What happens when the visual is ready before the room is

Most clients come to me for the live work. They want someone drawing while ideas fly around the room. The energy, the real-time capture, the room watching the story emerge on screen.

But some of the most powerful work I do happens before the event even starts.

For Metro South Health's Long Stay Older Persons Workshop Terry Nash and I worked through a creative brief together - unpacking three complex health strategies, finding the human story inside the policy language, and developing a concept that could hold it all.

Terry said it gave him "a clear outline very early on with regards to options for developing our ideas." That clarity mattered. We weren't guessing at the visual direction on the day - we arrived with a story already taking shape.

We called it "Framing a Better Journey." Each frame held a different moment in an older person's journey through the health system.

The idea: A picture frame as a container for three visions of better aged care. Something familiar, personal, deeply connected to home.

• Early diagnosis of dementia in the community - keeping people connected to life, not the hospital.

• Home First - hospital as a service, not a building.

• The GRACE Model - aged care admission as a life transition, not a system failure.

Together they told a single arc: a smoother, more human journey from community to hospital to home. The connecting thread was this: when people, not systems, are at the centre, everything looks different.

We developed the one-page visual before the workshop. Then on the day I brought it into the room and built on it live - capturing the discussions, adding layers, letting the conversation shape what emerged.

The result was something neither of us could have made alone. The pre-prepared concept gave the room a shared starting point. The live capture gave it a living ending.

Terry described it as watching concepts "knitted together with colour and flow - which has added vibrancy and life to our work."

That's the Concept + Capture model. Not just drawing what happens in the room. Arriving with a story already taking shape, then letting the room finish it.

Interested in combining strategic concept development with live visual storytelling at your next event? I'd love to hear what you're working on.

When a room doesn’t need to make sense (yet)

Most days, I’m expected to make sense of the room but some rooms don’t need to make sense straight away.

I was invited to visually capture a Gen-AI for social science research event, drawing in real time as the keynote speakers Tamika Worrell PhD, Prof. Bronwyn Carlson and Carl Knox circled and tested ideas. There were a mix of universities present, each bringing their own lens into the conversation.

It wasn’t unclear. Just… stretching. Mashing together case studies, showing how First Nations and colonial history is colliding with future technology.

When a room is still forming

People thinking out loud, holding excitement and hesitation in the same breath, trying to name something still unfolding. Some already experimenting. Some questioning what this means for rigour, ethics, truth. Some quietly wondering where they fit in it all.

And underneath it, a shared thread: What helps us, and what harms us? How do we use this new tool well… without losing what makes the work human?

Holding tension, not resolving it

That was the thing I found myself holding. Not just capturing who said what, but listening for where it connected. Where tension wasn’t a problem to solve, but something to include.

I remember one moment in particular. Two perspectives that almost felt at odds. One grounded in rigour and caution. The other pushing for experimentation and possibility. When they were placed side by side, instead of cancelling each other out, they created a fuller picture. You could feel the shift. Nothing had been simplified, but it had landed. 

That’s the moment I’m looking for. When the visual stops being mine and starts belonging to the room.

From swirl to something you can see

By the end, what had been a swirl of ideas became something people could point to. A way to see the landscape they’re stepping into, not just react to it.

This is the work for me. Not just documenting what’s said, but mapping where things connect. Making tension visible. Giving people something they can see themselves inside.

As Evelyn Mirembe from The University of Melbourne shared:

“In an information heavy workshop, having Indi’s visual scribe helped with attention and focus. I’ve circulated the visuals with colleagues who weren’t present but were keen to learn more about the topic. It captured the key takeaways and the points that generated the most discussion among attendees. I think it was great!”

Why this matters now

Shared spaces and shared stories are how we navigate moments like this, when things are still forming and the answers aren’t settled yet.

Standing in the swirl, helping it make sense. That’s why I started Indi Dust 

If you’re working through something complex with your team, and need a way to see it more clearly, I’d love to explore that with you. 

Ebb & Flow: The messy, human rhythm of creative work

Panel time at VizConf with an inspiring crew of graphic recorders and visual practitioners. Photo credit @VizConf

At VizConf this year I sat on a panel that felt less like an official session and more like a small circle of friends willing to share the beautiful mess of their respective creative businesses. 

The theme was Ebb & Flow, but what made it magic was how quickly we drifted past the polished answers and into the honest stuff. The wobbles. The how-it-really-feels moments. The ones many of us carry alone.

Five years into self employment I’ve realised my creative rhythm is never straight or predictable. I’m not a steady drumbeat kind of person. I swell with ideas, then dip into silence. I sprint, stall, rethink, leap. Turns out, most of us do.

One idea that really landed in the room was: Play leads to pay.

When I hit an ebb, forcing myself forward rarely works. Tiny sparks of joy do. Drawing something silly. Walking the beach. Picking up shells. 

Those playful moments don’t look like progress, yet they wake the creative engine back up. Before long, work and energy start to return.

Then the conversation tugged a memory I didn’t expect to share.

Years ago I was cycling in South America, inching my way up a steep, never-ending hill. I was wrecked, convinced I had nothing left and no clue how much further I had to go.

I passed a farmer on the side of the road but didn't even have the energy to acknowledge him. Then I heard footsteps running behind me and I was sure that this was the end. 

A hand landed on the back of my bike. Not to stop me. But to help.

A stranger ran beside me in silence, pushing me up the hill and giving me just enough of a boost to keep moving. When we reached the top, he let go and disappeared back down the road.

It was such a small moment, but it planted something big.

Sometimes the hardest stretch arrives right before the view changes. Sometimes support turns up just when you think you’re alone. And sometimes the flow returns quietly, with no big announcement at all.

Which brings me back to ebb and flow.

A quiet season isn’t failure. The dip isn’t a measure of your value. And the stories we tell ourselves when things slow down are rarely true.

Ebb. Flow. Repeat.

It isn’t a flaw in creative living. It is creative living.

So when the tide goes out let yourself play, keep pedalling and trust that the turn, the tailwind, or the helping hand might already be on its way.

One of my favourite moments was looking over afterward and seeing Cat Drysdale (pictured above) and Jimmy Patch dual graphic recording – mapping the conversation right back to us. A visual reminder of the stories we told and the truths we shared.

And massive gratitude to Matthew Magain, Dusty Folwarczny and Tatum Kenna for creating space and opening up to share your stories and to VizConf for the fantastic photos.