Essays on art and coaching

From the wall to the circle

Forty minutes of silent looking, then forty minutes of group coaching. The second half only works if the first half is protected, and the hand-off is where most of the craft lives.

Iman Abrishamchi
1 October 2026 · 9 min read

A walk has two halves and a hinge. The first half is the silent walk through the twenty photographs. The second is the circle, where the same people sit together with a trained coach and speak. The hinge is the three or four minutes between them, and it is the part we rehearsed most with hosts, because it is where the quiet either carries into the conversation or evaporates.

The hinge works like this. When the host judges that most people have finished (there is always someone still standing at the nineteenth picture, and we wait for them), the host moves the chairs, or signals that the chairs are there, and sits down first. No announcement. People drift over. The host waits until everyone is seated and then waits a little longer. Then, quietly, the two opening sentences: "No one here will interpret anyone else's experience, including me. Passing is a complete answer." Then the first question.

The first question is always about the room, not about anyone's life. "Which picture are you still standing in front of?" It can be answered with a number. Most people say a little more than a number, and the circle has begun without anyone having been asked to disclose anything.

From there the structure is loose by design, but there are four things the host is holding. One: the circle stays about the pictures for as long as it wants to. People will move from the picture to their own lives when they are ready, and they will do it faster if nobody pushes. Two: every contribution gets a short, plain acknowledgement and no interpretation. "Thank you" is usually enough. Three: the host asks questions that could be answered by anyone in the room, never questions aimed at one person's situation. "What did it cost to stay at that picture?" is a circle question. "Why do you think that picture got to you?" is a therapy question, and we do not ask those. Four: silence after an answer is allowed to last. The host counts to five, slowly, before speaking.

Around the thirty-minute mark the host moves the circle towards the twentieth station, the one with no image. By then most people have said something, and the question at the twentieth station is one they have been circling. The host reads it aloud, once, and lets a full minute pass. Then one last round: "One sentence, or a pass." Then the shared minute of silence that joins every room running that day, and then the host stands up, which ends it.

Things that go wrong, and what we told hosts to do. Someone talks for too long: the host waits for a breath and says, "Thank you. Who else is still at a picture?" Someone offers another participant an interpretation ("I think your picture was about your father"): the host says, "Let's each stay with our own," and turns to the next person. Someone is in real distress: the host does not coach it in the circle. They say, "I'll come and find you after," and do, with the local referral contact ready. Someone says nothing for the whole hour: that is a complete participation, and the host never comments on it.

The circle is group coaching, and it runs on the same competencies as any coaching conversation: presence, listening, questions that open rather than close, and a contract everyone understood at the start. What makes it different from a workshop is that nobody teaches anything. What makes it different from a therapy group is that nobody is treated. People look, then speak, then go home carrying whatever they came with, slightly rearranged.

Silence is the facilitationWhat art cannot do, and why we say so out loud