Dr. Steve Marshall

The Photo-Dialogues


With the vision established, we should define our mission, set objectives and monitor progress on the path to success.

Achievement becomes a product of a well-defined process and determined effort.

My world doesn't seem to work like that.

And I'm pretty sure it's not like that for other folk either. Even if it does work for others, the effect of 'bigger, faster, better' has been to separate us from the reality of our existence and promote damaging ways of working.  Our world is a social and ecological mess.

The Photo-Dialogues are an experiment.

I am trying to learn how how leaders working differently in the world conceptualize and work with their sense of'vision'.

These leaders seem to be interested in a way of working that values participation, social justice and emancipation, sustainability, relationship to each other, our place within nature and with our planet.  And they are attempting to work beyond the conventions of easily defined 'elevator pitch' business propositions. 

On these pages I am showing you the 'short-form' blog style summary of much longer conversations. As I work with these 'visionaries', themes emerge and questions arise. I am finding that I begin to question my own vision and the way that I try to bring it to life. As I continue to wrestle with my meaning making and encourage this work in others, I plan to write longer articles that will give a different shape to the work. But for now, here are the first 'outputs' of my efforts.

I'm presenting each Photo-Dialogue as portrait photograph and a conversation. This first image is my picture; an attempt to offer witness to the person before me. The conversation then tries to unravel first signs of how a new vision, an often a fragile, only slowly developing image,  is being brought to life.

The second image is 'directed' by the subject. We work together to make an expression of their sense of themselves 'in their vision'.  Sometimes, the image is easy to plan and visualize; my work is simply to light and frame the photograph. More often, we search, seeking something that would an expression of a different way of working, living and thinking.

In every case, the photograph says at least as much as our words could tell.

Every successful endeavour, we are told,begins with a clear vision...



Paul Dickinson is the Executive Chair of the CDP (formerly the Carbon Disclosure Project), an NGO that runs a carbon disclosure system to enable companies, cities, states and regions to measure and manage their environmental impacts.



Paul is shouting across the room as we open the call.

P: “What do you see in the picture?
He turns back to the screen.
P: “I’m just checking with a colleague who has known me for ages... Hold on....” Someone shouts back:

Voice: “Defiance.”


Paul asked for his picture to be taken on the steps of the Ministry of Defence and I had spoken to the security guards at the door to see if it would be possible. The response was a clear refusal but, in a moment of chat and banter, there was mention that each evening the doors were closed, monitored only by CCTV. It felt like a ‘No’ that I could work with.

We meet at the building on a warm, balmy evening. Paul is chatting about the Photo-Dialogue project and his choice of casual clothes for the photograph. We don’t have much time, he has another appointment and I wonder how long it will take for the guards to turn up, but I hear his care and concern for me as we work. I struggle to reconcile the man before me with the impression I hold of him as an inevitably hard-edged activist and business leader.

CDP’s numbers are staggering. Paul started the project in 2000 with the idea of creating a global economy that would work sustainably and prevent dangerous climate change. Now they have more than 6000 companies and 500 cities reporting annually through them. They represent supply chain members with a purchasing power of $2.7tn and investor assets of $100tn. In addition, a total of 71 states and regions now measure their environmental impact through CDP.

S: So, how do you conceptualize the future? What does ‘vision’ mean for you?

P: The simplicity for me, is that since I became very concerned about climate changes, I found myself immediately surrounded by just a hell of a lot of pictures from scientists about the future. A colleague once asked, “Have you read the 3rd Assessment Report?”, which is from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change and I said, “Well, I’ve sort of looked at it.” And he said, “No, have you read it?” and I said, “It’s one and a half thousand pages...” He said, “No, no, you have to read it.” So I did. And in that one and a half thousand pages were just lots and lots of pictures of the future. And often with some choices, of course. We can get away without much trouble or there might be a lot of trouble.

S: If I’ve understood you, it feels graphic, visual, but I wasn’t sure if you meant you were literally seeing pictures or you were converting the text into pictures.

