Laurie Green
Artist, in recovery, neurodivergent, trans and queer, Laurie Green established the informal Neuroqueering Network to see if they could connect with other like-minded souls virtually. They were not disappointed. Leon Clowes talks to Laurie about their practice, the impact of the Neuroqueering Human grants and where recovery fits into this mix.
Leon: Laurie, thanks for talking to us about neurodivergence, recovery and arts practices. Where do those three aspects meet for you?
Laurie: They very much intertwine. After university I felt disconnected from myself and uncomfortable being who I was. Alcohol and drugs were ways to both connect with an altered self and further disconnect from myself. It was a kind of dissociation. At the same time, I was discovering my queerness and neurodivergence; that exploration became central to recovery. Art was my route into that process. Seeing work by other queer, trans and neurodivergent artists helped me recognise parts of myself and imagine living without substances. Art opened the possibility of reconnection.
Leon: Tell me about your arts practice and how it developed.
Laurie: While working office jobs I would spend lunch breaks at the Tate Modern and make collages. I experimented with casting plaster and concrete. I was making forms, plinths, objects. I’d often enter near‑manic creative states, sometimes facilitated by substances but also fuelled by depression and anxiety. At one point I couldn’t continue working the office job; I volunteered, made things on the side, and eventually recognised art as what I wanted to do. Around 2021 I told myself I was an artist. My practice evolved into work about relationship: I now think of myself as an artist who works primarily in the medium of relationship. That means making from, about and through relational fields across any process or material that emerges from that core.
Laurie Green, Drunken Meltdown (2021)
Leon: How did the Neuroqueering Humans grant programme begin?
Laurie: The concept of neuro‑queering came from reading Nick Walker’s Neuroqueer Heresies. It’s about subverting normativities: neurotypicality, cis-heteronormativity, and recognising many equally valid ways of being human. I wanted to spread that thinking, especially within the art world. Using some personal funds, I set up a small grant scheme to support people doing neuroqueering work. This was a thousand-pound award for projects that resonated with the idea. It was a way to meet artists doing similar work and to support them creatively.
Leon: How did the grant scheme work out?
Laurie: It was rewarding but also highlighted the competitiveness of the art world: many applicants, few awards, lots of unpaid labour for submissions. I didn’t like contributing to that competitive mechanism. So, I shifted to working more relationally and proactively offering support within my network rather than a public application system. The neuroqueering ethos continues, but now through direct relationships rather than a standard funding application model.
Laurie Green, Kiss Me (2022)
Leon: You’ve said neuroqueering can still refer back to normativity. How are you rethinking it?
Laurie: Neuroqueering is useful, but it’s still a response to normativity. I’m curious about letting something truly emergent come from bodies and relationships rather than always orienting from the norm first. So, I still use the concept, but it’s part of what I do rather than the totality. I’m exploring how to move beyond reactive frameworks into generative practices that centre relational emergence.
Leon: What kind of people engaged with the Neuroqueering Network? Were many in recovery?
Laurie: Applications and connections came from around the world. They were from Europe, Asia, the Americas, which was beautiful. Recovery wasn’t always explicitly stated in applications, but in relationships that formed afterwards a theme of recovery or complex relationships with state‑altering experiences (alcohol, drugs) recurred. I sense a shared experience among many neurodivergent and queer people: discomfort from living under imposed norms that can push people toward substances or other escapes. Recovery often becomes a fluid, ongoing process, which feels “neuroqueer” to me: it’s not a fixed state but a shifting practice.
Leon: You mentioned your own relationship with alcohol. Can you say more?
Laurie: Alcohol was both poison and a cure at different times. As a neurodivergent person it felt like a passport to normality. It was a way to blend in or have social experiences that felt typical. That proved addictive: the ability to “fit in” became something I compulsively sought. But alcohol also catalysed steps that eventually led to recovery: moments of bravery or decision that I might not have made sober, which later proved pivotal. My own turning point came on Boxing Day 2020 during COVID lockdown: after getting very drunk on Christmas Day I simply stopped and haven’t drunk since. There was no dramatic willpower. It just switched off and became undesirable. It felt unusual to me, and I’ve talked to people about it; it’s not a common story but it worked for me.
Laurie Green, Gaping (2025)
Leon: You’ve touched on the idea of different routes into recovery. How does arts practice expand those possibilities?
Laurie: Arts practice opens other ways of being and other ways of doing recovery. 12‑step models have helped many people and I value them, but they can feel fixed or prescriptive for some queer and neurodivergent people. Creative practice allows exploration and “looking under stones”. Testing, poking, and finding alternatives that suit different sensibilities. The diversity of recovery approaches is vital: whatever works for someone is what matters.
Leon: Anything else you want readers to take away?
Laurie: I guess I’d say that neurodivergence, queerness and recovery often interweave in ways that make conventional approaches less fitting. We need creative, relational, and flexible responses — in art, in community, and in support systems. Centre emergence over normalization and make space for different ways of being.
Links:
