One of my favourite parts of planning a workshop is sitting down to prepare the patterns. There’s something wonderfully meditative about drawing them out, cutting the shapes, and imagining how they’ll look stitched into someone’s favourite jumper or pair of jeans. I make them so they can be used again and again — everyone takes a set home — and that way the workshop doesn’t end when we pack up. You can keep stitching in your own time, or even carry on meeting up with the group afterwards.
When I ran my first sashiko workshop, I offered a choice: start a few smaller stitches and finish them during the session, or spend the whole time working on one bigger, more complicated piece. Both ways worked beautifully. Some people liked the satisfaction of completing something quickly, while others relaxed into the rhythm of a longer design. I love that it’s flexible like that.
The fabrics I bring along all come from my stash of rescued textiles and upcycled clothes. That’s important to me — keeping the process as low impact and as sustainable as possible. The fun part is that every fabric has a story, and every participant gets to choose which one suits their garment best. Some people want to keep things discreet, others want bold colour or texture, and sometimes the unexpected choices create the most striking results.
During the sessions, I show a few stitching techniques, but I don’t expect anyone to make things perfect. It’s more about trying things out, seeing what works, and enjoying the process. People talk, share ideas, and often inspire each other along the way. What I really like is how different everyone’s work turns out. Even with the same pattern, the results never look alike. Fabric choices, colours, and stitching styles all change things, and each garment ends up with its own character.
I’m only at the beginning of building these workshops, but I already have ideas brewing: simple visible mending for everyday repairs, bold patchwork for statement pieces, embroidery that’s purely decorative, and maybe even sessions for parents who want to give their kids’ clothes a second life. I’d also love to see groups working together on a shared banner or quilt, something that becomes a piece of collective memory.
For me, workshops aren’t only about teaching a skill. They’re about creating a space to slow down, use our hands, and connect with one another. If you leave with a mended jumper, a handful of patterns, and a head full of ideas, that’s wonderful — but if you also leave with a feeling of calm and a few new stitching friends, then it’s been a real success.
