Rethinking Workshop Models: The “Ikebana” Workshop Method

by Brenda Miller, Professor, English Department, WWU

Why “Ikebana”?

CCO Licensed; Katsura Ko-ryū 桂古流

This model stems from what I experienced as a student in an Ikebana class here in Bellingham. Ikebana is the Japanese art of flower arranging; the compositions follow formal guidelines, but they also vary by the season and the vision of the artist. Our teacher, Charles, would demonstrate the form then set us loose with our materials.

When we were done, Charles reverently carried our creations one by one to a pedestal in the center of the room. We studied the arrangement and then describe what we saw, the way the composition directed the eye, the feeling it imparted. Then Charles would invite us to “what if”: What would happen if this branch moved slightly to the right? What if we created more space by snipping this one leaf? With permission from the student, he would enact these suggestions, and we’d all clap at the results.

We always left excited about our creativity and our learning process. We felt respected, even though we were rank beginners. We felt included and seen. This experience inspired me to translate this method into my own creative writing workshops.

What is a creative writing workshop and how has this process originated and evolved?

Many academic creative writing workshops followed what is known as the Iowa Method. In this process, students submit work to their peers and professor ahead of time, and then remain silent during the discussion of their work. Here are some of the effects of this method:

Developed at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop (in use since the 1930’s)
Characterized by silence demanded of the author. The author is talked “about” rather than “with.”
Little to no context given for the work. It is an object for critique apart from the author’s intentions and aesthetics.
Can lead to Group Think: pleasing those in power. Little room for thinking beyond the page.
Can be particularly harmful to those in vulnerable positions.

My own workshop experience in graduate school was stifling. Students would often look for small things to quibble about without getting to the larger topic. There was a sense of competition, and I’d receive too much feedback that wasn’t appropriate to where I was in the drafting process. This process can have a chilling effect; students feel they need to submit finished work rather than work in progress. And if it’s already finished, it can be harder to revise and take feedback.

Students often dreaded workshop. The body language was tense, with people slumped over their desks, foreheads furrowed. Even if the response was overall positive, you felt objectified, sitting in the corner, silenced except for the obligatory “thanks for your feedback” at the end. The feeling I had after leaving workshop was deflating rather than energizing, even if the feedback had been mostly positive. It still didn’t seem to be connected to me as a person.

Workshop as a Space of Both Vulnerability and Agency

When I first started teaching, I didn’t have another model, so I taught the same way. But it just wasn’t working for me. From talking with students in class, I knew that a conversation was more productive than a critique. Often times, what is on the page is only pointing to what the real work will be.

We can think about workshop as a vulnerable space in which we “take care” of ourselves and each other, as well as of the work at hand. And especially for writers of color, for those with visible and invisible disabilities, for writers dealing with experiences of gender and sexuality, it is even more important that the workshop respects the writer’s expertise in their own work and the aesthetics that shape their story.

So I gradually started trying different ways to go about feedback that respects the student and their work, allows the student more agency and a voice in the process, and sees the material as still evolving.

How Different Workshop Models Promote Inclusivity

I intuitively have been making changes in my creative writing courses over the years that I see now also serve to promote inclusivity in the classroom. Following are some books that more fully articulate the “why” of these choices and how they can make a difference for all writers in our classrooms. We can think about alternative workshops as integrated, intentional, humane approaches to feedback that further inclusion and respect.

The Anti-Racist Writing Workshop: How to Decolonize the Creative Classroom, by Felicia Rose Chavez
Craft in the Real World: Rethinking Fiction Writing and Workshopping, by Matthew Salesses
How Dare We! Write: A Multicultural Creative Writing Discourse, ed. Sherry Quan Lee
David Mura: his interview On Race, Identity, and the Creative Writing Classroom And his book: A Stranger’s Journey: Race, Identity, and Narrative Craft in Writing

All these authors describe their demoralizing and traumatic experiences with traditional writing workshops that privilege white voices and the way “it’s always been done.” They then provide several alternative models, ideas, and writing prompts.

The Ikebana Method

So, exactly how do we invite our writers to use their voices in the feedback process? How do we generate as much respect, humanity, compassion, and joy as we can in our writing classrooms?

The Ikebana Workshop method is just one way of doing this. It is most suited to low-stakes work that is short and can be read aloud in five minutes or fewer (or excerpted from a longer work). Included with this article is a handout that describes the method in detail, but here are the salient points I give to the students:

Reframing our Intentions

For this mini-workshop, it’s not about “fixing” a piece or even giving your opinion on it.
It’s about showing the writer the possibilities inherent in the work itself.
It’s about seeing how the writer is trying new techniques or approaching new content, and how you might be inspired to try something like this in your own writing.

The Steps

Introduce your piece with whatever context you’d like to give, i.e.: did this evolve from a particular writing prompt or inspired by one of the model readings? Is it the beginning to something larger?
Read your piece aloud.
As each person reads their work aloud, take note of the lines/images/sensory details that stand out, for whatever reason.
When the author is done reading, do a “popcorn response”: Every person reads back at least one image or line (without saying why, yet. This is about simply hearing the words of the piece in several different voices). Repetition is fine and encouraged.
After this reading, discussion can begin with WHY these lines stood out. Try to phrase your comments with “I notice…” or “What speaks to me most strongly is…” rather than “I like…” or “I dislike…”

Taking it Further

We can use these lines to explore what the piece is really What idea or theme or feeling comes through the images most strongly, especially as you heard them read aloud?
Where might the author take this piece if they want to continue?
We can frame any suggestion as “WHAT IF” rather than you “you should.” Keep the possibilities open.
How does their work inspire your own?

I have found that students love this kind of workshop. The responses they receive from their classmates are enthusiastic and encouraging, and they can see exciting possibilities for revision. They are not competing with one another, but rather are true teammates, working together in an atmosphere of conviviality.

You can adapt this method in whatever way suits your discipline and your goals. You can also adapt it for longer, higher-stakes assignments that students receive ahead of time, perhaps in smaller groups. Think of the workshop now as a “maker space” or a “play date” and see what can happen.