What my Mother Taught Me About Creativity
As Mother’s Day approaches, I’ve been thinking about my own journey into craft and creativity—and how it all began with my mother.
My mom was incredibly talented. A true master of her craft. She could sew, sculpt, paper craft, and design with an eye for detail and originality that left others in awe. Her majorette costumes were legendary—so original, so polished, and so full of flair that others would ask her to fix theirs when things didn’t quite come together. Everything she touched looked effortless, even though, now that I look back, it must have taken so much care and patience.
She wasn’t just skilled—she was fearless in her creativity. After raising four children, she went back to school in her 40s to study graphic design. While she had a brilliant design mind, she’d spent a lifetime working with her hands, not computers. Still, she persevered. She learned a whole new language of creativity and carved out a career for herself in her 50s. I’ll never forget the determination she showed—that it’s never too late to start something new.
That lesson stuck with me. As a child, I was given the freedom to try everything—drawing, painting, sewing, design. Even when I wasn’t very good at something (and I often wasn’t), she never let on. She encouraged me to keep going, to try something else, and above all, to trust myself. It was that persistence, and her quiet belief in me, that kept me exploring as an adult. I wasn't afraid to take short courses, learn new techniques, or risk failure—because she'd shown me how to learn with grace.
It wasn’t until I started making with my hands—ceramics, printmaking, textiles—that I felt something click. Eventually, that path led me to a degree in textiles, and then, finally, to weaving. It was like everything I’d tried before had funnelled into this one practice. Weaving felt like coming home.
And now, every time I welcome someone into my studio for a workshop, I see echoes of that same journey. Women arriving with a lifetime of creative experiences—knitting, sewing, crochet, mending—skills often passed down from mothers or grandmothers, sometimes long dormant, but never truly forgotten. I see women giving themselves permission to start something new, to explore, to play, to be brave.
My weaving workshops are about so much more than learning a skill. They’re about honouring that thread of creativity passed down through generations. They’re about discovering what’s possible when you begin again, often later in life, with open hands and an open heart. And maybe—just maybe—realising that you’re mastering something without even realising it.
In many ways, I feel like I’m channelling both my own journey and my mother’s every time I teach. It’s a privilege to hold space for others as they rediscover the joy of making.
If this story resonates with you—or makes you think of someone in your life who’s nurtured your creativity—perhaps a weaving workshop could be a meaningful way to reconnect with that part of yourself. Or a thoughtful gift for someone you love.
However you spend Mother’s Day, I hope it includes a moment of reflection, a spark of creativity, or simply a quiet appreciation for where your own journey has taken you.
Happy Weaving!
Cass