happens while I'm speaking, my support will help me, biscuit. And Betty will take over with a lap dance or a lap pad. She doesn't know about that yet. Biscuit, biscuit. I'm going to give a brief description of myself for anyone who might find this useful, biscuit. Hedgehog, I love cats. I'm an angodextrous hippo. Okay, I'm going to try and give a brief description of myself, biscuit. I'm a 30-something white woman, biscuit of average build with curly brown hair and a very cool wheelbarrow wheelchair. Cats, wheelbarrow, wheelchair, biscuit. Hedgehog, it's a wheelchair just to avoid confusion, biscuit, biscuit. Having Tourette's also gives me a very wiggly body, biscuit. There's constantly on the move. My most frequent tick involves punching my chest, biscuit. It's happening now and now and now, biscuit. Cats! But don't worry, I'm wearing padded gloves to stop my knuckles getting cracked and sore, biscuit. All the slides I'll be showing, biscuit, with the exception of seven pictures that I'll describe in more detail when I get to them are colorful hand drawn cards giving the title of each section. I will read these out loud, biscuit. Biscuit, creativity, visibility and opportunity are called to action. When I was asked to come and speak at Leeds, biscuit, I got really excited partly because of the prospect of coming to Pittsburgh, but mainly because the idea of open exchange between those leading on accessibility across the arts and cultural sector captured my imagination, biscuit. Hedgehog, it's through the exchange of knowledge, ideas, biscuit, and resources, biscuit, and by sharing our successes and our challenges, biscuit, that sustainable social change is made possible, biscuit. In this talk, I'm going to share with you five ideas that I feel are useful for building truly inclusive creative spaces, biscuit. First though, biscuit, I'd like to tell you a little bit more about Tourette's and my journey from sufferer to superhero, biscuit, yes, biscuit, about Tourette's, biscuit. Tourette's is one of the most frequently misunderstood conditions on the planet, biscuit. Lots of people have heard of it, but most of what they know is based on myths and stereotypes, biscuit. Let's get some of these out of the way now, biscuit. Swearing, fuck it, biscuit. It's often characterised as the swearing disease, biscuit. In fact, only 10% of people with character X have obscene tics, fuck it, I am one of them, biscuit. Domestic appliances, dinosaurs, or B-list celebrities, as I am to swear, biscuits, biscuit. It isn't a rare condition, it's estimated to affect 300,000 people in the UK alone, biscuit. But it's on a spectrum, so it affects each person differently. Some people's tics are barely noticeable, like mine, biscuit. Yes, biscuit. While others will behave in a way that makes them stand out. It isn't just saying what's on your mind, biscuit. I don't think about biscuits nearly as much as I talk about them. Biscuit. Biscuit. It's a neurological condition, not a mental health disorder, and it's not caused by bad parenting, nervousness, or demonic possession. Biscuit. People are often curious, biscuit, about what tics feel like. So I'd like to play a quick game to help you understand, biscuit, and to let you test drive Tourette's biscuit. Biscuit. Turn to the person next to you and say hello, eyes, and try not to blink for as long as possible, mental too. Biscuit, this takes lots of concentration and quickly becomes uncomfortable to be a creative person. I started drawing at university photography after that. Biscuit. During my artistic education, biscuit, I became interested in participatory events for children, young people. Tourette's hero, biscuit, that I become truly aware of the power of creativity. Biscuit. Individual well-being. Biscuit. Biscuit. But also the role it can play in creating social change. Biscuit. Since co-founding Tourette's hero in 2010, it's evolved in ways I could never have imagined. We use the creativity and humour to increase understanding of Tourette's biscuit to the widest possible audience and to campaign for social justice. We do this online through Tourette's hero.com and on social media, biscuit, through creative encounters with artists, musicians, scientists, and academics by speaking out, biscuit, about the damaging impact of political policies and by offering bespoke training for a broad range of clients and by delivering inclusive events for children and young people. Tourette's hero is for everyone, with and without tics. We aim to reclaim the laughter associated with Tourette's. Challenge myths and stereotypes and assumptions about the condition and about disability more generally. And to reduce the fear around disability and help people feel more comfortable talking about it. Simply, our mission is to change the world. Biscuit. One tic at a time. Biscuit. Why? Biscuit. Because disability isn't a niche issue. If you've got a body or mind, chances are you'll experience disability at some point in your life. What this might mean, biscuit, biscuit, hedgehog, biscuit, can make a big