P: Well, on that specific on that specific point, if I think about the big ‘felt’ moments; I studied at Schumacher College and Stefan Harding was talking [on global warming], I was a bit facetious to him. I said, “So what if Bangladesh floods, and it’s always been too cold here.” He said, “No, no, the Gulf Stream is going to shut off and it’s going to be freezing here and we haven’t got enough snow ploughs.” So the first sense that I had, a real sense of climate change, pictures if you will, was the discontinuity between my childhood, which was a happy childhood, and then a future that was going to be different, so I felt that discontinuity, that was my first real climate change feeling.

The second picture that had a big impression on me, a huge impression on me to be honest, was from a 1999 paper from the Clinton White House about the Kyoto Protocol. Anyway, the point was that it had the graph of CO2 against temperature and they seemed to move in lockstep for 650,000 years and then the CO2 goes up sharply and the temperature starts rising and you’re like ‘Aarrrgh...’ And my third picture that I’ll just offer up is that, quite often, if we’re in a bit of a quandary around here, as we often are, we’ll say, “Well what’s in the best interests of the starving or struggling Bangladeshi child. And that Bangladeshi child might be now, or in 2050, or they might be in 2100, but the notion of vulnerability and country... it’s a sort of an abstract picture, in a way. You literally see someone in your mind’s eye who’s, you know, who’s without technology or financial resources and cannot feed themselves or has no drinking water or they’re in a refugee camp or something. The focus doesn’t get sharpened but it’s the impulse....

S: I like that. It’s shorthand for quite a lot of things really isn’t it? And when you invoke ‘the Bangladeshi child, that’s something that you and your team share well enough?

P: It’s probably my pictorial style and not everyone in the organisation will mention the Bangladeshi child but they will probably say, “Which way is most effectively going to measure on our mission or our vision?” But the reason I like to evoke it is just to try and remind ourselves that we are not doing something abstract, these are not quarterly figures or we’re not seeking to win a Nobel prize, there’s actual lives....


Photo-Dialogue: Paul Dickinson

Photo-Dialogue: Paul Dickinson

S: I guess I’d be interested to talk about the children, the childhood images. What is it that you particularly recall about your childhood?

P: I mean, you know, now you could say snow, for example. I’m 52, about to turn 53, and we would have snow 3 times a year or more than as a child and that’s sort of stopped. So it’s a small thing but I just notice it. A bigger thing would be would be the idea that there could be a New York style 'Snowmageddon' here, that we would just get frozen to the core. But I suppose what happened was that I had a sort of comfortable childhood; my parents weren’t particularly rich but they were certainly comfortable and they were reasonably sort of attentive and, you know, behaved themselves for the most part, and so I felt pretty safe, I suppose, and if somebody said, “Well, you've spent a lot of time working on this problem, why is that?” It’s because I like the idea of people feeling safe.



Jane Riddiford

20170722_2586 Jane1.jpg

Jane is the founding director of Global Generation, an educational charity which works with children and young people, often from disadvantaged backgrounds, to help them make a difference to their worlds.


S: “So, is vision the wrong word?”
J: “Well (smiling), if you can already see it, that’s not it!”

Finding Global Generation’s ‘Skip Garden’, nestling in the enormous King’s Cross construction site, was often a challenge.  The garden, housed in portacabin classrooms, used builders skips to grow vegetables, fruit and herbs, and the whole lot would be picked up by the tower cranes and moved around the site as construction progressed. I had frequently searched for the garden, often with a crumpled access map in hand, to find Jane as she worked through her doctorate. We would speak about her Kiwi background, the way the organisation of the Skip Garden (literally) shifted, the challenges she faced and our often conflicting views of leadership.

This time, I met Jane at the ‘Paper Garden’, a small corner of a vast, brutalist, mostly deserted 1980’s newspaper print factory in Canada Water. Where once gigantic printing presses had operated, now the dark, cavernous print rooms were used as film and TV locations, occasional music venues, workspace for a few micro-businesses and, in one corner, the latest manifestation of the Global Generation project. As fluorescent tubes flickered into life, it was clear that the industrial space, littered with the remnants of the latest craft activities, had become another special space.   

