Actor and director Ken Campbell tells a story in one of his one-man shows about a German artist he knew. The artist moved from the city he’d been living in to a small town. And in getting to know the place, he found himself going on walks in the small hours. He’d collect things of interest along the way: leaves, stones, bottle tops and whatever, instinctively knowing that they’d provide some kind of inspiration for him, maybe even become part of his new art.

In the small hours on one occasion, around 3 am, the artist’s pockets were half filled with items he’d collected on that night’s walk. He spotted an intriguingly shaped branch in someone’s garden, stepped towards it, and then stopped when car headlights played around him. In the car were two police officers.

The police asked the artist what he was doing out so late, and the artist realised how what he was doing must have looked to them. He explained that he was collecting items to inspire new art, showed them the oddments in his pockets, and the two police offices looked at one another back and forth. They radioed the police station to see what to do next, and were told to bring the artist in. He was feeling pretty nervy by now.

In the police station, the artist was interviewed by the sergeant there, who ummed and aahed for a while before deciding that expert opinion was needed. She called a psychiatrist the police often dealt with, and asked him to decide what to do with the artist.

The psychiatrist wore pebble glasses and had a salt and pepper beard, and was clearly a very bright man. He spoke to the artist for a while, asking about the things in his pockets and the exhibitions his work had been shown at. Then he paused before asking what the artist realised was a Very Significant Question: ‘You say you’re an artist; but do you have a commission to be doing this?’

The artist looked from the psychiatrist to the sergeant and back, realising that the answer to this question was going to be important. He thought for a minute before replying ‘Yes, I do have a commission’. The psychiatrist shook the artist’s hand, apologised for having him brought to the station, and told the sergeant to release the artist.

When I heard Ken Campbell relate the artist’s story in his show, I decided there and then that I would commission myself to interview Ken. And I did so, spending a fascinating afternoon in Walthamstow Marshes with Ken at his picnic bench office with one of his dogs, learning about a man who claimed to teach people the art of invisibility (the key is knowing how to hide in front of things).

And when I conduct trainings on screenwriting, or creativity in general, I tell that story to the people there, and how it influenced me. When the story comes to its conclusion, I ask them what they’re going to commission themselves to do, since it’s such a powerful way of making something new happen for yourself. And I wonder, having read this story about Ken Campbell and how I came to interview him, and how I use that story in a training context, what you might commission yourself to do?