difference. Biscuit, hedgehog, biscuit, and make things easier, biscuit, as your circumstances change. Tourette's hero, biscuit, began with a conversation that radically changed the way I viewed my condition. Biscuit. My friend Matthew described Tourette's as a crazy language-generating machine, biscuit, and he told me not doing something created with it would be wasteful. Biscuit. This idea took root and transformed how I thought about my life. Biscuit. It's how I came to understand my tics as my power and not my problem. Biscuit. Was changed by a single sentence. I now believe that every conversation, question or shared last, biscuit, has the potential to create change. Biscuit. My tics and my power, biscuit, because they let me do things that neurotypical people can't do, like collide words together to create incredible new concepts. Biscuit. Without my unusual neurology, biscuit, the world wouldn't have the joy of disco penguins dancing in your dreams, biscuit. There's a sheepdog farting dollars in the corner, biscuit. Through Tourette's hero, I recast the symptoms of my condition as a creative springboard, biscuit, to unite people to make artwork in response. I'm going to share with you some of my favourite tic illustrations. Biscuit, hedgehog, I'm going to share these with you now. Biscuit. First up, capital letters talk to themselves at night. Biscuit. The letter A and the letter B fast asleep under a patterned bedspread. Biscuit. 25% of biscuits are birds. Biscuit. A boy in a striker's shirt is about to eat a tiny bird he's selected from a sweet box full of other tiny birds. Biscuit. God's moving to Watford on Sunday. A torn and weather-beaten church poster has the slogan, God's moving to Watford on Sunday looking on it. Biscuit. And for anyone who doesn't know this, which I imagine is most people, Watford is a very small town outside London. Biscuit, hedgehog, biscuit. Stuff my mouth with pencils. Biscuit. A line drawing on graph paper showing a man with 66 red pencils stuffed in his mouth. I counted them all. Biscuit. In Barbados donkey training company. Biscuit. A black and white circular logo with an alien-eyed donkey's head at the centre. Biscuit. And a tiny map of Barbados on the right. Biscuit. Biscuit. Finally, I've got limbs. They're multiplying. A computer-generated image shows the two lead characters from the film, Grease. Sandy is on the left and Danny is on the right. Both are wearing tight black dancewear. Biscuit. Both have arms growing out of their arms that makes them look like branches of a tree. Biscuit. Before Tourette's hero, I found it hard to talk about Tourette without tears. Recognising the creative potential of ticks and developing the language and confidence to talk about them has had a million that I could ever have imagined. My journey to the stage. Biscuit. As I'm sure you can tell by now, Biscuit, having Tourette's means I rarely feel all quiet. Biscuit. Ticks can turn ordinary tasks like making a cup of tea or chopping vegetables into extreme sports. Biscuit. Biscuit. And then often the first thing people notice about me. Biscuit. As a teenager, I used to love going to theatres and galleries. But the more my movements and noises made me stand out, the harder I found it to go. And I'm not alone. Biscuit. Back in 2014 when I started work on my first stage show, Backstage at Biscuitland, I googled Tourette's Theatre. Biscuit. And nearly all the top results were accounts of people with ticks being asked to leave. Biscuit. I'd like to share, Biscuit, a monologue from Backstage at Biscuitland. Biscuit. It's about an experience. Biscuit. They started my journey to the stage. Biscuit. As comedian Mark Thomas, Biscuit, was doing a show called Extreme Rambling. Biscuit. At the tricycle theatre in London. Biscuit. Loads of my friends had talked about it. So I was really keen to go. Biscuit. At that point, Biscuit, I hadn't been to the theatre for several years. Biscuit. And I'd had some upsetting conversations. Biscuit. About my character. Biscuit. Biscuit to access stuff and other people's rights. Biscuit. Biscuit. Not to be interrupted. Biscuit. Hedgehog. Biscuit. Hedgehog. But it felt right to see Extreme Rambling. Biscuit. Because it was about something I was interested in. Mark Thomas walking the Palestinian separation barrier. Biscuit. Biscuit. Loads of thoughts I'm planning into our trip. I got in touch with Mark by email. I spoke to the theatre. And I went with two people I know really well. Matthew and Poppy. Biscuit. But beforehand, so we had a chance to see what my tips were like. Biscuit. I was still walking at the time. But was very wobbly and needed help. It's from the show. Mark introduced me. Biscuit. And let the audience know I'd be making noise. It was fantastic. Completely absorbing. Biscuit. About the noises you'd be making. And people are threatening not to come back unless you move. Biscuit. So, you know. Biscuit. Would you move to the sound booth at the side of the stage? At that point I felt that people are complaining about me. Biscuit. They don't want me