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When theatre company Burn the Curtain joined Regen’s Relight My Fire Festival in 2015, their challenge was to help audiences understand where our energy really comes from — and how our choices affect the communities we live in. The result was The Generation Game: a playful, participatory artwork that invited people to build, power, and manage a miniature town of their own.
Led by artistic director Joe Hancock, the project turned energy literacy into an imaginative act. Audiences designed tiny cardboard homes, laid out their streets, and powered them using solar, wind, wave — or the ever-popular “cheese power.” Each power source had its quirks: wind might falter on still days, waves could overproduce in storms, and cheese (a cheeky stand-in for nuclear) risked spectacular meltdown.
The rules were simple enough for children to grasp, but rich enough to spark serious reflection. “We wanted people to feel what it’s like to manage energy as a finite resource,” Joe recalled. “In most of our lives, we just plug things in and pay the bill. Generation Game made that invisible relationship visible.”
Burn the Curtain specialise in outdoor and participatory arts. “Twenty years ago, we talked about ‘interactive’ work,” Joe said. “Ten years ago, it was ‘immersive.’ Now we talk about participation — about a conversation with the audience, rather than something that happens to them.”
That ethos shaped The Generation Game. The piece encouraged people of all ages to think like local decision-makers — debating what their community should power first, what could wait, and how to live well within limits. “We didn’t need to lecture people about environmentalism,” Joe reflected. “By the end of the game, they’d discovered it for themselves.”
The project was developed with input from producer Fiona Fraser Smith, whose knowledge of alternative energy systems helped ground the design in reality. “We could have made it up,” Joe admitted, “but it mattered to us that it was technically right, not just fun. Fiona gave us that foundation.”
Joe also credits Regen’s openness to creative risk. “It was a genuine collaboration — not a communications exercise. They let us explore. That’s rare.”
The festival audience was diverse, with families, engineers, artists, and local residents all taking part. Joe was struck by how seriously people took their imaginary power grid: “They got really into it. They wanted their communities to work. That tells you something — people want to understand this stuff, they just need a way in.”
The project also gave Burn the Curtain new confidence to experiment with “game-based” theatre — a strand they continue to explore today through environmental storytelling in parks, biospheres and coastal spaces.
Reflecting on what he’d do differently, Joe said: “If we ran it again, I’d love to take it into schools or community centres. The library setting worked brilliantly, but I’d like to see how people outside the festival bubble respond — people who might not already think about energy.”
Joe believes that creative collaborations with the energy sector work best when the brief is specific and contextual. “Don’t ask artists to make something ‘about climate change’ — it’s too big,” he said. “Give them a place, a question, a real challenge. Artists love detail. That’s where the good work happens.”
He also sees value in ongoing relationships rather than one-off commissions. “What artists need most are opportunities to share practice, learn from others, and stay connected,” he said. “Awards are nice, but gatherings are better. Conversations make things move.”
Ten years on, The Generation Game still feels timely. As energy bills rise and conversations about energy independence intensify, the idea of communities “playing” with power — experimenting, learning, deciding together — feels more relevant than ever.
Joe remains hopeful about the role of creativity in shaping our transition: “I think we should stop seeing energy as a technology story and start seeing it as a human one. Art helps us do that — it brings the subject home.”
“We didn’t need to lecture people about environmentalism. By the end of the game, they’d discovered it for themselves.”
“Give artists a real context — a place, a question, a challenge. That’s where the good work happens.”
“Art helps us see energy as a human story, not just a technical one.”
1. Give artists something real to chew on.
Don’t ask for “something about climate change.” Give them a place, a challenge, a specific question. Artists work best with texture and context — that’s where imagination meets reality.
2. Trust the process.
A good collaboration takes time. You might not see where it’s going at first, but that’s often when the best discoveries happen. Hold your nerve and stay open.
3. Keep the science in the room.
Creative freedom doesn’t mean ignoring the facts. Technical partners bring grounding and credibility that can make the work both more imaginative and more truthful.
4. Make participation real.
Audiences don’t want to be told — they want to experience, build, decide, and play. When people get to test ideas for themselves, they remember them.
5. Celebrate difference.
Artists and energy professionals think differently — and that’s the point. The tension between creativity and practicality is productive, not problematic.
6. Think beyond the festival.
A one-off event can inspire, but the learning multiplies when you take creative work into schools, libraries, or community centres. Keep the conversation going beyond the moment.
7. Let humour in.
Energy and climate can feel heavy, but laughter opens the door. A bit of wit disarms anxiety and helps people engage from a place of hope.
8. Build relationships, not one-offs.
Funding cycles come and go, but partnerships endure. The most powerful work happens when organisations grow together over time.
9. Honour play as a serious form of learning.
Playfulness isn’t a distraction from the message — it is the message. It teaches resilience, curiosity, and collaboration.
10. Remember that people want to care.
Given the chance, communities are eager to understand energy and sustainability. The job of art is to make that curiosity visible — and give it somewhere to go.
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