When I unlock the studio before a class, I always hope people feel something before they’ve even picked up a pencil.
I hope they feel the creativity. The calm. The artistic vibe. A little piece of my spirit.
Art has always been a place where I feel settled, so I’ve always wanted the studio to feel that way too. A place where the outside world can wait for just a little while.
People often think they’re coming to learn how to draw or paint. And yes, we do plenty of that. But over the years I’ve realised something. It’s rarely just about the art. It’s about finding something that belongs just to you. Something that brings you joy. Something that helps you reconnect with a part of yourself that everyday life sometimes buries under work, school, family and responsibilities.
By the end of a class, the atmosphere is completely different. People leave happier. Lighter. Brighter. Sometimes all I’ve done is spend a few minutes showing someone one little technique, but somehow that tiny moment changes the whole direction of their artwork.
More importantly, it changes how they feel. It’s amazing how something so small can make such a big difference.
One of my favourite moments happened just this week. A young girl arrived absolutely bursting with excitement because she loved the subject we were drawing. She was completely absorbed from the moment she started. When her mum arrived to collect her, she couldn’t wait to show her what she’d created. That excitement. That pride. That smile. Those are the moments that make my day.
I also love the little things that most people probably wouldn’t even notice. The quiet conversations across the tables. The laughter. The “Aha!” moments. Someone proudly finishing a painting they’ve been working on for weeks. Watching friendships quietly grow while everyone is busy creating.
I don’t listen in on conversations, but hearing students chatting comfortably with each other gives me the warm fuzzy feeling that they’ve found a place where they belong. Friendships seem to happen naturally in the studio. Sometimes I’ll introduce people because I think they’ll get along.
Other times it happens all by itself. Not long ago, I had five students at a school holiday workshop. Two were twins. Two came together as friends. One arrived on their own. Within minutes, before they even knew each other’s names, they’d discovered they all loved drawing anime. That was it. Five strangers suddenly had something in common. The room changed almost instantly.
Moments like that remind me how powerful shared interests can be. After all these years, one thing still gives me that same warm feeling. It’s watching someone who is already quite skilled suddenly understand something that’s been eluding them. Sometimes all it takes is looking at it from a slightly different angle. The look on their face when it clicks never gets old.
Neither does hearing someone say, “This is my favourite part of the week.” I hear those words more often than you might think. Every single time, I feel incredibly proud of what has grown within these four walls.
The funny thing is… It’s my favourite part of the week too.
Being surrounded by people of all ages. Sharing ideas. Solving little creative problems together. Watching confidence quietly grow. I don’t think the studio changes people. I think it simply gives them permission to reconnect with a part of themselves that was already there.
The creative part. The curious part. The playful part. Sometimes people think they’re coming here to learn to draw. But I think they’re really coming to discover a passion for doing something they genuinely love.
When people walk through the studio door, every one of them is looking for something slightly different. Some are searching for peace. Some for confidence. Some for friendship. Some simply need a little time that belongs only to them.
Whatever brings them through the door, creativity often becomes one of the missing pieces in the jigsaw of their life. And I think that’s something quite special. When people leave, I hope they leave feeling just a little happier than when they arrived.
I hope they can’t wait to come back. Not just to finish their artwork.
But to continue something they’ve started inside themselves.