here. I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate because I'd known I was unwelcome and being judged. Conversation was to move. Biscuit. So Poppy, Matthew and I got up. Biscuit. We were taken backstage through a narrow corridor to the sound booth. Mark was getting ready to do the second half and was clearly uncomfortable with what was happening. People from the stalls. It had, like the type we get in offices. I could see Matthew was really tense. We'd paid for the tickets and the view. Well, we couldn't really see what was happening. Biscuit. We were surrounded by equipment and I thought, oh God, I could really muck things up if I pressed anything. Technician. Biscuit. Who must have seen the show a hundred times was doing a crossword. She moved up and we sat on an assortment of computer chairs. We got it. We were watching something about segregation. About separation. To watch it with other people. The show started again and I sobbed. Absolutely sobbed. Concentrate on what Mark was saying. Because I felt utterly, utterly humiliated. Biscuit. Embarrassed and alone, straight away and never come back. It felt like an experience I could not or should not access because it was damaging to me. Biscuit. It didn't just speak about the theatre. It was about everything. Like, you don't have the right to be in public space in the same way as anyone else. Your experiences can only happen, Biscuit, if they don't impact on other people. Later that evening, I looked on Twitter. Only nasty tweets by a woman who'd been there. Biscuit. Went to political comedy thing tonight. Might have learnt something. But for the Tourette's person shouting, thank you, Merry Christmas. Hedgehog. Sobbing in that sound booth. Biscuit. I promised myself I'd never set foot in a theatre again. Biscuit. Thankfully, this wasn't a promise I kept. Biscuit. Instead, Biscuit, I found the only seat in the house. I wouldn't be asked to leave on stage. Biscuit. In Biscuitland. I took this to the Edinburgh Fringe, where it sold out and won a total theatre award. Biscuit. We've gone on tour across the UK, Europe and North America. Biscuit. And we'll be taking it to Ireland, Bosnia and Australia in the fall. Biscuit. As well as telling my story, the show also promotes relaxed performance. A growing movement within UK theatre that takes a flexible approach to noise and movement. Biscuit. And extends a warm invitation to everybody. Biscuit. The brilliant thing about relaxed performance, Biscuit, is that everyone can benefit from being at one. Biscuit. This can include people with learning disabilities, movement disorders, autistic spectrum disorder or other neurological conditions. Biscuit. Those with young children, babies. Biscuit. Biscuit. Or just people with very loud laughs. Biscuit. Biscuit. Biscuit. Many other people will choose to attend a relaxed performance, either as an access requirement or because they enjoy the inclusive environment. When they're done well, the whole audience is given permission to relax, move about and make noise. This fosters a more exciting, the actual experience. Biscuit. I'd now like to share five key ideas that have played a crucial role in shaping my practice, my understanding and my expectations. Hopefully, some of these will be useful in your work, building a more inclusive, creative sector. First up, I'm not disabled by my body. Biscuit. I'd like to start by talking about models of disability. By this, I don't mean matchstick crutches, papier-mache wheelchairs or bolsterwood assistant dogs. I mean the models we use to conceptualise disability. Biscuit. For a long time, the consensus was that we followed a medical model. This sees a person as being disabled because their body or mind is impaired in some way. It focuses on what's wrong with the person and not on what the person needs. By contrast, the social model says disability is caused by the way society is organised. Biscuit. For example, if I can't get into a building because it's surrounded by steps, the medical model would say the problem is my wobbly legs. But the social model identifies the steps as the disabling factor. People are often nervous about calling me disabled. Biscuit. Because they view the term negatively. I don't see it that way at all. For me, saying I'm disabled acknowledges the barriers I face because of our collective failure to consider difference. Only if these barriers are acknowledged can they be changed. Biscuit. This idea may be familiar to many of you already, but I wanted to mention it because of how pervasive the medical model is within society. Although I've been taught about the social model in training courses, it was years before I truly connected with it. Making that connection has raised my confidence. Biscuit. And it's been instrumental in defining how I've come to think about my body and my experiences. Biscuit. The next idea I'd like to talk about is adjustable environments. Biscuit. Permission to adjust my surroundings to meet my needs is both essential and transformative. Biscuit. When I first started having ticking