I like to think of going to a workshop as a game of wits, me against myself. First, my better self (we’ll call her Sara) finds out about a workshop and wants to go, while my lazy self (Maisie) decides she would much rather eat sour cream and onion potato chips, drink wine and sit around the back yard all day reading a book, instead. The fact that Maisie wouldn’t get to do that, anyway, is beside the point, but she has an active fantasy life
Maisie says she’s far too busy to go to a workshop, her schedule is packed. Sara, however, actually gets out the calendar (yes, it’s right where she put it under the double-stuff Oreo cookie package behind the bread box) and finds out that Justin does NOT have a soccer game that day, cousin Matthew is getting married the NEXT Saturday, and her husband is going to go to the Autocross Porsche races that day - so why not? Reluctantly, Maisie gives in - mostly because she thinks that since it’s a month away she has lots of time to talk Sara out of it, because Maisie does NOT want to have to gather up all that stuff on the Scavenger Hunt the teacher laughingly calls a Supply List.
Now, Sara is the kind of person who puts the supply list up on the board and meticulously checks everything off as it is packed at least a couple of days early, while Maisie is the kind of person who just sort of tosses things in the general direction of the car 20 minutes before the workshop is due to begin. They argue and fuss about just what to bring, but usually some sort of compromise is reached by Workshop Day. They both agree that the worst part is picking out fabric, because they don’t want to cut up their best stuff, and they know that whatever they bring it will be wrong anyway, so finally, they just put the stuff in the bag, and get their little tushes to the workshop almost on time. Sara is the kind of person who memorizes the supply list and asks the teacher what something is for if she doesn’t use it during the workshop, but Maisie says to get a life and remember that the teacher had to pack up all that stuff PLUS make handouts and plan the class and bring samples, so stop nitpicking. Whenever I give a class, I can hear the groans about the supply list from MILES away.
Once I have actually gotten myselves to the workshop, anything can happen. If the teacher has a lot to share and runs the class ragged, Maisie complains because she just wanted to come and OBSERVE, not actually do any work or cut up any fabric; but Sara is in her element because Challenge is her LIFE. If the teacher just tells us things we already knew, Maisie is a happy camper because it’s a piece of cake, but Sara complains because she feels she’s wasting her time. If this happens to you, look around the room and find out REALLY why you’re there - nothing in this life happens by coincidence, and there is some reason why you are taking that workshop at that particular time; somebody there has something important to teach you, or you are there to teach them.
Eventually, whichever the scenario, the two shut up and let me work, for I have learned that regardless of what the teacher is actually teaching, I ALWAYS learn something at a workshop. Granted, one time I took a workshop where all that I learned was that I really need to remember to bring my foot pedal for my machine when I take a class, and that I have a very nice husband who will drop everything and bring it to me; but that was important to know. It’s gotten so I don’t even worry too much about what I learn from the teacher because I have learned so much from fellow classmates - everything from how to use Solvy to how to press properly (not that I do it that way) to how absolutely necessary a topstitching needle is. None of these things were even remotely related to the class content, or were even mentioned by the teacher, but they were absolutely necessary to my growth as a quilter.
Both of my selves get upset, though, with other students who try to teach the class for the teacher. Sharing some information or methods with your tablemates, mentioning something that worked well for you, all this is great - but let the teacher do her job. A teacher puts a lot of time and thought into a workshop, makes handouts, goes through a lot of inconvenience to be there, and you are paying HER for her input, so don’t try to show her up, okay? If you feel you can do it better, create and teach your OWN class, make your own handouts, and TEACH one, for heaven’s sake - but be prepared for another person just like you to be in the class.
Maisie always complains about the projects started in workshops, because the leftover class projects have a tendency to multiply like rabbits; Sara, of course, always has a solution. Many of my favorite quilts started out being a class project or three - like the memory quilt called “Come to My Garden,” (above) made from a lot of leftover class sample pieces. I finished another off as a miniature quilt (“A Whale’s Tale”), put one in the lining of a coat (“Summer’s Gone”), and incorporated another in the back of a jacket that won People’s Choice and a blue ribbon (“Mermaid Lagoon”). Every once in a while, a class project even turns into a full blown quilt, like “Michael’s Teen-Age Quilt” made from the zillion blocks we started in Margaret Miller’s Strips that Sizzle workshop. Sometimes, even something learned from observing a ten-minute demonstration has become a quilt - like the technique learned from Shelly Burge to make little bits of stuff hearts that turned into my “Hearts in Space” quilt.. Sometimes you can even give class projects away as presents to unsuspecting friends and relatives who wouldn’t know how to thread a needle if their lives depended on it. They’ll be impressed and they’ll owe you - leftover projects are good things.
