Graphic facilitation makes strategic meetings inspiring

Dear Harvard Business Review,

by Julie on August 23, 2010

Thank you so much for publishing an article about the field of graphic facilitation and for including my name in the first graph. It’s a good thing my SEO rocks because you didn’t mention the name of my business, Making Ideas Visible, or supply a link. But hey, that’s okay.

Seriously though, thanks. I come from a family of MBA’s (none of who have been in HBR) so this is a bragging right within my family that I’ll be able to milk for some time.

Here’s what you got right.

Yes, graphic facilitation is a great tool/process for engagement. It never fails to wow the participants because it’s powerful to see someone capture your ideas as they are occurring in real time. To feel like you’ve been heard.

The point you made about capturing the content so it can be used later is right on. Visual maps live on long after the meeting, guiding and directing the course of action, and can be shared with people who weren’t there which is incredibly useful.

Here’s what you got wrong.

I sent you to Prof. Martin Eppler because you wanted to quantify something that by its nature is a hard to quantify. (I have a lot more to say about this in a future post.) And he’s apparently doing research around retention and right-brained thinking.

But saying that expensive (and hard to learn) software programs that let people do their own drawing may be more effective? Wow, that’s a stretch.

I know from being a figure drawing teacher that giving people a tool and expecting them to take to it like a duck on water just doesn’t happen without a lot hand holding, instruction and cheerleading. There are huge emotional and psychological barriers in the way of adults doing art. I see this all the time.

I do agree that having people create their own pictures is powerful stuff. Read on for more on that point.

What we do in the room with these murals humanizes people’s experience of information. There is something so reassurring about seeing complexity depicted in simple, colorful shapes. To see words hand-written. It’s like poetry in action. In this world of technology, that’s deeply comforting and sustaining.

Call me a graphic facilitator not an artist.

I take issue with being called an artist in this context. And for calling my work, and that of my colleagues, “pricy artist’s handiwork.” Ouch!

When we talked I didn’t refer to myself as an artist. I get that this can be confusing because in my field of visual practioners, we have a variety of terms we call ourselves: graphic recorder, graphic facilitator, visual facilitator, visual mapper. We generally don’t call ourselves “artist.”

What makes it even more confusing is that some of us are hybrids. Some facilitators work graphically. A few, like me, are graphic facilitators who facilitate which means that we design the meeting, create the processes for the group and shepherd the meeting.

I apologize for the confusion this creates.

I don’t think of myself as an artist when I do graphic facilitation work. Yes, there are drawings that depict recognizable icons but art is about a tenth of what’s involved with this work. And plenty of people do this without art training.

When I graphically facilitate, I’m listening as a journalist would for the key themes and highlights in the story, organizing the information spatially, instinctually finding the structure, giving visual emphasis and hierarchy to the story as it emerges on the paper. And also paying attention to where the group needs to go next.

Like the cave drawings.

Yes, I do work with the artist materials of paper and markers, which aren’t far removed from the pigments used on cave walls in the earliest versions of my field’s depictions.

And like those cave painters who recorded the pertinent information for their tribe’s survival–where the hunts were good, the kinds of animals that were found, key details about the weather–me and my fellow graphic facilitators help our clients see the crucial elements of their terrain: the challenges, opportunities, strengths and weaknesses so they can plot their course ahead.

We are strategists. Truth-tellers. Visionaries. Interpreters. Mappers. And information organizers for our tribe.

Art—a definition.

So back to the term artist….and yes, it doesn’t help my case that my client at Accenture referred to my visual maps as artwork. I have an MFA (Masters in Fine Art) so I feel qualified to define what is and isn’t art, at least for myself.

Art—what we tend to think of as fine art—has original content. Creating visual maps from content that emerges from a group’s collective process and not from me, doesn’t qualify as art, in the original sense.

And I really cringe at the phrase “pricey artist’s handiwork” as if we’re selling our wares on Etsy along with potholders and hand puppets. (No offense to Etsy which I love.) I felt when talking to the writer that he had a bias against the fees we charge. It would appear he does.

My job won’t be outsourced.

I have no problem charging what I do because I offer a unique service that is highly valued by my clients. My expertise is grounded in all my previous work and life experience along with an advanced degree.