fits, being able to leave my apartment safely suddenly seemed impossible. But as soon as I realised I'd changed my environment as and when necessary, Biscuit. It felt much more manageable. Biscuit. This has involved commandeering building lobbies, moving office furniture about, being protected by the rain from a stranger with an umbrella. Biscuit. And on one occasion, having a fit on a fire station floor, carefully cushioned by blankets. Biscuit. My increased confidence in adjusting to the biscuit's surroundings to meet my changing needs has made the difference between me being independent and included. Biscuit. And me being isolated and restricted. Biscuit. In 2014, Tourette's Hero collaborated with Tate Galleries on We Forgot the Lot. Biscuit. Biscuit. Biscuit. Here's a photo of Biscuit sharing a boy at the event in a green jacket reaching out for walkie-talkie from a wooden structure in a gallery full of paintings as other people look on. Biscuit. Catch on. Children from up and down the UK, with and without Tourette's, were invited to take over Tate Britain. 300 participants worked with 11 artists to reinvent the newly renovated building. Biscuit. We set them a simple task. Go into the galleries, get involved with the artists, and help Tate transform to make sure nothing gets forgotten. Biscuit. Commissioned to change space to meet individual needs was the concept that underpinned this whole event. And it works. Biscuit. Catch on. Biscuit. I'd like to share with you a quote from a parent who brought her family. Biscuit. It's nice that when my son dives into a whole load of stuff, Biscuit, in a corner and wiggles about in it, I don't need to worry. In fact, all that happened was that other children came and laid down in the fluffy stuff and wiggled with him. It's just nice not to have to worry. Usually, it's just me and the public are one big mess, and I'm trying to cope with everything that's happening for my child. Biscuit. What's been really lovely today, Biscuit, is that we've taken over Tate, the public are the ones having to cope with us. There was a lady who came along and said, that boy appears to be lying on the floor. And I felt confident saying, yes, he is. And he can do that. He's allowed to do that, Biscuit, Biscuit, Biscuit. To create truly inclusive environments, we have to be ready to adapt. Whether that's adjusting the physical environment, the sensory landscape, the way we communicate, or the rules, Biscuit. The question I'd like you all to ask, Biscuit, where you were, isn't just what adjustments can we make to ensure we're accessible, but what adjustments can we make to ensure everyone feels safe to be themselves. Biscuit. Visibility matters. Biscuit, Biscuit. About ten years ago, I discovered Liberty Festival in Trafalgar Square, a disability arts festival slapped bang in the centre of London. Biscuit, it was at a time when I was grappling with my own changing needs. Biscuit, Biscuit. I remember how excited I was to discover this incredible disabled led arts scene. Biscuit, Biscuit. I walked into the cabaret tent, Biscuit, that was being compared by disabled performers Liz Carr and Matt Fraser. Finding funny, irreverent disabled artists made me exciting, challenging work. Biscuit, rescued me from my own fears and preconceptions. Importantly, Biscuit, I saw my experiences as a disabled person reflected in ways that avoided tired, complacent narratives. Biscuit, they're often presented in the media. Discovering a vibrant disability arts scene, Biscuit, and being able to share this with my non-disabled friends and family was instrumental in giving me the confidence to create Tourette's Hero, Biscuit. A few months ago, Biscuit, a journalist in the US asked me whether I thought that disability is seen as part of the diversity conversation in the UK. Biscuit, I found this unexpectedly hard to answer, Biscuit, because it depends on where the conversation is happening. In the wider context of diversity, key institutions, funding bodies and broadcasters are increasingly appear to be including disability within their thinking. But this isn't necessarily reflected in broader national discussions around diversity. There are still plenty of people who think about disability solely in negative terms. Most people would probably agree that multiculturalism is valuable and should be celebrated. That the achievements of women should be recognised and celebrated too. But for lots of people, I think the idea of celebrating disability culture would seem unusual or uncomfortable. Biscuit culture and humour have great potential to help shift thinking and create a deeper, more widespread understanding of disability and difference. But only if this is led by disabled people. Biscuit, fear creates barriers. Tourette's Hero, Biscuit, was inspired by a single conversation and a single sentence. Countless experiences have helped shape it. One such moment happened at a conference years ago when I met a man with Tourette's whose texts were barely noticeable. As he talks, I got the sense that the relentless negative