May was a month of evidence.
Not evidence in the bureaucratic sense, although there was certainly plenty of paperwork. Rather, evidence in its broader meaning. The process of gathering enough information, experience, feedback, and understanding to take the next step with confidence.
Much of the month revolved around Composing the Heavens, the immersive theatre project exploring the lives of William and Caroline Herschel through live performance, music, and fulldome projection. Earlier in the year I had been thinking primarily about the creative opportunity. By May, my attention had shifted toward a different set of questions.
Who is this for?
Where might it travel?
What public benefit does it create?
How does it fit within the wider cultural ecology?
Most importantly, what evidence exists that others would value it?
These questions became a recurring companion throughout the month.
The further I progressed into funding applications and development planning, the more I realised that producing is often less about making a case for what you want to do and more about understanding the conditions that allow others to say yes.
That distinction feels important.
A funding application is rarely a request for permission. It is an invitation to share confidence. Confidence that the idea is needed. Confidence that it is achievable. Confidence that the people involved can deliver it.
Building that confidence requires evidence.
May therefore became a month of listening.
Listening to feedback.
Listening to assessors.
Listening to venue partners.
Listening to sector conversations.
Listening to what was being said and, just as importantly, what was not.
I spent considerable time examining funding guidance, assessment criteria, and project feedback. What struck me was how often apparently unsuccessful applications contain useful intelligence. A rejection rarely means a project lacks value. More often it reveals a gap between what the applicant understands and what the assessor needs to understand.
Seen through that lens, feedback becomes less a judgement and more a form of research.
That perspective changed how I approached applications going forward.
Rather than viewing applications as isolated opportunities, I began thinking about them as stages within a larger roadmap. Smaller development grants leading to larger ambitions. Research activity informing future delivery. Conversations laying the groundwork for partnerships that may not emerge for months or even years.
This shift from opportunity-hunting to pathway-building feels significant.
For much of my career I have worked in environments where projects emerge in response to opportunities. Increasingly I find myself asking a different question.
If the destination is clear, what sequence of steps gets us there?
The answer is rarely immediate.
It usually involves gathering evidence.
Alongside funding and development work, I continued thinking about touring and access. The more conversations I have with venues, planetaria, and educational partners, the more convinced I become that some of the most exciting cultural opportunities lie outside traditional theatre infrastructures.
Planetaria, observatories, libraries, community venues, universities, hybrid spaces. Places where audiences gather for reasons that extend beyond entertainment alone.
The challenge is not simply creating work for those spaces. It is creating work that belongs there.
That enquiry continues.
May also strengthened my belief that documentation is itself a creative output.
Producers often create reports, roadmaps, show bibles, evaluation frameworks, and technical specifications because they are required. Yet increasingly I see these documents differently. They are repositories of learning. They preserve knowledge that would otherwise disappear between projects.
Perhaps more importantly, they allow future work to begin from a stronger foundation.
A project may last for weeks or months.
Its documentation can shape decisions for years.
This idea connects closely to a wider theme that has been developing throughout the year. The transition from creating individual projects toward building reusable systems, methods, and pathways.
Not everything needs to be reinvented. Sometimes the most valuable thing we can do is leave behind a map.
Looking back, May feels less like a month of arrival and more like a month of preparation. Not preparation in the sense of waiting.
Preparation in the sense of strengthening foundations.
Testing assumptions.
Gathering intelligence.
Building confidence.
Collecting evidence.
January asked what matters.
February asked how it works.
March asked whether it holds.
April asked how it becomes transferable.
May asked a new question.
What do we need to know before taking the next step?
The answer, as ever, is rarely definitive.
But a more evidence feel like progress.