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Ravi Vasavan Artist, designer, engineer, founder

Me, AI & you.

You are the missing context.

You steer, by deciding together at every gate.

Today we’ll only explore one of twelve possibilities.

Gate one

Whose world are we building?

Before we go

Usually it’s “It’s not you, it’s me.”

But with AI, it is you.

Without you, AI doesn’t move the dial.

“It’s the promptthe modelthe datathe cloudeveryoneyou, not me.”

Same question. Two answers.

“A funder wants an access plan for the exhibition. What should it cover?”

No world model

Cover step-free entry, accessible toilets, a quiet space, and large-print labels. Offer interpreters on request for the opening speeches.

~120 tokens. Then the rework, because none of it fits.

With a world model

Your show is Auslan-first, so interpreting is not something offered on request for the speeches. Auslan is the language of the room. Caption every video work, write a plain-English guide, and put access in the budget as its own line.

~450 tokens, carrying Dare’s world model. Right the first time.

So it builds a world first. The world is you.

The world model · Dare

What it now knows.

The world model · Convo

What it now knows.

The world model · me

What it now knows.

Gate two

So what should it do?

One gotcha first

Sometimes it makes things up.

It will invent a grant round that never existed.

And it will sound completely sure of itself.

Fluent isn’t true. Check every name, date and dollar.

Write it

“Draft the opening paragraph of our Creative Australia application.”

No world model

Draft the opening paragraph of our Creative Australia application.

Deaf Arts Residency is a collective creating opportunities for the Deaf community. Our inclusive programs celebrate diversity and create space for under-represented artists.

That could be any arts organisation in the country.

I followed the National Endowment for the Arts language on access, which is the standard most applications use.

Running on nothing, it borrows. That is an American body, in a Creative Australia application.

That is American. We are applying to Creative Australia.

You are right. With nothing about you to work from, I reached for the biggest source I had.

Here is a revised opening. Deaf Arts Residency is an inclusive collective dedicated to amplifying diverse creative talent.

You have invented our name. We are called Dare.

Apologies. Dare is an inclusive collective dedicated to amplifying diverse creative talent across all abilities.

“Across all abilities” is not us either. Stop guessing.

Fair. What makes Dare different from the others?

Seven Deaf artists. Naarm. Together since 2022.

Deaf-led and Auslan-first, and that decides everything else we do.

Four shows so far. The first one, DARE:001, was built on the World Federation of the Deaf congress theme.

One question before I rewrite. Is Deaf-led about who governs Dare, or about how the work gets made?

Both. That is the point.

Dare is seven Deaf artists working in Naarm since 2022, in a Deaf-led and Auslan-first studio. Four exhibitions in three years, beginning with DARE:001, built on the World Federation of the Deaf congress theme.

Better. But we are not under-represented in our own room. Cut that.

Understood. It measures Dare against a hearing default. Gone.

One more. Never describe our space by who it shuts out.

So for the Auslan-only closing night I would write “a room where Auslan is the language” instead of “no interpreters”.

Yes. Exactly that.

Save all of it. I am not typing this again next year.

Saved. Every Dare draft from now starts from here.

Twenty-four messages, roughly 4,500 tokens and fifteen minutes, to get one paragraph right.

With Dare’s world model

Draft the opening paragraph of our Creative Australia application.

Dare is seven Deaf artists working in Naarm since 2022, a Deaf-led and Auslan-first studio with four exhibitions in three years. The work leads with what the space is for, never who it shuts out.

It opened with the saved world. The house rule was already in the draft.

Tighten the last line and it’s done.

Done. Dropped into the application.

Four messages, about 900 tokens. Straight to work.

Explain it

“Here is the funding agreement. Forty pages. What actually binds us?”

No world model

Here is the funding agreement. Forty pages. What actually binds us?

This is a standard funding agreement. Key sections cover reporting obligations, acquittal timelines and acknowledgement requirements. I would review clauses 4 to 9 carefully.

I did not ask for a summary of the document. I asked what binds us.

It cannot say what binds you while it does not know who you are.

In short, the agreement sets out mutual obligations between the funder and the recipient organisation.