There is no one else on the planet with my particular combination of skills: public policy background + non-profit management + journalism + conceptual art + stock trading + politics + teaching + facilitation. I know I’m not in danger of having my job outsourced to India as we enter what Daniel Pink calls the conceptual age because my work of structuring the complexity is needed now more than ever.

When I first came across the field of graphic facilitation, it was thru a visual map I found online. The caption said, “They will be teaching this in business school five years from now.”

So Harvard heads up.

Whoever has the best picture wins.

Indeed, I’m counting on that happening because my hope for the field, and many of my colleagues including Dan Roam share this, is that we aren’t seen as “the artist,” the person in the room owning the creative process for the group.

It is my hope that we will be the enablers of everyone else’s creativity. That we will teach people to make their own pictures so that we aren’t seen as “the artist” but the person able to bring the artistry out of the people we work with who are hungry to express themselves creatively.

I believe there is artistry in everyone. As Ellen Dissanayake writes in Homo Aestheticus, this used to be an accepted fact. Our culture has taken the ownership of creativity out of the hands of many and put it into the hands of a few. I would like to return it to the many.

Because as Dan explains, whoever has the best picture wins. They get the funding, they grab the power. Reagonomics was born on the back of a napkin. Did you know that? We all need to be able to compete.

{ 31 comments }

42 things you might not know about me.

by Julie on August 18, 2010

Because two of my most favorite and trusted introverts just did this, I was inspired to follow in their footsteps. Lisa has a great explanation at the beginning of her list about what it’s like to be an introvert—really we’re not aloof, we just want to connect at a much deeper level. And Havi explains the HSP part, in case you don’t know what that is.

Without further ado, 42 things that you might not know about me. (in no particular order) If you’re skimming, just read the stuff in bold and you’ll get to the end quicker.

Here we go.

I use sesame oil as a moisturizer. I used to buy a $75 product but no longer. I put oil EVERYWHERE. It’s seriously calming for the nervous system and if you travel alot, it helps you stay grounded. Highly recommend.

In 1986 I pierced my nose myself after spending a semester in London. (This was about five years ahead of the whole piercing trend that is still alive and well. And yes, that says something about me being a visionary if you want to take it that far.)

When I got back to Purdue that year, I know I was the only white girl in the state of Indiana with a pierced nose. People used to get out of my way in bars like I was some kind of a badass. That was kind of cool.

Cheese-covered vegetables. Carving spoons.

I went to a camp named Honey Rock in the Northwoods of Wisconsin for 10 summers growing up from age 8 to 18. It was the best part of my childhood. It’s where my spirituality took root and my environmental ethic was formed. And my sense of what it’s like to live in community. I still go up there often. It’s a place that speaks to my soul.

But I avoid the cheese-covered vegetables that are rampant in those parts.

While at camp I learned how to orienteer. I was the best at it. This is true. I won the contest. Give me a compass and a topo map and I’ll find the way home.

I also carved my own spoon. I have no idea what happened to that spoon. I wish I still had it.

The very first friend of mine to die at a young age (he was in his 30s) was a special friend from camp. Chris, I miss you dearly.

I had an idyllic childhood growing up in River Forest, a suburb of Chicago. Then my parents bought a marina in Pensacola, a part of the Gulf of Mexico affectionately known as the Redneck Riviera. It was a culture shock I still haven’t recovered from. Three months later, a hurricane destroyed the place. It took two years to rebuild. This was the dream my dad left his family’s business for.

This move also meant that I showed up on the first day of high school with a Chicago accent in the South, not knowing a single person in a totally new cultural terrain. Did I mention that I’m an introvert? Uh, yeah.

I went to high school with Joe Scarborough. He was two years older. I remember him as really nerdy. (I could tell more stories about him but I’ll refrain.)

Yep, always been creative.

I’ve always been creative. I loved art and took art classes all the way through school. In college I minored in photography.

In 5th grade, I sewed my own puppets. My favorite was Mr. Jazzman. He was made out of polka dot fabric and had little pompoms on strings for hair that would bounce around kind of crazy-like. I wish I still had him too along with that spoon.

Eating fried catfish with Jimmy Carter. Politics. Intuition.

I missed my most recent high school reunion because I was having dinner with former President Jimmy Carter. Across from him. At a picnic table. Eating fried catfish and cole slaw off paper plates. In a tiny town in South Georgia. Apparently Jimmy likes a good fish fry.