Special spaces, invitations to join and participate, activities that enable hands-on reflection and connection, story telling and cultivating our relationship with nature (both in London and at their campsite hidden in a copse on an organic farm in Wiltshire) are all critical elements of how Jane and the Global Generation team bring their vision to life.

J: “One afternoon, we had, it seemed like we had about fifty, architects and builders, whatever, developers, on a tour; they do a fifteen minute whistle stop tour through the Skip Garden, that kind of thing, it’s all a bit grimace. At one point, I usually say a few words and they move on to the next bit, but one of the guys just suddenly went, “It’s a bloody nice atmosphere here.” And I was like, “Wow. Great, Ok, good.” I couldn’t speak to that, I couldn’t explain it, but, you know…  But I suppose my vision is around that.”

Jane’s radical doctoral thesis took the ineffable, unseen qualities of space seriously and looked at how she could use them provide a context and foundation for her own particular style of collaborative leadership: As a fifth-generation, Pakehā, (New Zealander of European descent) working in a multicultural setting in the centre of London, I needed to understand two fundamental and seemingly opposing forces that motivate me. One is the opportunistic and single minded drive of the pioneer and the other is a pull to deeper values of connection and wholeness.

Drawing deeply on her New Zealander background, Jane’s studies contrasted the individualist, mechanistic western worldview of the her settler forebears with the more participative philosophy of Māori mythology.  She was drawn to the stories and symbology she discovered in Māori cosmology and how the legends told of ‘three baskets of knowledge’ that were made available to humankind.

J: “In the new print factory space we found piles and piles of engineering plans that were the drawings for the print machines and so we just thought, “Wow, those are interesting” and then, one day, maybe a few months ago, we had a volunteer day and somehow Siw, one of our colleagues, just spontaneously started rolling them up and now they are all woven into these most amazing baskets. Then we also wove an indoor yurt [a creative iteration of an outdoor version at King’s Cross] with cardboard newspaper tubes as the uprights and the left over newsprint as the weave that goes around. I am drawn to the symbolism of the place very quickly, I make those connections, and that seems symbolic somehow of feeling our role is bringing in nature, bringing the enchantment to the mechanical and reconnecting the natural world with the mechanistic world… and the role of weaving, the seen and the unseen, and the empty space. Those baskets are definitely defining our space so our photograph would probably involve a half made basket in some way.”

The draw of the woven yurt felt irresistible as we pondered Jane’s vision photo. As I made my preparations, Jane made hers, immaculately arranging the stools and chairs, arranging the woven paper basket as a centrepiece and setting out ‘twig pencils’ for the imaginary participants.

Photo-Dialogue: Jane Riddiford

Photo-Dialogue: Jane Riddiford

A few days later, we spoke on a video call to reflect on our conversations and I shared Jane’s image on our screens.

S: “As you look at your photograph, how do you see yourself as a leader, as someone making a contribution to an organisation?”
J: “Well, if you asked me tomorrow I would probably answer differently, but a phrase comes to mind that I think really holds true; it’s driven by the sense that vision grows in the footsteps of shared commitment.”
S: “That’s a lovely line…”
J: “Yeah… there’s a feeling that I’ll do my bit to enable shared commitment to come about. I do see myself as a fire-starter, putting the logs in place and trying to make sure there’s enough air blowing through… it’s never going to work without the air, it would get suffocated… and you’ve got to have people to sit around the fire as well…to help make it really burn!




James Wilson


Each morning, there is a moment when the doors of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum open to the patiently waiting crowd outside and… nothing happens… no-one moves….

Then, as if by secret invitation, the visitors suddenly step smartly over the threshold and a normal day begins.

James Wilson is a Learning and Organisational Development Consultant at the V&A and has taken me for a ‘walk and talk’ through the gallery spaces on several occasions.  We’ve seen him here before, the Anonymous Angel of the P-D website, in an image we made as we toured the museum one afternoon.  James  runs the V&A Innovative Leadership Programme, a 10 month course that mixes hands-on management with the creative skills necessary to lead effectively in our increasingly complex world. 

