ad for a workshop called "creative pause" with a photo of an artist hands painting in a sketchbook and some text over it

The excitement before reality hits

A few months ago, I decided to launch my first in-person workshop in my cosy studio.

The preparation stage was very exciting. I prepared exercises and prompts, created and designed a workbook, imagined the atmosphere I wanted people to experience during those few hours. I printed posters and flyers and hung them around the village where my studio is, in nearby villages and small towns.

And as I was hanging them, the excitement left place to this very strong feeling:

Nobody is going to come.

Not in a dramatic way. More in a very realistic way.

Artist at her table covered with painting material, palettes, brushes and sketchbooks — *Everything ready. Now all I needed was someone to show up.*

Starting before people know you

I spend most of my days isolated in my studio. Happily isolated, I should say. I don’t really participate in local community life, I don’t know many people around here, and there are no cafés, restaurants, or places where I casually meet locals. I drive to the studio in the morning, spend the whole day painting and working there, then drive back home.

So asking complete strangers to join an art workshop, out of the blue, with someone they don’t know at all felt like a huge ask.

Online, people slowly discover your work, your personality, your world. A poster at a bus stop doesn’t really do that.

I realised that building something locally when you mostly live online and inside your studio is a very different challenge.

Big table with open sketchbooks, paint palettes, coloured pencils and other art supplies — *Workshop in full swing*

The first attendee

At the same time, I was also sharing the workshop online, on Instagram and through my newsletter. And this is where my first attendee came from: one of my collectors, living in Prague, signed up and came all the way to my studio for the workshop.

I was incredibly thankful.

At the same time, hosting a workshop for one person only felt… slightly awkward. I had imagined a small group, conversations, shared energy, people reacting differently to the prompts and exercises.

But in the end, it was actually a great first experience.

After the workshop, she told me she had learned a lot of new techniques and felt completely relaxed. Which was exactly what I hoped the workshop was about.

For a workshop called Creative Pause, I think that’s a pretty good sign.

Open sketchbook on a table with painting palette and coloured pencils and more art supplies — *Somewhere between painting, experimenting, and simply slowing down.*

Realising that one person is already enough

Of course, part of me still wished I had a full table of artists.

But I also realised something important: even one person is enough to test an idea in real life.

The workshop suddenly stopped being a concept living in my head and became an actual experience shared with someone else.

I could observe what worked, what needed adjusting, which exercises created interesting reactions, how the timing flowed, how she interacted with the materials and prompts.

It became real.

OPEN sketchbook, pages covered in paint, with the hands of the artist holding brushes — *Pages designed to encourage curiosity rather than perfection.*

The unexpected role of community

Then something unexpected happened.

A local artist I know suggested contacting the French community in Prague, which we are both part of, to see if they would be interested in the workshop format.

A few conversations later, a session is now scheduled for the autumn. And if it goes well, it might become regular throughout the school year.

What I found interesting is that while spending so much time alone in the studio, I think I had slowly forgotten the importance of community.

Not networking in a strategic way. Just people helping each other because they genuinely want to support what the other person is building.

top view of a table with open sketchbooks, painting palettes, brushes and other art supplies — *Paint, paper, prompts, and plenty of room for unexpected ideas.*

Redefining success

So what initially felt a little bit like a failure slowly started feeling like a success.

Well… in my world, this counts as a success.

Not because I suddenly built a huge workshop business overnight. But because I tested something that mattered to me, learned from it, met new people, and opened the door to possibilities I hadn’t even considered at the beginning.

I think I needed that reminder.

Sometimes things don’t start with a full room.

Sometimes they start with one person showing up.

Have you ever launched something before you felt ready?

Maybe it was a creative project, a business idea, a class, or simply sharing your work publicly for the first time.

I'd love to hear about it in the comments. Sometimes the stories that start small turn out to be the most interesting ones.

What I learned from launching my first in-person workshop