reactions he'd experienced growing up had severely impacted on his confidence. He'd learned to expect that other people would respond negatively to him. And this expectation seemed to be severely restricting his life. Damage to confidence is always harder to undo than it is to prevent. Biscuit, at our heart, is the belief that strengthening the confidence and resilience of disabled people, particularly children, has the power to create significant social change. We focus on inclusive events, because creating positive memories is protecting in the future. I know firsthand the value of having positive experiences to draw on when times feel tough. Pat's texts, since I was about six, but they were much less noticeable, though. In my early twenties, they began to intensify and have a bigger impact on my life. As my texts got more noticeable, Biscuit, I became increasingly aware of the fear that crept in with them. Biscuit, fear of me was I drunk, mad, or dangerous, and other people's fear of my unpredictable... my own fear of other people's unpredictable reactions to me. Some people were scared to catch my eye. Others were worried about saying the wrong thing. A few thought I was possessed. It scared me, kind of losing control of my body and my identity. But mainly, it was other people's assumptions, judgments, and laughter, Biscuit, that worried me. I could feel this fear forming barriers in my life. Biscuit, found in Tourette's Hero, was instrumental in helping me address my own anxieties, Biscuit, and start breaking down other people's past, Biscuit. I began, Biscuit, by letting myself think more deeply about David Blaine. No, not about David Blaine. Biscuit, I began by letting myself think more deeply about Tourette's. Biscuit, I started by sharing my experiences in a blog, Biscuit, and I developed a new language to communicate my needs in the process. Addressing fear is crucial when promoting inclusive approaches, because it's all too easy to let anxiety lead to inaction. Biscuit, an open communication is essential for fighting fear and preventing it from cluttering our minds and our society. Change isn't always a battle, Biscuit. I used to think that attitude change was a long, drawn-out process, Biscuit. Tourette's Heroes taught me that it can actually happen very quickly. I first realised this on a train journey with my sister several years ago, Biscuit. We were on our way to a friend's hen party. The train was busy and I was conscious of how other passengers were reacting to my tics. A brief search on Twitter revealed that at least one woman had noticed me. On a train with genuine Tourette's person in the same carriage. Here's the edited highlights. Biscuit, I'm a baby, donkey, what an affliction. Biscuit. I responded by saying it was also a gift. I'm pointing her in the direction of our website and a video by two performance artists which brought my tics to life. Her next tweet had a very different tone. This is amazing, not affliction, creativity, Biscuit. She then asked if she could use the video in an installation about identity she was involved in later that day. I loved seeing this evolution happen in just a few short tweets and it left me feeling incredibly optimistic, Biscuit. Creating change doesn't always have to be a battle. It can be joyful, persuasive, discursive, and silly, Biscuit. If we can get people to engage, we can get them to change, Biscuit. Everyday inclusion. As professionals, working to increase access across the cultural sector. Biscuit, the work you're doing matters. Biscuit, it can be the difference between someone feeling included or being disabled. I thought I'd share a blog post I wrote about small acts of everyday inclusion in my life. Biscuit, disabled people are always coming up against barriers. Often they are physical, like a step that's too high, a broken lift, or a cluttered restroom, or a poorly thought-out display. But other barriers, Biscuit, are to do with attitude. And a quick look at the Twitter hashtag, heard whilst disabled will give you a flavour of the sort of comments and judgements disabled people are regularly faced with. Examples include, you shouldn't be travelling by yourself. Biscuit, haven't you got a carer or something? You're married. Did you meet a disability function? Biscuit, I'm glad your service dog won't be coming on the trip. He would cause, Biscuit, a logistical issue. Biscuit, you're so bright and articulate, you shouldn't be disabled. Biscuit, but with comments like these on some days too. And I notice every single one, Biscuit. But I also notice every act of inclusion. The cushions, Biscuit, already in the corner of a meeting room in case I have a ticking fit. The exhibition, with its floor plan arranged so I can wheel easily between exhibits, Biscuit. The clean, uncluttered, accessible restroom. The usher, who speaks to me rather than to the person pushing my wheelchair. These aren't big acts, but they have the power to build into something positive rather than maintaining something negative, Biscuit. Taking an inclusive approach, Biscuit, doesn't