I teach woodcarving once a week in Bristol to adult learners with a wide range of skill levels and carving experience. One day, a member of staff at the learning centre took me aside to ask about Ross. Ross wanted to try woodcarving, but due to nerve damage, his dominant hand was almost unusable. Would I be happy for him to join the group of seven other students? The answer was ‘yes’.

After six three-hour sessions, Ross had produced a beautiful carving of a green man* foliate face and was very pleased with the result. He was also eager to begin another sculpture in wood.

This isn’t a story about traditional skills being passed on to learners from privileged backgrounds at a private craft school or as part of an apprenticeship. It’s about someone who isn’t part of a craft ‘elite’ finding something magical in the process, tools, and materials of woodcarving. That last sentence refers to both the student and the teacher.

I am a self-taught woodcarver who has been carving for over thirty years and self-employed for nearly twenty. My commissions range from large sculptures carved with power tools, to more traditional work using gouges and chisels, to tiny knife-carved pieces.

Teaching is hugely important in my work. While it has helped financially during slower times, its true value lies in the personal connections and transformations it fosters. I’ve taught students who went on to become professional woodcarvers, but those who had a harder road to travel and brought me along on their journey left the deepest impressions.

Thirteen years ago, I taught a woodworking course at a community farm. One young man joined the course with his special education school. He was profoundly deaf and struggled to focus, but he took to woodworking naturally. Removed from the constraints of the classroom and handed sharp tools that demanded attention, he flourished.

A great craftsperson is not always a great teacher, just as some teachers may lack deep craft experience. I don’t claim to be either, but I know that no one ever stops learning in this ancient craft. With thousands of tools and techniques from across the world, it’s the endless learning that keeps the joy alive.

Craft can sometimes feel exclusive, a club for insiders. Skill does require dedication and practice. But there’s something profoundly moving about witnessing people discover the basics. They remind us professionals, especially the self-employed, of the spark we sometimes overlook: the joy of mastering a difficult technique, the smile of success, the sense of relief and happiness. That’s where the future of craft lies and where the best of it began.