I’m the board chair for Georgia River Network and we had a week-long paddle on the Flint River, a river Carter knew like the back of his hand. He’s been fighting against a proposal to dam the river since he was a state senator. More than 30 years ago.

He’s an amazing man. Showed up in his jeans, denim shirt and a big belt buckle that said “JC.” Still sharp as a tack.

I can’t do the same thing day in and day out. My idea of hell is reporting to an office for a 9-5 job, 20 years straight. I mean, commit me right now. I couldn’t survive it without massive amounts of drugs and alcohol. Good thing my little plan here is working out so far….

I think I chose my college major, political science, because a guy I really liked said that’s what he was going to study and I had no idea while still in high school what major I wanted to declare on my paperwork. As it turned out, I love politics—campaigning much more than governing. As Mario Cuomo once said, “You campaign in poetry and govern in prose.” I prefer poetry.

I’ve only loved two men so far in my life.

When my boyfriend was in Desert Storm (the first Gulf war, where he served as a helicopter pilot with the Navy) his ship hit a mine, and exploded. I felt it happen thousands of miles away. All were safe fortunately.

When my grandpa died, I felt that happen too. My first inklings that I’m very intuitive. Now I trust my intuition completely.

Art. And having a painting stolen.

I started painting seriously when I was 26. I was hooked immediately when I put gooey wet watercolor paint onto a piece of paper. I painted this drawing I had just made of three artichokes. *Swoon* was I ever in love. I still have that painting and look at it every so often to remember the thrill.

I went to an “artcamp” as I liked to call it where for two weeks straight all we did, with very little sleep, was paint, draw and critique. My favorite art teacher, Joyce Bennick, sent me there. She had attended 13 years straight and had never won an award during that whole time. (There’s a juried show at the end.)

The first year I went and out of a show of 99 paintings, two of mine took first and second place. It was a huge compliment to my teacher and boy did that fill me with confidence. I also got a great friend out of the experience who’s been in my life for about 17 years.

I had a painting stolen once. I got it back after a few days. It’s the same painting I got into my first national show.

Visual patterns and daytrading.

I was a daytrader for a couple of years during the crazy internet boom. I did well. For example, I turned $1500 of Mindspring stock into $40,000 in a year (technically that wasn’t a daytrade, I was buying into a company who’s principles I wanted to support). I learned a ton about how the street works. It was a huge education.

I shorted the market In September when everything tanked permanently and covered two weeks later. I could have let those shorts unwind for about, oh…. another six months before covering. I was optimistic.

I’m especially good at reading charts and patterns. It’s the whole visual pattern sense-making thing.

The visual thing also comes into play with puzzles. I’m insanely good at them. I’m also obsessive about them. So I only do a puzzle once a year at Christmas, if that, otherwise I wouldn’t get anything else done.

I come off as mysterious and a little hard to get to know which is funny because I see myself as an open book. That’s part of the introvert thing—there are layers and layers to travel through to get to know me. But I know me really well.

I’m also a Cancer sun sign so I’m naturally a bit protective until I feel safe. Help me feel safe and I’m completely wide open and accessible, which is where I love to be.

Meltdowns in figure drawing class. Not my meltdowns.

I taught figure drawing once a week for about five years mostly to adults who had done art in high school and college then put it aside to have a career and/or a family. I figured (ha) out pretty quick that my job was more about managing the emotional state of my students than teaching skills—though that was important too.

Like clockwork, during the third week of class there would be meltdowns. Tears. Tearing of paper. A general pause in the action while they assessed how hard it was to do what they wanted to do.

My students would struggle to reproduce with their hand what their eye was seeing. I would teach them how to see—how to really see— and eventually with practice their hand would catch up. This always resulted in breakthroughs, slow steady progress and appreciation for the small victories: the path of a true artist. I was really good at showing that path. And cheerleading along the way.

In college I wanted to be a diplomat.

Winter. Sausage. 62,000 cans of Labatts beer.

I miss winter. Last January after a gig in Milwaukee, I took four or five days and went north to my beloved woods of Wisconsin. I had never been up there in winter. I had also never been on a vacation by myself and wanted to try it out.