have to be complicated. It's the difference between assuming everyone can do things in the same way and understanding that some people will need to do things differently. Biscuit, shift in thinking. Biscuit, which is far beyond disability and is something everyone can benefit from. Biscuit, in a time of political turmoil and escalating division, it's more important than ever that we think independently and inclusively every day. Biscuit, what can children teach us about difference? One of the great things about talking to children about disability, Biscuit, is that they often ask upfront questions. And more importantly, they listen to the answers. As we get older, we tend to worry more about saying the wrong thing or being nosy. Worst of all, we think we know all the answers. Biscuit, this makes it much more likely for us to make assumptions and it makes it much harder to challenge preconceptions if they're wrong. Biscuit, experience the doctor's surgery that I'd like to share with you. I'd only been in the waiting room for a minute or so when a boy aged about two and a half made a beeline for me. He confidently presented me, Biscuit, with a plastic gold medal and a newspaper cutting. And then he stood back and surveyed my wheelchair. Biscuit, he inspected every single bit of it, walking all the way round several times. Biscuit, identifying and checking every moving part. He paid particular attention to the brakes. He did all this with no words but lots of smiles. He was captivated by the wheelchair and fascinated by how it works. He didn't seem at all worried by my unusual noises and the movements I was making and his friendly curiosity was delightful. Biscuit, his mother could see I wasn't bothered by his activities and left him to it while keeping a close eye on what he was up to. He particularly liked the fact that my foot plate could be lifted up and down. Biscuit, testing it thoroughly he secured it in place and jumped on board. Biscuit, he looked at me and beamed. Biscuit, if I'd been selling the chair I imagine this would have been the moment I clinched the deal. Biscuit, children are often ready to laugh, question and listen. And this is something we can all learn from. So my challenge to you, Biscuit, Biscuit, I'd like to leave you with three challenges for the conference and beyond. The first, foster unpredictable outcomes. When we started Tourette's Hero we had no idea how others would respond and simply acknowledging the humour of Tourette's felt whiskey. Challenge yourself, Biscuit, and be open to trying new approaches that might fail, Biscuit. Being receptive to the unexpected can lead to incredible outcomes. Secondly, make new connections. Resist the urge to only speak to the same people or seek out familiar ideas. It's all too easy to end up talking in an echo chamber, retreading old ground. Instead, be open to new discourse, Biscuit. It's crucial for forming and reflecting on your own views and for engaging with new concepts. Finally, collaborate, innovate and improve, Biscuit. Creative collaboration across disciplines can help unlock new ways to capture imaginations and expand engagement. Take opportunities to celebrate and share good practice, but don't stop asking what you could be doing better. Biscuit. So in conclusion, Biscuit, Biscuit. This March, Tourette's Hero celebrated its sixth birthday, Biscuit. And in that time, Biscuit, the most important thing I've learnt is that if something is working I have the capacity to change it, Biscuit. And that's not because I have any special qualities or superpowers. It's because we all have the ability to create change, Biscuit. Whenever you're thinking about the barriers you want to bring down, it's also worth thinking about what you want to create, develop and protect, Biscuit, Biscuit. Changing the cultural landscape isn't too mighty a task and it's definitely not something we should just leave to institutions, politicians or people wearing capes, Biscuit. It's something we can all do. Together, we can create opportunities for talents to be shared, Biscuit, for difference to be visible and for creative communities to lead the way in shaping sustainable social change, Biscuit. If you'd like to find out more about Tourette's Hero please visit our website or come and find me later, Biscuit. I'll be the one shouting Biscuit, Biscuit. Biscuit, Biscuit. Thank you very much for listening and I'm very happy to answer questions, Biscuit. This really means it. So we might do a really quick Q&A. We've got some microphones in the back. This is your chance to ask a question. Or make a comment. Yeah, good. Comments. Or ask a perhaps to be about cats. Or Betty doing a lap dance. I think I heard it earlier. There's a question right up here. Microphones coming your direction. Good morning. First of all, that was amazing. My name is Toby. I am the event manager at the Performing Arts Center in St. Paul, Minnesota. And one of our tenants is the chamber orchestra. And so with chamber music, a lot of it is dealing with listening to the silences and the impact