We discussed the picture that James had envisioned as we walked smartly through the halls and positioned ourselves only moments before the doors opened. I jammed the camera on a tripod and hoped - not really imagining that James would be able to stand still enough for the longish exposure. Yet, as the crowd began to move, he stood completely motionless as the movement of the day unfolded. Quite a skill...

Photo-Dialogue: James Wilson

Photo-Dialogue: James Wilson

SM: This is the second image we’ve made together and I’m intrigued; when we explore your sense of vision, we seem to capture you in moments of stillness within otherwise dynamic surroundings. They are a real counterpoint to the movement and transition that we might usually associate with ‘vision’.

JW: My first reflection is that photograph belies a different original intention.  My curiosity was to see if we could capture the moment of opening – almost like a Schrödinger Museum, both open and not open.  Those instances are beyond fleeting, perhaps not even physical more a shared understanding of intention and permission.

It is interesting therefore that what emerged from this exercise is something quite different, particularly as you ended up with an image of me. 

I notice the stillness of the body in front of the blur of people arriving from the light of the street to the dark of the V&A. All the people are moving from left to right (very occidental) and yet the body is still. The people are part of the sunshine’s glare – solid refractors of the light behind curved glass.  There is the impression that they might be whirling through revolving doors – yet I know those doors have been left open. This is exaggerated by the body being placed in a circle.  And yet it is not revolving.  What I see is someone standing in his authority amidst movement. The photo portrays a soft stillness.

SM: Is that how you see yourself and how your vision feels to you?

JW: The image I see is not dissimilar to the image I have of myself. Yet, I don’t always find it comfortable. This is the liminal space of belonging and not belonging – an unclear position that is difficult for some to perceive. I know that my separation from the V&A whilst being part of it, the otherness of my offer (I am curious about people, rather than objects) allows me to bring difference.  Being comfortable with and appreciating this difference brings value to my practice. However, for many outside the V&A, it is too easy to see the difference I bring as nothing more than “being from the V&A” and this can undermine the value of what I bring.

SM: Quite a lot has been published about these ‘edgy’ places in which consultants and change agents find themselves. I always feel like I am doing my best work when the client is about to throw me out! The ability to challenge (helpfully) and to bring difference while engaging with the client ‘system’ is a key skill - and I’m seeing the ‘will they, won’t they’ in your image as the visitors hesitate at that literal threshold differently now.  And I’m getting a different sense of what it means to provide a still presence as everything starts to shift...

JW: The difference I feel, and with it the tension, is that for the most part of my work I act as an internal consultant, very much part of the V&A system.  “When the client is about to throw me out” has more radical implications when you are an employee. Which is why I enjoy the colouring over the lines when I run the V&A Innovative Leadership Programme – I am working mostly people who don’t work at the V&A, so it affords me the opportunity to be more experimental with V&A colleagues and in a V&A context.  It informs the work I do outside the V&A too. I really appreciate the opportunity to be more James than V&A.

So the constant discipline is to treat myself as a blank canvas.

When I can stand strongly but relaxedly, uncertain but unconcerned, curious to find the question rather desperate to find the answer, I can create most value. I feel most useful when I do not know the answer to a client’s needs – which is often uneasy for them as that is what they are coming to me for.  After a recent programme I ran for a large media institution, I asked an evaluative question, “What did you want from the programme but didn’t get?”  Three or four people replied, “The answers!”

SM: But we all look for silver bullets, don’t we? Even if intellectually we know it’s crazy to think that L&D professionals, consultants, coaches would know the unique complexities of our own circumstances, there is always the hope that we might be ‘saved'! When I work with my own coach I often have a nagging wish to say, “Don’t make me work this out for myself, I’m stuck… Just TELL me…!’ Of course, it would be fatal...

JW: I wonder if this strong stillness means that I am stuck in the same place? There is something about the image – standing in a circle that doesn’t revolve (or that I am not turning around) that has hooked me once more.  Movement beats stuckness, is something I have learnt from Steve Chapman (@stevexoh), and I use it constantly, whether in my practice as a workplace mediator or as a coach or when I work with L&D people on conflict resolution or problem solving sessions.  The change since first thinking about the photograph is that I have initiated the 100 objects 100 essais project as a creative activity to keep me moving and not get me stuck. Important aspects are that I need to make the most of the niche within which I am – the V&A is rich and diverse, unique and accessible.  The negotiation is to bring myself to foreground of the project rather than the comfortable retreating of the anonymous angel, who at best is alongside, but never in front.

SM: You’re not the first person that I’ve worked with who is seeking a different quality of visibility and presence. I wonder if this kind of quest is a by-product of exposure to our institutions and corporations where we often need to work hard to fit in… And so our creative selves become stifled.  And I wonder how that plays out for the participants on your courses.

JW: The metaphor of the learning journey – you are starting here and by the time you have finished this course you will be there (box ticked, new title) – works well where there are clear progression routes and a ladder or pole to climb.  Hence the “isn’t it time you did your MBA?” conversations in big corporates.  It assumes that badges and ranks and knowledge are tangible items to acquire. I am more taken by the idea of expanding oneself into a larger role or agency.

This fits better with a Buddhist perspective (I am a practicing B) which holds that every individual has a Buddha nature, that their Buddhahood is essential and internal.  Enlightenment is an everyday act of bringing forth that innate Buddha nature.

It fits well with Carl Rogers’ concept of unconditional positive regard.  As he wrote “It is that the individual has within him or her self vast resources for self-understanding, for altering her or his self-concept, attitudes, and self-directed behaviour”

In terms of 2-D representations, I like the idea of the individual at the centre of a venn diagram, expanding into other areas so that the intersection becomes larger and larger.  The liminal expands until it is assumed into the centre circle.  It feels better than starting at point A and drawing a line to point B.

So the image now takes on the power of potential.

How much am I expanding, what is the range of my liminality?  Hmmm… something to ponder, n’est-ce pas?

SM: That's a really powerful image and I’m gripped by the way you are holding the space of the circle in the photograph.  I don’t remember us planning that - did you intend to stand there? Was that in your mind before we arrived by the doors that morning?  You were very deliberate about how you wanted to stand and I certainly noticed it as I looked through the viewfinder.

JW: Ha!  I don’t remember being that deliberate and we certainly didn’t plan it.  There is an element of performance (and some vanity too) in the pose.  I really like the idea of stillness as way to highlight what else is going on.  I have experimented with for many years.  I remember when studying drama and doing mask work, often the most powerful action when working with another in mask was to do nothing.  It amplified their actions allowing the audience to see much more.  In coaching, silence is a fantastic tool.  As someone who can ramble on endlessly myself, saying nothing can be really hard but it can pay back handsomely as it encourages the client to step into the silence.

Also, I spent many hours as a drama student and working in the theatre, being a focus for lighting rehearsals.  You had to stand on one spot for ages whilst director, lighting director and technicians tried out different spots and floods.  Once in a while you might get an instruction “Can you take a step to the left… no our left, not yours.  Yeah. Stop.  That’s it”.  I learned to treat it as a meditative exercise, working to take as much movement and tension out of my body, concentrating on just my ears to listen and to balance.  It whiled away the time and I never begrudged it.

So I wonder if there is something about working in a museum that plays to that.  People come to see stuff that doesn’t move.  The objects authority is in their unchanging, the context or environment they have been placed, whether in a case or not, whereabouts in the room they are positioned.  And they can be there for decades, some even a century.  It makes them “part of the furniture” and it is easy for them to become invisible to some eyes.

I was asked recently “Have you seen every object in the V&A?” by which they meant all the objects on display.  I said that I may have seen all of them but I haven’t noticed all of them yet.

SM: I can imagine that you would have toured all of the 145 galleries but, yeah, 4.5 million things competing for attention. It’s incredible to imagine, on a routine basis, everything that we have to actively ignore just to get through the day. I’m struck, again, by the potential of just looking….

JW … just stand still for a while and just look.

If you are interested in some of the themes that came up in this conversation and would like some extra reading, take a look at:

Tempered Radicals: How People Use Difference to Inspire Change at Work ~ Debra Meyerson

On Becoming a Person ~ Carl Rogers