HMO’s programme and evaluation manager Lizzie has compiled a scrapbook of work that our artists facilitated in summer 2024 at an asylum hotel, collaging observations, reflections, images and music.

In an asylum hotel foyer, Hear Me Out artist Roshi is carefully wandering with her ukulele, gently gathering people’s favourite ice-cream flavours in a catchy tune that elegantly rises and falls between two notes an octave apart. In the background, lunch is being prepared and hotel residents come and go in this communal, multi-purpose space.

A girl grabs me by the hand and pulls me over to the arts and crafts table, points at a piece of folded card, shows me an ice-cream graphic she has coloured in, and asks me for some glue.

I ask, “who is the card for?”

“Mama” she relies, as we sit down next to one another.

She glues her ice-cream onto the card, opens it up, gives me a pen and says, “love for mama”, gesturing that I write for her. I follow these instructions and she decorates the writing with love hearts and stars. She delivers the card and Mama’s eyes sparkle in delight! Mama catches my eye as we smile at one another. The girl’s father is mindfully lost in the task of slowly and meticulous colouring, as our artists work sensitively around him.

Artist session reflection: “We were taught how to make paper boats by Mo. We placed them on a blue scarf brought in by Tea to create our own seaside resort then we placed the boats on the sea. Mo continued to make some smaller life boats while we decorated the previous boats made. We added beach towels, loungers, beach balls, sand created with brown paper bags, rocks, added greenery and stuck little stickers of sea creatures on the sea.”

Hear Me Out artist Delroy, is sat at the laptop with boy around 8 years old who comes to the workshops every week to learn new skills in writing and composing music.

I feel a tug on my arm as the little boy who is working with Delroy points to another younger boy, around 3 years old, carrying a pair of children’s scissors. He is concerned that the scissors are dangerous. We show the little boy how to safely carry them with the blades closed, clenched fist over the top, and walk together to the table where his mum and dad are admiring their daughter’s handmade cards. We find him some paper to cut out.

There is a crying sound that pierces the space, as a distressed young girl is consoled by her mother who is also looking after two other siblings. They are a new family in our workshops; I offer the girl a tissue paper flower which she refuses but her brother takes it with a smile. I am trying to make eye contact and offer help without ‘over-caring’, but they avoid my gaze, keeping their family unit close and safe. I respect their space. Later in the workshop, the little girl settles into making a collage. At lunchtime, I see her family eating alongside HMO artist Roshi, happily chatting away in Farsi.

The care-full work of our artists in asylum hotels is spellbinding. They gently hold culturally sensitive and creative spaces for different generations to make music, arts and dance; and through these exchanges we hope that hotel residents find new ways to connect with one another, relax for a moment, take back some agency and feel more optimistic about the future.