that the music has on the changes. So as a person with Tourette's, what could you suggest and recommend as a tool for me to help promote buy-in so that people with Tourette's could be welcomed at those types of events where it is very, very focused on the quietness and the sound. Because that buy-in is very difficult. First, I'd like to say that as someone with Tourette's listening to music or having access to quiet or considered art is really important to me. Thinking about silence, thinking about noise, those are things that are part of my experience and I'd love to be able to access them more. I think the relax performance movement is broader than just theatre and I think it's definitely extending in the UK to concerts and different types of music and I think that would be something that would be relevant to you and your setting. I think sometimes when we talk about relaxed or inclusive performances, there is a danger that we think about just certain types of work being suitable for that. Stuff that's warm or loud or focused on children. As an adult, I want to see lots of different types of art and I want to see things that are challenging. I want to see things that are quiet and thought-provoking. But I need to do that in a safe that I feel safe. So I think the idea of offering performances that make that offer really openly and build long-term relationships with communities and people who might benefit from that but not as targeted, segregated performances. That is open performances because I think everybody can benefit from hearing or experiencing culture in different ways and that can include stuff that's silent. I think often people assume that as soon as you start relaxing the rules around behaviour within cultural spaces there's anarchy. Disappointingly not. But I think it's about people experiencing that and I think otherwise they come to it with assumptions. So in terms of creating buying I start perhaps with small events. Let's get start by thinking about ways like holding a concert or an event that reaches out to particular groups who might find it. It's way broader than just Tourette's. You can think about dementia, autism, learning disability, people with children. And often some people who are non-disabled people will find it difficult to access those spaces because of preconceptions about who that's for or how they should behave. Making that offer really widely and broadly and enthusiastically and framing it positively and remembering that a huge number of people identify as disabled. So they should be an art part of the audience. Biscuit. Biscuit. So I hope that goes somewhere to answer your question. Biscuit. Great. I think we've got time for a couple of questions more if someone is... There we have someone over here. Thank you. Jessica's bringing you. I don't really have a question. I just have a comment. I've been coming to these conferences as some of you know for many, many years and I don't think I've ever heard as inspiring, a moving, and a funny presentation as you gave us today. So thank you very much. The idea that you're all working towards creating a more inclusive sector is incredibly exciting. And yeah, thank you for the work that you do. Biscuit. Every single day. Biscuit. Do we have another one? Jess, I think they've been... Oh, we have one over there. Hi. My name is Mel. I just had one quick question. Do you think you'll ever be touring to the United States so we can see your show? Biscuit. Well, we were here in May. Biscuit. Biscuit. We went to New York and to San Francisco and to LA but we're very hopeful that we'll come back to the US with the show. Biscuit. We are back in North America. We're back in Vancouver next January and February. So hopefully we might come here too. I think the hashtag bring tests just to the US would be a great hashtag, right? And I think there's some people in this room who might be able to make that happen. Biscuit. Yeah, biscuit. And we were also creating a new show. So Biscuit, which really speaks to that idea of what sort of work should be accessible. So we're looking at something that's very different from biscuit land and much more challenging but hopefully doing that in a way that integrates and embed access within that. Yeah, look out for that too. Biscuit. Biscuit. There's also biscuit. I don't know if you know, there's an amazing resource created by Unlimited in the UK which is a guide for producers and theatre makers about different ways that they can make their work more accessible. It's a really useful, really handy resource that can be downloaded from their website. And we also have information available on our website an information sheet about relaxed performance which answers lots of the frequently asked questions and worries and fears that people might have about that. Biscuit. Biscuit. Great. Let's give Jess another round of applause. She is hanging around so please feel free to step up and chat. You guys have until 11.05 at which point the snapshot sessions start. So quick, run for the gender neutral bathrooms in the lobby.