I stayed at a place I had been many times. I was the only guest except for a couple of snowmobilers one night. I loved it. I stomped through the snow. Walked on frozen lakes. Ice-skated. Cross-country skied at my old camp. “Oh, you’re the camper who is here to ski?” Watched the firemen prep a small lake for the National Pond Hockey championships—30 rinks, thousands of people, and 62,000 cans of Labatts beer—taking place the weekend after I left. I will do that again.

I love sausage. It’s the Chicago upbrining in me. And I haven’t found a decent one in the South. They don’t know the importance of fennel down here.

I learned about the field I’m working in now as a graphic facilitator while on a vacation in the Tetons. (Thank you, Mary Parish.) I like that the origin story of my career comes from those magnificent mountains.

I have been a yogi for about 13 years.

I hardly ever read books these days. I just don’t make time for them. It’s sad, I know. A few of the books that have had huge imprints on me: Cradle to Cradle, North Enough and everything by James Salter.

I am currently getting postcards in the mail from faeries and that’s the coolest thing ever.

My superpower. Seriously, don’t tell me your dream. It will come true.

One of my superpowers, or really the core of it, is that when people tell me their deep innermost wish or secret dream for what they really want to do with their life, I can immediately see it. Like all of it. In Technicolor.

I should really start warning people about this because as soon as I see it—just the act of seeing it starts to put things in motion. Soon I’m manifesting stuff: connections, opportunities, trips to Morocco. It’s crazy.

It doesn’t surprise me at all but I’m starting to see how it can be a little startling to the person who’s just whispered their dream in my ear and suddenly the world shifts a bit on its axis.

I once spent a day with The Art Guys and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. No really, they were great fun to be around. And I did get a one-of-a-kind iron-on t-shirt from them.

There is one sure way to disappoint me: say you are going to do something and then don’t do. Flakiness doesn’t work for me. Ever.

In 2nd grade, I was Rudolph in the school Christmas pageant. I absolutely adored being pulled out of class for secret rehearsals with the older kids. And the taste of stardom and attention the day of the play. Intoxicating.

I have quite a few epic friendships—those people you know you’ll have all your life even if some time passes between contacts. And I fully appreciate that these are some of the greatest treasures of my life.

The greatest gig ever. And the need for f-bombs.

Some people think that being a creative entrepreneur is the greatest gig ever. It’s also the scariest especially when you have experiences like I did last week when $12,000 in potential business vanished. *Poof*

You have to be brave. And willing to look deeply inside yourself—because working on your stuff is the same as working on your business. It’s not for weenies. Or pussies.

I really like to swear. Sometimes you just need a good ole f-bomb. Like last week, for instance.

One of the tricks to getting good at what you do is to start paying attention to How you do what you do. That’s an advanced practice because for most of us, how we do it is so natural we take it for granted. You need to know the How so you can teach it.

My favorite college professor, Michael Weinstein, (go on, click on the link–you have to see his picture) taught modern philosophy under the guise of political science. I was the only undergrad he let into his graduate/PhD seminars. I lived for those three hours every week where we would toss around big ideas about how life works.

(see how doing this can show you your life’s roadmap—all those experiences that make up who you are and why you do what you do.)

And what about you?

Feel free to leave some things about you that we don’t know in the comments. Or better yet, write your own and help your people get to know you.

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Miami. Mojitos. Architects. And me.

by Julie on July 28, 2010

I’ll give you the punchline first:

I’m still blown away by the paparazzi snapping pictures of your work. Everyone at the conference loved it. It was a huge hit. I haven’t worked with someone of your skill before. You have so much flexibility, a great sense of humor and you know how to adapt to a situation.

That’s from my new buddy, Joel Mills who runs the American Institute of Architects (AIA) program Communities by Design. Joel is very much one of my right people.

Here’s the story.

Joel found me. We had a phone call. He hired me. I flew to Miami having only the slightest idea about what I would be doing. Seriously, it was the first gig where I felt entirely clueless. Not that I need a ton of background going in, but it helps to know where I need to be and when, and what’s going to happen.

But I wasn’t worried. I do yoga. I’m flexible.

And hey, I was in Miami. I loved the mission of this program. AIA put me up at The Epic which lived up to its name. *swoon* Have I mentioned my thing for high-end boutique hotels? And there were mojitos. Mojitos!

And Joel and Erin did take very good care of me.

A little background.

