All local arts funding in a city like Birmingham will be scrapped this year, after a 50% reduction already imposed in 2025. Here in Belfast, cuts of over 40% to Arts Council Northern Ireland funding have likely ended careers, stunted creative growth, wasted potential. Cuts like these do nothing for any of us. Cuts like these serve to effectively protect the economic interests of ruling classes and tend to make artistic practice the reserve of only those with significant resources to spare, unless otherwise given financial support.

Because of austerity policies like these, many of the mediums through which art used to be shared are dissolving. Galleries are closing, music venues disappearing at an unprecedented rate. Opera, theatre, independent publishing houses—so many, most in fact—are on the brink. But, of course, artists create regardless. There’s no other option but to for many people. Yet the mediums through which you can have your art displayed, played, heard, seen, felt, etc. are vanishing.

So, now we usually build our own platforms, find our own ways, create our own opportunities. Collaboration becomes an essential tool of expression. Cross-disciplinary work—like the project Toby and I undertook—isn’t merely about surviving; it’s about growing our practice despite efforts to curtail activates like these. When we engage in projects like these it’s about novelty, learning, sharpening our craft, and meeting fellow artists across different communities. These connections, these moments of exchange, are what sustain us.

The chance to receive funding from QUB’s JetSet award made my travel to Montreal possible, it allowed for Toby and I to work on our largest project to date. Without that funding, we couldn’t have made it happen. Being able to collaborate and have the opportunity to be influenced is integral to all artistic practice. The more we create, the more we can create.

I arrived in Montreal on Monday, the 3rd of March, late at night. It was -13 degrees, just a week after a once-in-a-century snowfall. Montreal is a city I’ve long wanted to visit, best known for Leonard Cohen, Arcade Fire, Vice, bagels, and poutine.

Tuesday was a day of introductions. Toby showed me the workspaces at McGill’s music faculty, where we would be workshopping. Then we met our singers—Ziggy Harris, Rebecca Gray, Vivienne Illion—all of whom we would work with for the next two weeks to finalise everything for performance and recording. This was to be a collaborative effort: pianist, writer, and singer in the room together, shaping the poetry and song to match everyone’s intentions. Toby had written the scores to be malleable so that any voice could sing them. As a result, they were highly graphic, somewhat experimental scores, each sheet a beautiful artifact in itself.

Wednesday, Toby and I worked through the text and music, finalising things for the workshops. That evening, we met with Toby’s fellow resident pianists, members of the conservatoire, and McGill and UDeM singers. So many names to remember and so many opportunities for future collaborations. Thursday was a day of intensive rewriting to finish When I Was a Boy I Lived Like Water. We also finalised our workshop schedule. On Friday, we visited the Université de Montréal conservatoire and Salle-Claude Champagne, the performance and recording space where we’d soon perform.

Our first Saturday started with a two-hour session at McGill—Toby and I working through the songs, discussing poetry, emphasis, interpretation. Then came our first workshop. Ziggy, our lyric baritone, arrived, and we spent an hour working on his first song, Overweight.

My role was to break open the poem for everyone, discussing language, intent, stresses, character, and narrative. Often the performer would sing, and I would clarify, work to adjust, and answer any questions. Toby coached them further in the music and also helped to work on the language where needed. The singer would explore and test things out, they’d improvise and suggest ideas. Every song involved three people intensely participating on a song’s finalisation.

Monday of the second week, we resumed workshopping. Ziggy worked with us on his second song, The Most Essential Tremor in My Life. We spent another hour on it. Toby and I arrived half an hour early, as we did before every session, to ensure we knew what to focus on before the singer arrived.

On Tuesday, we worked with Rebecca, a composer who grasped our approach immediately and with great charisma. We went through The Attention Span of a Singing Bird and When I Was a Boy I Lived Like Water in an hour.

Wednesday, Vivienne, our final singer, arrived for a workshop on To Sleep on This Train, another hour session. And again, like every other, the workshop was a great success, bringing confidence, clarity, and excitement to all of us.

On the Thursday before the recording and performance, we rehearsed with each singer, answering final questions, coaching moments, and finalising our plan for Friday in Salle-Claude Champagne. Our collaborative approach—where the singer had as much agency as Toby or I—fostered joy, camaraderie, and an artistic output we were immensely proud of. Of course, we were still nervous until it was done.

Friday arrived too soon. At 7 PM on 14th March, we were all together for the first time, ready to perform. After a final rehearsal to check balance and clarity, we undertook a public workshop before our first full run-through and recorded the performance.

It all came together. Afterwards, we took the singers out for dinner to thank them for their time and effort. But I had to fly out the next morning, and Toby would soon finish his residency and return to the UK. I’d love to go back to Montreal, meet those brilliant musicians again, and work on another project like this in that fantastic city. But for now, Toby and I will bring these songs home, intending to perform them in Belfast and, hopefully, London too, where Toby studied at Guildhall. We’ll continue to collaborate, working in a country where artistic mediums are vanishing. The more institutions like QUB support efforts like ours, the more art will survive, thrive, and persist despite the defunding and growing marginalisation of the arts.