When I first saw a flyer for a free Community Art Club at Marnie's Creative Outlet, I thought I was simply signing up to learn how to knit.
After all, I had never knitted before.
It seemed like a fun opportunity to try something new, meet a few creative people, and maybe leave with a scarf if everything went well.
I wasn't expecting much more than that.
What I didn't realize was that I was walking into something much bigger.
Over the following weeks, I found myself looking forward to Monday evenings—not just because I was excited to keep working on my latest knitting project, but because I genuinely looked forward to seeing the people there.
A group of strangers gradually became familiar faces.
Simple conversations became friendships.
A room full of people working on different creative projects became a place where everyone encouraged one another, celebrated each other's progress, shared knowledge freely, and reminded one another that learning doesn't have to be perfect to be meaningful.
Community Art Club isn't just about knitting.
People bring crochet projects, embroidery, drawing, painting, and whatever creative work they're excited about that week.
Some come to learn something completely new.
Others bring projects they've been working on at home.
The common thread isn't the medium—it's the willingness to learn, create, and spend time together.
For me, the club has become a reminder that creativity has always been about more than making things.
It creates conversation. It creates confidence. And sometimes, without even realizing it, it creates community.
Jessica Carey
A Creative Space That Welcomes Everyone
One of the things I appreciate most about Community Art Club is how approachable it is.
There is no expectation that you already know how to knit, crochet, paint, draw, or make anything at all.
In fact, many people come specifically because they want to learn something new.
The club meets on most Monday evenings from 6:00–8:00 p.m. at Marnie's Creative Outlet in Webster Groves.
Community Art Club reflects something I've seen throughout Marnie's Creative Outlet as a whole.
Rather than simply offering classes, Marnie has intentionally created a place where creativity feels accessible to everyone.
Whether someone has been making art for decades or is picking up a pair of knitting needles for the first time, the heart of the space is the same: to create a welcoming environment where people can explore, learn, and connect with others.
While the featured lesson has been Knitting, the gathering is intentionally much broader than a knitting class.
People are encouraged to bring whatever creative project they're currently working on—whether that's knitting, crochet, embroidery, drawing, painting, or another form of art—or simply come ready to learn.
Eventually, all sorts of techniques and mediums will be taught.
For beginners, supplies are provided, removing one of the biggest barriers to trying something new.
You don't have to invest in expensive materials before deciding whether you enjoy the craft.
You can simply show up, sit down, and begin.
Another thing that makes the club special is that it is free to attend.
Marnie Claunch, founder of Marnie's Creative Outlet, generously donates the studio space each week and often puts out drinks and snacks for everyone to enjoy.
In a time when many people are carefully watching their budgets, having a welcoming creative space that doesn't require an admission fee can make all the difference.
While a suggested donation helps support the space, the heart of Community Art Club isn't about making money—it's about making creativity accessible.
That philosophy shines through the moment you walk through the door.
No one seems concerned about whether your stitches are perfect or whether you've mastered a particular technique.
Questions are welcomed.
Mistakes become opportunities to learn.
People naturally move around the room, offering encouragement, answering questions, celebrating progress, and sharing ideas with one another.
It feels less like attending a class and more like joining a group of friends who genuinely enjoy creating together.
And that atmosphere starts with the people who make it possible.
Everyone Starts Somewhere
One of the people who makes Community Art Club so welcoming is Maria Tess, who leads the weekly knitting sessions.
From the very beginning, she created an atmosphere where questions were encouraged and mistakes were simply part of learning.
Rather than presenting herself as someone who had all the answers, Maria Tess approached the club with humility, patience, and genuine excitement for helping others discover knitting.
One moment, in particular, has stayed with me.
While we were working on our projects, Maria Tess laughed and said: "I'm not a knitting teacher yet... but I want to be!"
Another participant, Heather, and I immediately looked at each other before reminding her of something she hadn't stopped to consider: "You taught us how to knit."