AIA’s Communities by Design gives world-class advice and recommendations to communities big to small all over the country that want to Revision. Repurpose. Place-make. And Redefine a specific place.

This whole project got me excited because one of my five lives (if you know the work of Barbara Sher) is an architect/designer/city planner because I would love the challenge of playing and designing at that scale.

A river gives birth to a city.

Our project was the Miami River Corridor—the ancient birthplace of the city where the first Indian settlement in South Florida existed.

The Miami River Corridor has a rich history that’s largely unknown. Part of it is a designated heritage site. There are old neighborhoods. Historic hotels. Protected Indian sites. All kinds of relics from a long time ago.

It’s also a working waterfront with marinas and a port.

The river winds through neighborhoods and public parks, some of which have ball fields and get used, some of which don’t.

It’s also polluted but getting better. Kayakers are using it more and more for day trips.

It has cultural significance. Rituals are performed in its waters like baptisms and voodoo sacrifices of chickens.

Its many things to many people. It’s also hard to get to. Most people don’t even see it except from a bridge as they are driving over. And plenty of people have never been on it, in it or beside it.

So there are issues of identity. And place. Meaning. Use. And what the river wants to be now. And issues about the health of the river itself and the communities along its banks.

Assemble the crackerjack team.

Enter into this story a brilliant team assembled by the AIA that included:

an architect
a landscape architect
an economist
a port operations expert
a person with multi-government jurisdiction experience
a planner who specializes in pedestrian and bike mobility

And me. With my environmental political experience. My current work as the board chair of an organization dedicated to protecting Georgia’s rivers. And being the daughter of a former 20-year Florida marina owner who was very involved in the controversial issue of protecting the manatees years ago.

For several days the team listens, really listens, to key stakeholders. They take tours on the river and in the surrounding neighborhoods. They get their feet on the ground. They experience the place with fresh eyes. They ask questions.

In a long afternoon meeting we dialogued with the MRC Commission about their dreams, concerns and issues. Because of a mix-up, I wasn’t able to capture the meeting live on a visual map. So I took copious notes—relying on my journalism experience like I did with the fine folks at AGU— and worked up a mural later that day.

Click on the image to view an enlarged version.

My favorite part was the public dialogue meeting where individuals who cared about the river were asked to share their vision for the future of the river corridor. We asked them what they valued about the river. Some of the answers were:

the continuity of history
living on the river
economic development
tourism
unique neighborhoods
accessibility

We talked about all the ways it was currently being used. What the impediments were to making it a wonderful place. And then created the vision of what it could be.
Click on the image to view an enlarged version.

My part was pivotal here because as I wrote and drew the ideas people shared, I allowed their vision to flow through me and into the paper so they could see how wonderful, special and significant this river is in all its facets. It was all right there in big gorgeous Technicolor. And they were wowed.

They felt heard, which was the most important part. As I often say,

Listening is an act of love.

In fact, the team got an email later from someone at the public meeting commending them for really listening.

The all-nighter commences.

The next step of the team’s process is kind of like cramming for your exams. They hole up in the hotel conference room and get to work. They think. They write. They compare ideas. They write some more.

Other folks come in to help. The youngsters who are tech savvy make maps and drawings and scale models. This goes on for 36 hours, mostly straight.

A room full of brains on fire. Culminating in a beautifully detailed 48- page report with recommendations galore. Take a peek. My visual maps are on page 16. (This is also a great example of how my client repurposed the murals created during the live event.)

All this work was presented at AIA’s annual conference. It created quite a buzz. People swarmed the murals to take photos.

I know those architects and I are going to work together again real soon. There might not be mojitos but we’ll make due with another local beverage. Aquavit perhaps? Ouzo?

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How to shine, in all your complicatedness.

by Julie on July 22, 2010

You know how the advice you get from bloggers, copywriters and Sonia Simone is to write your copy and your blog posts as if you are writing to one person. A very specific person. With known qualities.

Some of the advice even says to make a profile of this person. What they do. What they like. What they do when they aren’t working. What they believe in. I thought all of that was crap, until now.

See for a while I thought I had to write for all these different audiences:

the facilitators who I team with
the corporate folks who hire me for their meetings
the environmental public policy wonks who are my peeps
the cool people who are in my realm on Twitter and Facebook
the creative entrepreneurs who come to me for visioning and brilliance.