That is the same summary in fewer words.

Understood. Who is us, so I can tell the difference between what applies to Dare and what is boilerplate?

Dare. Seven Deaf artists, incorporated, small budget, financial year ends 30 June.

Four things bind you. Two progress reports. An acquittal within 60 days of 30 June. Their logo on anything public. Written notice if the exhibition date moves.

What is going to bite us?

Clause 6. It assumes access costs sit inside your project budget, so Auslan interpreting for your own opening would come out of the same money as the art.

That is exactly the thing that always happens.

You can ask for it to be moved to a separate access line. Most funders have one and do not offer it unless asked.

Draft that email. Short, and not apologetic.

Drafted. It asks for access costs to sit outside the project budget, and gives the reason in one sentence.

Fourteen messages, roughly 2,600 tokens, and three corrections before it stopped summarising at me.

With Dare’s world model

Here is the funding agreement. Forty pages. What actually binds us?

Four things bind Dare. Two progress reports, an acquittal within 60 days of 30 June, their logo on anything public, and written notice if the date moves. One trap. Clause 6 puts Auslan interpreting inside the art budget. Ask for a separate access line, most funders have one.

It read the contract as Dare. The access trap surfaced without being asked.

Draft that email. Short, and not apologetic.

Drafted. One sentence of reason, one ask.

Four messages, and the trap was found for me.

What that cost

You can always get there without it.

But every application starts from nothing, again.

What that cost

What that cost

The groundwork looks expensive on day one.

By the third ask, it has already paid for itself.

Gate three

What’s worrying you?

Straight answer

Your story is yours to give away.*

What you’ve already published, freely.

The people inside the story stay out of it.

* Where you work, check the AI policy before you hand over the story.

Straight answer

It flattens strangers.

A generic arts collective is what it writes when it has never met one.

Yours survives because the house rules are written down, and it reads them every time.

The last thing

Today’s best AI won’t be tomorrow’s.

Loyalty to a brand buys you nothing in this game.

So keep your world where you can carry it.

A file of yours. Not a chat history of theirs.

A key you hand to whatever comes next, and nothing is lost.

Every tool will change. Your world model moves with you.

Where we went

And everywhere we didn’t.

Three gates. Twelve ways through.

We walked one.

Yours, two

Learn to spot the machine.

Wikipedia keeps a list of the tells. Em dashes, “not just this, but that”, everything in threes.

Wikipedia, Signs of AI writing

Yours, three

One prompt starts your world.

Paste into any AI. It asks who the world is for, then interviews you.

You are my interviewer and world-builder. You will learn who this world model is for, then write it as a document any AI can read to actually know them.

Interview me now.
- Before anything else, find out which of these three the world model is for. A person, an organisation, or a business. Then ask its name. Everything after adapts to those two answers.
- One question at a time. Short questions, plain language.
- Early on, learn how I communicate best (which languages, and whether text, sign or speech. I may be Deaf, so never assume speech), and what my days mostly hold.
- Then, adapting as you learn, ask about my work and roles; the people and communities I answer to; what I'm trying to achieve this year; what eats my time; what I'm great at; what I want AI's help with, and what I don't; how I like things written (tone, length, directness); anything I must never be misunderstood about.
- 15 to 20 questions total. Follow up when something matters. Skip anything I decline. Never push.

Rules.
- Only what I choose to share. If I mention other people or clients, keep them as roles, never identifiable details, and warn me if I overshare.
- No flattery, no filler. If two answers conflict, ask.

Then write the world model in markdown, first person, in my own words. Title the document with the name you learned, like "Dare's World Model", never a generic "My World Model". If you can save files, name the file after it too, like dare-world-model.md.
1. How to use me. Instructions to any AI reading this (communication needs first, always).
2. Who I am.
3. My world. People, roles, communities (as roles).
4. My work.
5. Goals and constraints.
6. How to write for me.
7. Boundaries. What's off-limits.
Keep it under 800 words, so I can paste it anywhere.

Finish the document with these care instructions.
"Review me monthly, or when life changes. Say 'Interview me, three questions, and update my world model.' Replace what's stale. Don't just append."

You are the missing context.

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