We had both come to Community Art Club as complete beginners.
Thanks to Maria Tess's encouragement and guidance, we had learned the basics, gone home to practice, and returned the following week excited to keep learning.
That sounded like a knitting teacher to us.
As soon as we pointed that out, her face lit up.
"That's right!" she exclaimed with a huge smile.
It was such a simple moment, but it perfectly captured the spirit of the group.
Sometimes we become the person we're hoping to be long before we give ourselves permission to believe it.
Teaching isn't measured by the size of the classroom or the number of years you've been doing it.
Sometimes it begins with helping one person feel a little more confident than they did yesterday.
That philosophy seems to ripple throughout Community Art Club.
People celebrate one another's progress instead of comparing themselves.
Questions are met with encouragement instead of judgment.
Experienced makers freely share tips, while beginners are reminded that everyone starts somewhere.
That kind of environment makes it much easier to try something new because there is no fear of "getting it wrong."
There is simply room to learn.
As the weeks went by, I began noticing something else.
I wasn't just learning how to knit.
I was beginning to experience what a healthy creative community feels like.
One Stitch at a Time
When I walked into my first Community Art Club meeting, I had never knitted before.
I wasn't entirely sure how to hold the needles, how to keep the yarn from tangling, or even what a finished project was supposed to look like.
Like most beginners, I made plenty of mistakes.
In fact, my very first project turned into something none of us were expecting.
Somewhere along the way, my knitting began growing in a way that resembled a bag more than the simple practice piece I thought I was making.
None of us are entirely sure what happened, but instead of treating it like a failure, everyone laughed, admired it, and thought it was surprisingly creative.
That was my first lesson.
Sometimes mistakes don't ruin a project.
Sometimes they simply take you somewhere unexpected.
Rather than becoming discouraged, I kept practicing.
Every Monday evening, I'd return to Community Art Club, pick up my knitting needles again, ask more questions, and learn something new.
Little by little, the stitches became more even.
The projects became more consistent.
More importantly, my confidence grew.
Before long, I decided to knit my first full scarf as a thank-you gift for a friend who had shown me incredible kindness.
When I finally finished the soft lavender scarf and gave it to them, I discovered I wasn't the only one who loved it.
Their cat immediately claimed it.
Seeing their cat happily curled up on something I had made with my own hands made me smile.
It was one of those simple, joyful moments that reminded me handmade gifts carry something extra with them.
They aren't just yarn stitched together—they're time, thoughtfulness, gratitude, and love woven into every row.
That project gave me the confidence to begin another.
Today, I'm finishing a purple scarf as a thank-you gift for my friend's mom.
When I brought it to my women's group, several people commented on how nice my knitting looked.
Looking back at my very first project beside the one I'm working on now, I can see the difference, too.
Not because everything is perfect.
But because I kept showing up.
Looking back at the photos of each project side by side tells a story all on its own.
My accidental bag, my first scarf, and the one currently on my needles each capture a different stage of the journey.
They remind me that growth rarely happens all at once.
It happens one stitch, one mistake, one conversation, and one Monday evening at a time.
More Than Knitting: Building Genuine Community
While knitting was what first brought me through the doors of Community Art Club, it wasn't what kept me coming back.
Week after week, I began realizing that the most meaningful part of the evening wasn't finishing another row of stitches.
It was the people sitting around the table.
On any given Monday evening, the room is filled with conversation, the gentle clicking of knitting needles, bursts of laughter as someone shares a story, and tables covered with colorful yarn, crochet hooks, the loom, paints, brushes, and works in progress.
It isn't a silent classroom; it feels alive.
Heather was also learning to knit alongside me, so it was fun watching both of us gain confidence week after week.
Around us, everyone brought something a little different.
Kate often worked on crochet or embroidery, Jenn experimented with weaving on a loom, her husband enjoyed printmaking, and others spent the evening painting or working on their own creative projects.