It was confusing. I didn’t know who I was talking to and connecting with. I was trying to serve everyone at the same time. Tiring. Overwhelming.

I’ve solved that issue, here’s how.

It’s recently been brought to my attention that someone is reading my blog who is my ideal client. And this person gets me, like really gets me in the way that my friend Amna describes when she wrote,

Your complicatedness, that you thought was the source of all your suffering in life and that you would never transcend? That complicatedness is a gift.

Well, yes. It is.

So I’m going to write to that one person who really gets me and my complicatedness. Who is actually fascinated by my complicatedness and loves me for it. It will simplify my life drastically and free up the muse.

The qualities of my ideal person who I’m writing for.

This person has depth and substance, and can totally swim with me in the deep waters of my inner landscape, some of which I share here.

This person gets the value of visual thinking and creative processing. And how important the constructs and containers are when you bring a group of people together to make decisions.

This person share’s my goal of liberating the human spirit to do great things in the world. To soar to the heights. And to do that you need structure and freedom. Awareness, honesty, safety, vulnerability, trust, love. Stuff like that.

This person values my contribution to the world. Sees me as I truly am in all my fascinating brilliance and mystery. Understands that sometimes it’s in the depth of stillness where the most powerful change comes from.

This person is imaginative in their thinking about how they might use my abilities because there are many ways I could show up with my magic to be in service.

I could, for example, lead a wisdom circle to tap into the rich wisdom that exists in all of us and is dying to be utilized.
Or do a wonderfully wacky kinesthetic modeling session, which really needs a more descriptive name because the insights that come from visualizing in 3-D, essentially playing and designing with random stuff and then describing it, are really amazing.
Or teach about visioning, finding your essence and mindmapping. Using those tools, and my superpower of clarity, to dig into the deeper furrow of your consciousness to see what wants to emerge into the light.

This person sees the High Priestess in me. (more on that later…)

This person is a bridge like me. Someone who can travel seamlessly through diverse situations and audiences, and find their home easily in all of it.

This person is open to the endless depth of wisdom that is the self.

This person sees all the facets of me. The facilitator. The visionary. The visual thinker. The artist. The strategist. The healer. The mystic. And it all resonates. This person would only want me to show up fully in my magnificence or not at all.

This person reflects back to me the best parts of my self.

This person allows me the safety to be fully present and totally on.

The island priestess casts her net.

I need more people like this person in my life. So I’m going to write to this one person and trust that in time many more will show up. The kind of people who I can shine for and we can do magical stuff together.

See, I collect interesting people. So from my tropical island, standing on the shore with my sarong billowing in the breeze, I’m casting my net. Let’s see who I can catch.

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Interviews! About me! And doodle bombs!

by Julie on June 8, 2010

The other week I did a couple of interviews. One was with the fabulous branding therapy coach David Cohen who did that fabulous doodle bomb of me. My first ever! Mwah.

Harvard Business Review. Seriously?

The other was with the Harvard Business Review, ahem, for an article coming out in the fall that may include me, my work and my client’s experience of graphic facilitation. I’ll let you know about the article when it comes out. In the meantime, say prayers and make offerings to the journalism god that I’ll be included.

Back to the interview I did with David (yes he got to me first before HBR)….the interview and subsequent lunch was illuminating. This guy knows his stuff.

Finetuning my Sweetspot

I’ll write more later about the insights he gave me over lunch. He had me do a focusing exercise about my business which involved doodling a bar graph on the paper tablecloth of a Cuban restaurant. The exercise confirmed where the Sweetspot of my business is and kind of painfully highlighted where I don’t have nearly as much enthusiasm. So I’m doing some internal processing about that.

David gave me some great ideas about how I can realign some of my current projects, like producing a business mindmapping product, into a way that can deliver value for my clients who are in my Sweetspot. For that valuable insight and others I picked up the check.

Me and Gary Vee!

I met David, initially over the internet and then in person, after he talked about me in the same sentence as Gary Vee as someone who has turned their unique skills into a powerful brand story. David explored more of this idea in the interview he did with me. I talked about how I got into this work. Getting really clear about how I talk about the work I do because it’s not something that’s easily explained. And the worst thing that’s ever happened to me at a gig. Enjoy!

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Been to an inspiring meeting lately?