Finding Refuge

Lately, I’ve been thinking about why some places make me relax and others make me tense for no clear reason.

I came across a term that helped me name it. Prospect refuge theory. It’s simple.

Prospect means you can see what’s coming. Refuge means you feel protected while you watch. Back to a wall. Eyes on the room. Nothing sneaks up on you.

Your body settles.

When I first read about it, I thought it only applied to physical spaces. Architecture. Furniture. Where do you sit in a café? Then I started noticing the same feeling in social spaces. Not rooms, exactly. Groups. Workplaces. creative circles. Small towns. Big industries. Anywhere people gather, resources feel limited. It started to click that we build a social refuge too.

Not with walls, but with access. Who gets invited. Who gets introduced. Who gets the call back. Who stays outside the door.

I don’t think most people do this consciously. It seems more instinctive than strategic.

We stick with who feels familiar. We repeat the same names. We choose what feels safe. From the inside, it feels practical. From the outside, it can feel invisible and confusing.

You don’t get rejected outright. You never quite get in. I’ve felt that in small-town life. And I’ve felt the exact same thing when I look at bigger creative industries. The scale changes. The behaviour doesn’t. A local committee hires the same few people again and again.

A film studio remakes the same franchise for the tenth time. A company promotes from the same circle. Different settings. Same instinct. Safety over risk. Familiar over new.

Refuge over openness.

Over time, the work starts to echo itself. Less surprise. Less spark. Fewer new voices. Which is strange, because most of the art I love came from collaboration. Different people bring different angles. Friction. Surprise. Someone sees what everyone else missed. You don’t get that when the room stays small. I’ve caught myself looking at all this and feeling frustrated, especially as an artist. Because I know what I bring to the table. And I also know how many thoughtful, talented people sit on the sidelines while opportunities circulate inside tight loops.

It’s hard not to take that personally. But when I look at it through this lens, it feels less like a verdict on my worth and more like a human habit. People are trying to feel safe.

Building shelter is the only way they know how. Sometimes that shelter turns into a gate. And gates tend to shrink things. I keep thinking about what the opposite move looks like.

What it looks like to use resources to make more room instead of less. To open a space. Fund something new. Invite more voices in. Not guarding the door, but widening it. That approach feels generous. It feels confident.

It trusts that good work grows when more people get to participate. I’m realizing that’s the kind of space I want to build in my own life. Not a fortress. More like a room with a few extra chairs.

Somewhere I can work with my back to the wall, feel steady, and still wave other people in. That feels like real refuge to me. Not control. Not hierarchy.

Space to breathe. Space to make things. Space to share.