No, the problem of leftover projects is not enough for Maisie to convince Sara to stay away from a workshop - the worst pitfall is yet to be considered. The worst thing about workshop projects is that class projects usually turn out to look just like the teacher’s. Everybody who knows anything about quilts will know EXACTLY whose class you have just taken, and your project usually has so much of the teacher’s input in it that it doesn’t really feel like your own. Sara says, though, that you only have a short time to learn this technique or way of thinking, and it’s more important to learn the techniques and the way a teacher thinks and works, than to create an original piece in a 3-6 hour time period. At least you now know what it is the teacher wanted you to learn, you can incorporate those techniques differently in your future work, and you can always use the class project somehow.
More importantly, you’ve stretched, you’ve challenged yourself, and you’ve grown. The very act of taking a workshop reminds you that you don’t know everything, and probably never will. It’s very easy to get into a rut - making quilt after quilt with the same colors, the same patterns, the same techniques and way of thinking. This is especially true for the professional quilter, for they soon find out what will sell, and end up with what becomes a “formula” quilt, without much heart and soul. Not that you have to be experimenting all the time - but you do need to be consciously stretching, growing, pushing the envelope, trying to get the best out of yourself if you want to create beautiful quilts worthy of remembrance.
My Mother says that “If what you made yesterday still looks good to you, you probably haven’t learned anything new today.” I am relieved to say that much of my older work I now look on with dismay - not believing that I really used to use such tacky fabrics, had so little concept of value, or went to such gyrations to produce what are really fairly mediocre quilts. I keep them around to remind myself that there is more to learn, and to let others know that I’ve been there, done that, and am still going on to someplace else. This is not my final destination; I have a lot to learn before I get there, and whining is optional.
So I take lots of workshops, whenever Sara can convince Maisie that a YES opens a door, and a NO closes one. Anything can happen at a workshop once you finally get there - you pays your money and you takes your chances; but like the T-Shirt says - “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re probably taking up too much space.”
Maisie says she’s far too busy to go to a workshop, her schedule is packed. Sara, however, actually gets out the calendar (yes, it’s right where she put it under the double-stuff Oreo cookie package behind the bread box) and finds out that Justin does NOT have a soccer game that day, cousin Matthew is getting married the NEXT Saturday, and her husband is going to go to the Autocross Porsche races that day - so why not? Reluctantly, Maisie gives in - mostly because she thinks that since it’s a month away she has lots of time to talk Sara out of it, because Maisie does NOT want to have to gather up all that stuff on the Scavenger Hunt the teacher laughingly calls a Supply List.
Now, Sara is the kind of person who puts the supply list up on the board and meticulously checks everything off as it is packed at least a couple of days early, while Maisie is the kind of person who just sort of tosses things in the general direction of the car 20 minutes before the workshop is due to begin. They argue and fuss about just what to bring, but usually some sort of compromise is reached by Workshop Day. They both agree that the worst part is picking out fabric, because they don’t want to cut up their best stuff, and they know that whatever they bring it will be wrong anyway, so finally, they just put the stuff in the bag, and get their little tushes to the workshop almost on time. Sara is the kind of person who memorizes the supply list and asks the teacher what something is for if she doesn’t use it during the workshop, but Maisie says to get a life and remember that the teacher had to pack up all that stuff PLUS make handouts and plan the class and bring samples, so stop nitpicking. Whenever I give a class, I can hear the groans about the supply list from MILES away.
Once I have actually gotten myselves to the workshop, anything can happen. If the teacher has a lot to share and runs the class ragged, Maisie complains because she just wanted to come and OBSERVE, not actually do any work or cut up any fabric; but Sara is in her element because Challenge is her LIFE. If the teacher just tells us things we already knew, Maisie is a happy camper because it’s a piece of cake, but Sara complains because she feels she’s wasting her time. If this happens to you, look around the room and find out REALLY why you’re there - nothing in this life happens by coincidence, and there is some reason why you are taking that workshop at that particular time; somebody there has something important to teach you, or you are there to teach them.
