“I never expected to teach ikebana in a garage with no windows—but here we are.” Ilse, 25 Years Ago
Returning to Belgium after 11 years in Japan, I had a wealth of ikebana knowledge and an undeniable passion for teaching. But there was one rather crucial missing piece: students. Where on earth would I find them? And where would I even teach?
The Call to Ikebana Teaching
My time in Japan had shaped my understanding of ikebana, and I was eager to share what I had learned. But starting fresh in Belgium was no small feat. Unlike in Japan, where ikebana was widely known and respected, I had to build everything from scratch.
Who would sign up for classes? And where would those classes take place?
The Early Struggles
I soon realized that my first students were right in front of me—the moms at my son’s school. I simply asked at the school gate, and to my delight, some were intrigued enough to join.
At first, I had no dedicated space, so we started in our garage—a rather unglamorous setting with no windows. Over time, we made small improvements, transforming the garage into something that resembled an atelier.
While the garage provided a starting point, I soon realized it had its limits. Also if I wanted more students, I needed to reach beyond the school gate. So, I turned to advertising the old-fashioned way: in local newspapers. Keep in mind, this was before the internet made everything instantly accessible! It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked.
I moved to a room above a Japanese shop, a small but atmospheric space that gave my ikebana practice a proper setting. After some time in a cozy but limited room above a Japanese shop, I realized flexibility was key.
So, we tried something new—rotating classes in students’ homes. One week, we’d arrange flowers in a bright, spacious living room; the next, in a dining room surrounded by family heirlooms. Each space brought a different energy, making it an adventurous and ever-changing way to teach.
The Turning Point – Finding a Real Teaching Space
Then came a major breakthrough: a friend who owned a gallery offered me a chance to rent space there. It was perfect! Not only did I teach, but I also held workshops and exhibitions, introducing ikebana to a broader audience.
During my time at the gallery, I also came into contact with Antonio Lampecco, a remarkably talented Italian ceramist who worked in an abbey in the Belgian Ardennes. His craftsmanship was extraordinary—his containers had an organic, timeless beauty that seemed to whisper stories of their own. Naturally, I thought they would pair beautifully with ikebana.
Enthusiastic about the idea, we bought several of his containers, hoping to resell them at the gallery. We visited his atelier in Maredsous regularly. It was tucked away in the serene Ardennes, where he worked with a devotion that was almost meditative. He was a true artist, deeply passionate about his craft. Sadly, he has since passed away, but his work remains an inspiration.
Through this experience and looking back, I realize three important lessons.
First, I am not a salesperson. While ceramics and ikebana are closely related, selling containers requires a completely different mindset. Passion for an art form does not necessarily translate into skill for selling it.
The silver lining? I still have the unsold containers, and rather than gathering dust, they have become treasured pieces in my own ikebana practice.
Years later, I still reach for them, and every time I do, I chuckle at the thought that my lack of salesmanship at least had the benefit of furnishing me with an enviable personal collection!
Second, when I was trying to sell containers, I was not spending developing my main dream, teaching ikebana. I had to focus more.
Thirdly, I realize that success depends on reaching enough people. A gallery can be a beautiful, inspiring place, but it needs a steady stream of visitors to be sustainable.
And that, I suspect, was part of the problem. Foot traffic was simply too low, and a few years later, the gallery was sold.
And with it, my teaching space vanished. The thought of moving back to the garage was disheartening. I had come too far to retreat—I needed a real, lasting solution.
The Big Leap – Creating My Own Atelier
Instead of retreating to old solutions, I took a bold step forward. In 2006, we bought a house with a dedicated atelier, finally giving my ikebana practice the home it deserved.
Years later, in 2018, we renovated the space, and by 2019, my doors reopened to welcome students in an environment built specifically for teaching. It was a long road, but now I can host up to six students per class in a space that truly reflects the beauty of ikebana.
Focus on your main dream, passion, and goal. Before starting new side businesses, do more of what you love. Otherwise, you risk spreading yourself too thin.
You can teach anywhere – Start with what you have. A living room, a café, even a garage. The setting is less important than the passion you bring.
Keep costs low – Renting space can eat into your profits. If you can avoid it, do!
Tell people what you do – If you don’t, they won’t know how to join!
Don't Wait: If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: don’t wait for the perfect space, the perfect moment, or the perfect setup. Start where you are, with what you have, and grow from there.
Why am I sharing my story? Every ikebana journey is different, but they all share a common thread: discovery, creativity and connection. In this series, I share my personal path in ikebana, from my first encounter to the lessons I’ve learned over the years. I hope to inspire you to explore your own ikebana story and, if you are a teacher, to share yours with your students. Ikebana grows when we share it - let’s grow together.
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