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Ever had an idea and not been able to put it into words? Is your head bursting with stories, which you can't - or won't - write down? Or are you a master story teller who wants a new challenge?!

Stories Without Words is a workshop for any young person who can answer 'Yes!' to any of the above!

Stories Without Words is a three-part workshop. It is designed to make story-making accessible for those who find a pencil and paper a little intimidating and to push the creative boundaries for children who are already experienced story-writers.

Children will create their own stories using collage and paint (no words!), freely associating images and ideas. They will explore the processes of building and describing characters by creating their own visual languages, and they will think about structure by creating (crazily-shaped) storyboards. By the end of the three sessions, each child will have their own story to tell, share - and take home with them.

Sarah Barnett is a professional artist and illustrator, and also teaches in a London primary school. She read Archaeology and Anthropology at Cambridge University, before training as a Theatre Designer at the Motley School of Theatre Design. She has wide experience of story-making through drama, literature and the visual arts, and of engaging young people in these processes.

For ages 8-12yrs
£7 per head

Saturdays 1.30 - 3.30 pm on the 23rd June, 30th June and 14th July

To book please contact

Below are some responses from the Writers Club for previous exhibitions.

Creative writing based on Eruda by Jitish Kallat and 20:50 by Richard Wilson.

Little Boy by Daisy

I was snuggled in bed one gloomy night,
I saw a big giant that gave me a fright.
He put me in his hand
He said you can manage a book stand.
Oh no oh no will my mum find out
Will she give me a clout?

The book boy and the oil by Anon

There was a boy there standing tall and proud with books of witches and dragons and fantasy creatures. A couple of rooms down was a room full of oil, I imagine it was his bubbling bath that he soaked his lead body in. I imagine that at night he tiptoes down the hall and slowly reaches one foot into his bubbling bath and eventually he gets his whole massive body in. But he gets confused because of the reflections around him and he gets worried that he might have done something. So he scurries all the way back to the room he lives in and picks up his books and goes to his position and now he is ready for a whole new day of people looking at him and admiring him.

Boy Bookseller by Aaminah

This boy was born in the 18th century, he was an Indian bookseller. After the boy died they made a sculpture of him, except they made him 9ft tall. The boy's name was Euruda and he was 12 years of age. At night Euruda goes to India on a magic carpet and sells books again. The boy was happy to be a bookseller but he just wanted to be a little famous. If I was Euruda I would have wanted the same thing so I could pay for my food and look after my family even if I was only 12 years old. I wonder what it would be like in India. Hope he was happy in India...

The Book Seller by Theodore

I entered the room, a giant boy stood on two book making factories, in front of me. He was carrying about seven books and his shoulder blades were sticking out because of the weight of the books. A friendly giant I would call him. I felt joyful.

Before all of that I was confused. Did someone paint the floor, or was it invisible oil? I was dazzled...until I saw a bubble in the oil. I was still confused. Then I saw it. That rainbowing ring in the oil. I saw where the oil stopped.

The Book Seller by Anon

The boy is a book seller but I wonder what does he do in his spare time? The books that he didn't sell does he read them? He might have a family or not, maybe some friends. How did he grow so tall?

He wakes up in the night and walks round the entire gallery. When the sun rises he goes to his exhibition room. Is he tired of selling books? Does he feel lonely sometimes? Is he bored of just standing in the gallery?

Suddenly, I smelt oil, I looked down, there was a piece of oily art, then I realised it was a reflection. I felt confused, then I looked again and it looked as if it was in the shape of an aeroplane with a long body and wings sticking out over the sides.

F-oil-ed by Mari

The oil tricked my senses
I was discombobulated
Bamboozled by the
Non oozing slickness
Of the surface.
I saw the ceiling reflected
And thought I saw the floor.
Then a flaw, a spec of dust
On the mirrored sea
Returned my trust.
I could orientate my brain
Again and fix my sight
Upon a white piece of fluff.

Creative writing based on Arabian Delight by Huma Mulji and Kit Wright's poem The Magic Box

The Magic Box by Aaminah

I would put in my magic box:
The first shining star in the sky that shines on me,
The first story written by me,
The happiest of memories.

I would put in my magic box:
The prettiest Indian picture,
A sweet-smelling flower,
The best day of my entire life.

I would put in my magic box:
A necklace made out of gold,
The favourite songs and jokes I ever made,
All my money so no one could steal it.

I would put in my magic box:
A magic carpet,
A bit of sizzling hot lava from the biggest volcano
A comfy, fluffy pillow that I made.

The Magic Box by Tej

In my Magic Box I would put my F1 Racing Cars
My piano, recorder and my guitar,
My imagination and my thoughts.

I would put my best toys and the whole world of F1
In my magic box as well.

I would put all of the landmarks in the world,
And the F1 tracks as well.

The Magic Box by Anon

In my magic box I would put in an
Elephant trunk from the safari
A peacock's feather hot as a sun
And a crown made out of glittering gold

My magic box is gold and silver and
It has shooting starts shooting from Mars
Diamonds that are sparkling and shimmering too

I would put my magic box in a safe
So nobody could steal my precious things
I would also camouflage it so nobody could
See what it was

I would put a smell in my box
A smell that smelt like perfume

I would put a touch in my box
A touch that was amazing
A round touch
A ball touch
And a sticky and gluey touch.

My Magic Box by Daisy

The first thing I will put in my magic box is my imagination
And my mum's first birthday present
The first tooth I lost and the

And the sound of the dark blue waves
And everything I need
And happy memories with family and friends.

I will make my box out of diamonds
Pictures of my best fried
And smooth tiger fur
And with starts and my art word
And hearts.

I will hide it where no one will see it or find it
It will be in my bedroom somewhere as long as it is with me
I will hide it under my bed
In my drawer.

My Magic Box by Anon

In my magic box I would put
A beautiful, young white horse's hoof
A baby bat's first flight
And a previous hair from a polar bear's back.

In my magic box I would put
A small piece of rice from the Antarctic
A gorgeous green feather from a parakeet
And a wisp of white cloud.

My box is made out of sunshine
With little tiger teeth round the edge.
It has velvety red cloth inside
With pouches for my feelings.

I will fall into my box
And begin great adventures
I will explore my box
With its mysterious sounds and smells.

If you have any creative writing about works at the gallery that you would like to submit, please send it to and we may put it up on this page.

«For previous entries click here



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