Eventually, whichever the scenario, the two shut up and let me work, for I have learned that regardless of what the teacher is actually teaching, I ALWAYS learn something at a workshop. Granted, one time I took a workshop where all that I learned was that I really need to remember to bring my foot pedal for my machine when I take a class, and that I have a very nice husband who will drop everything and bring it to me; but that was important to know. It’s gotten so I don’t even worry too much about what I learn from the teacher because I have learned so much from fellow classmates - everything from how to use Solvy to how to press properly (not that I do it that way) to how absolutely necessary a topstitching needle is. None of these things were even remotely related to the class content, or were even mentioned by the teacher, but they were absolutely necessary to my growth as a quilter.
Both of my selves get upset, though, with other students who try to teach the class for the teacher. Sharing some information or methods with your tablemates, mentioning something that worked well for you, all this is great - but let the teacher do her job. A teacher puts a lot of time and thought into a workshop, makes handouts, goes through a lot of inconvenience to be there, and you are paying HER for her input, so don’t try to show her up, okay? If you feel you can do it better, create and teach your OWN class, make your own handouts, and TEACH one, for heaven’s sake - but be prepared for another person just like you to be in the class.
Maisie always complains about the projects started in workshops, because the leftover class projects have a tendency to multiply like rabbits; Sara, of course, always has a solution. Many of my favorite quilts started out being a class project or three - like the memory quilt called “Come to My Garden,” (above) made from a lot of leftover class sample pieces. I finished another off as a miniature quilt (“A Whale’s Tale”), put one in the lining of a coat (“Summer’s Gone”), and incorporated another in the back of a jacket that won People’s Choice and a blue ribbon (“Mermaid Lagoon”). Every once in a while, a class project even turns into a full blown quilt, like “Michael’s Teen-Age Quilt” made from the zillion blocks we started in Margaret Miller’s Strips that Sizzle workshop. Sometimes, even something learned from observing a ten-minute demonstration has become a quilt - like the technique learned from Shelly Burge to make little bits of stuff hearts that turned into my “Hearts in Space” quilt.. Sometimes you can even give class projects away as presents to unsuspecting friends and relatives who wouldn’t know how to thread a needle if their lives depended on it. They’ll be impressed and they’ll owe you - leftover projects are good things.
No, the problem of leftover projects is not enough for Maisie to convince Sara to stay away from a workshop - the worst pitfall is yet to be considered. The worst thing about workshop projects is that class projects usually turn out to look just like the teacher’s. Everybody who knows anything about quilts will know EXACTLY whose class you have just taken, and your project usually has so much of the teacher’s input in it that it doesn’t really feel like your own. Sara says, though, that you only have a short time to learn this technique or way of thinking, and it’s more important to learn the techniques and the way a teacher thinks and works, than to create an original piece in a 3-6 hour time period. At least you now know what it is the teacher wanted you to learn, you can incorporate those techniques differently in your future work, and you can always use the class project somehow.
More importantly, you’ve stretched, you’ve challenged yourself, and you’ve grown. The very act of taking a workshop reminds you that you don’t know everything, and probably never will. It’s very easy to get into a rut - making quilt after quilt with the same colors, the same patterns, the same techniques and way of thinking. This is especially true for the professional quilter, for they soon find out what will sell, and end up with what becomes a “formula” quilt, without much heart and soul. Not that you have to be experimenting all the time - but you do need to be consciously stretching, growing, pushing the envelope, trying to get the best out of yourself if you want to create beautiful quilts worthy of remembrance.
My Mother says that “If what you made yesterday still looks good to you, you probably haven’t learned anything new today.” I am relieved to say that much of my older work I now look on with dismay - not believing that I really used to use such tacky fabrics, had so little concept of value, or went to such gyrations to produce what are really fairly mediocre quilts. I keep them around to remind myself that there is more to learn, and to let others know that I’ve been there, done that, and am still going on to someplace else. This is not my final destination; I have a lot to learn before I get there, and whining is optional.
So I take lots of workshops, whenever Sara can convince Maisie that a YES opens a door, and a NO closes one. Anything can happen at a workshop once you finally get there - you pays your money and you takes your chances; but like the T-Shirt says - “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re probably taking up too much space.”