When Teaching Informs My Studio Work (and Vice Versa)

One of the questions I get asked most often is how I balance teaching with my studio practice. People usually expect me to talk about how hard it is to find the time, how teaching takes energy away from making, or how my work has to get squeezed into the margins of an already full schedule. And while that part is true, what I’ve realized over the years is that the two are not competing forces in my life. My teaching and my studio work are in constant dialogue with each other. Each side informs, challenges, and strengthens the other.

When I started teaching, I thought of it as a job that sat beside my creative work. I imagined that I would pour my energy into the classroom, then go home and focus on my own projects. It didn’t take long to see that there was no neat separation. The very act of teaching required me to revisit the fundamentals of art and design (ex: composition, color, texture, form, process) in a way that seeped back into my practice. Instead of draining me, those constant reminders kept me from getting too comfortable.

Teaching Forces Clarity

Teaching requires a level of clarity that I don’t always demand of myself in the studio. When I’m making on my own, I can move by instinct. I can follow a direction just because it feels right, without needing to articulate why. In the classroom, though, I have to explain. I have to translate my instincts into language that students can understand and use.

That act of breaking things down sharpens my own awareness. If I’m teaching a lesson on hierarchy or negative space, I can’t just rely on what looks “good” or “bad.” I have to explain what makes something work, what makes it fail, and why those details matter. The more I explain, the more I see where I’ve been coasting in my own practice. If I catch myself telling a student to push past their first idea, I’m reminded to hold myself to that same expectation.

I’ll give you an example. In one of my design courses, I stress the importance of iteration and how it’s key to create multiple versions before deciding on a final composition. I tell students that their first attempt is rarely their best, and that pushing through several drafts almost always produces something stronger. Every time I say this, I hear the echo of my own tendency to settle too quickly. Teaching that principle makes me return to my work with more patience. I remind myself that the first version of a collage or a painting doesn’t need to be the final one. I can keep going. I can try again.

Learning From Students

One of the unexpected gifts of teaching is how much I learn from my students. They come into the classroom with different perspectives, different references, and different levels of experience. Some have backgrounds that are completely outside the art world, and their approaches reflect that. They don’t have the same habits I’ve built up over the years, which means they often stumble into solutions I wouldn’t have considered.

I’ve had students cut and paste images in ways that seemed completely wrong to me at first, only to realize later that their odd choices created a freshness my own work lacked. I’ve watched students combine digital and analog tools without hesitation, while I was still holding on to old boundaries between the two. Their willingness to test, to risk failure, and to ignore the “rules” I take for granted pushes me to loosen up.

There’s also something grounding about watching students wrestle with basics. When they struggle with perspective, color mixing, or composition, I’m reminded of the weight of those fundamentals. I can’t just take them for granted. Their struggles pull me back into paying attention to the core of what I do, which keeps my own foundation strong.

Studio Work as a Teaching Tool

The flow goes both ways. Just as teaching sharpens my studio practice, my studio work gives me something real to bring into the classroom. I don’t have to speak in abstractions. I can show my students what I’m working on, walk them through the decisions I’m making, and let them see that the creative process is full of missteps.

For example, when I was working on my collage series Echoes of Eve, I brought pieces into class at different stages. Students saw the raw cutouts taped to a board, the half-assembled layers that didn’t quite fit, and the moments where I tore pieces apart to start again. Sharing those unfinished versions made the process tangible. It showed them that the work doesn’t appear fully formed…it gets built piece by piece, mistake by mistake.

This kind of honesty helps demystify the process. Students often assume that professional artists know exactly what they’re doing at all times. When they see me struggling with the same questions they have (how to resolve a composition, how to know when something is finished, how to choose between two directions) it validates their own struggles. It reminds them that uncertainty isn’t a flaw, it’s part of the practice.

Balancing Energy

Of course, there are times when teaching feels draining. Standing in front of a class, preparing lessons, giving feedback — it takes energy. Some semesters, it feels like I have little left to give my own work. But more often than not, teaching also provides a kind of momentum. The energy of the classroom carries me back into the studio. When I’ve spent a morning talking about composition or texture, I often want to test those same ideas myself in the afternoon.

There are also seasons when the studio carries me through teaching. If I’m in the middle of an exciting project, that excitement bleeds into the classroom. I’m able to share it with students, to let them see how invigorating the process can be. The two roles feed each other. One keeps me accountable, the other keeps me inspired.

Designing Assignments Through Studio Practice

Another way the overlap shows up is in the assignments I create. My studio experiments often become the seeds of classroom projects. If I’m trying a new layering method in collage, I’ll design an exercise around layering for my students. If I’m testing a new digital tool, I’ll build a demo that brings them into the experiment. The classroom becomes a lab, not just for students but for me.

At the same time, assignments that I create for students often loop back into my own work. A project I design to teach hierarchy or rhythm might spark an idea for a new series. A class exercise in limited color palettes might send me back into the studio with restrictions I wouldn’t have chosen otherwise. Teaching creates frameworks, and sometimes those frameworks unlock something new in my practice.

Keeping the Cycle Moving

The longer I teach, the more I see that my roles as artist and educator are not in conflict. They’re parts of a cycle that keeps me moving. Teaching forces me to articulate, refine, and stay sharp. Studio work grounds me in making and gives me experiences to share. Students bring fresh energy and perspectives that challenge my assumptions. My experiments feed into their learning. Back and forth, it never stops.

This cycle isn’t neat. There are semesters when it feels off-balance, when one side takes more than it gives. But over time, the exchange has been steady. Each side of my practice supports the other, and together they make the work more sustainable.

Why It Matters

For me, the overlap between teaching and studio practice isn’t just a convenience…it’s essential. Without teaching, I might fall into habits that never get challenged. Without my studio work, my teaching would feel hollow, disconnected from the realities of making. Together, they create a feedback loop that keeps me honest, keeps me curious, and keeps me engaged in the process.

At the end of the day, I don’t separate the two. I am both an artist and a teacher, and the conversation between those roles is where my best work happens. Teaching informs my studio work, my studio work informs my teaching, and that ongoing exchange shapes everything I do.