One of the things I've appreciated most is how naturally everyone encourages one another.
Progress isn't treated as a competition.
Whether someone is casting on for the very first time or finishing a more advanced project, people genuinely celebrate each other's growth.
After practicing throughout the week, I would bring my projects back to the club, excited to show everyone what I'd learned.
Maria Tess and Marnie were always enthusiastic to see how much progress I'd made since the previous Monday, offering encouragement and answering whatever new questions I had.
That kind of support makes a tremendous difference when you're learning something unfamiliar.
Instead of feeling embarrassed by mistakes, I found myself becoming excited to keep practicing.
Whenever someone finished a project, everyone wanted to see it.
There was a genuine excitement in celebrating what another person had created, no matter how simple or complex it was.
Community also has a way of growing through small acts of kindness.
One week, I baked brookies—a combination of brownies and chocolate chip cookies—to celebrate Maria Tess's and Kate's birthdays.
They were both genuinely touched by the gesture, and it was fun sharing something sweet with the same people who had been generously sharing their time, patience, and knowledge with me.
Moments like that remind me that community isn't built through grand events.
It's built through ordinary moments of caring for one another.
The conversations around the table have also been just as meaningful as the creative projects.
Maria Tess shared that she had been diagnosed with ADHD later in life and suspects she may also be autistic.
Kate spoke about her own experiences, including how frustrating it can be when people don't recognize neurodivergence simply because someone doesn't fit outdated stereotypes.
As a late-diagnosed autistic adult myself, those conversations resonated deeply with me.
There was no pressure to explain or defend ourselves.
Just people sharing their experiences and listening to one another with understanding.
That kind of acceptance creates something special.
It allows people to show up as they are.
As the weeks passed, the friendships continued to grow in unexpected ways.
One evening, Maria Tess told me that if I ever found myself without a safe place to stay, I would be welcome in the room in her basement.
It was an incredibly generous offer—one I hope I never need—but it meant far more than having somewhere to go.
It was a reminder that genuine community isn't only about creating together.
It's about caring for one another beyond the art table.
I've also met wonderful new people through the club, including Alisa, who works with Catholic Charities.
After hearing a little about my situation, she offered to help connect me with additional resources that might be beneficial.
Those moments have reminded me that when people gather consistently around something they love, relationships naturally begin to grow.
Sometimes those relationships become encouragement.
Sometimes they become opportunities.
Sometimes they become unexpected acts of generosity.
And sometimes they simply become people who are genuinely happy to see you walk through the door each week.
Why Community Art Clubs Matter
The more time I spend exploring creative spaces throughout St. Louis, the more I notice a common thread.
People are looking for places where they can belong.
Places where they can learn something new without feeling intimidated.
Places where they can make friends as adults.
Places where creativity is encouraged rather than judged.
And honestly, those kinds of spaces can be surprisingly difficult to find.
Many classes only last a week or two before everyone goes their separate ways.
Some are expensive enough that they simply aren't accessible for everyone.
Others can feel intimidating if you've never tried the craft before.
Community Art Club offers something different.
It isn't just about teaching a creative skill.
It's about creating an environment where people feel comfortable returning week after week.
Where beginners are welcomed.
Where experienced makers happily share what they've learned.
Where someone can bring their own project or try something completely new.
Where conversations happen just as naturally as the creating itself.
That consistency matters.
Relationships are rarely built in a single evening.
Trust grows over time.
Friendships grow over time.
Confidence grows over time.
Sometimes simply knowing that a group of familiar faces will be gathering on Monday evening is enough to brighten someone's week.
Creativity Has a Way of Spreading
One afternoon, while I was knitting at the library, a woman noticed my scarf and stopped to ask about it.
She told me she had always wanted to learn how to knit.
Instead of simply talking about my project, I found myself telling her about Community Art Club.
About the welcoming atmosphere.
About the fact that beginners were encouraged.
About how supplies were provided.
About how she didn't need to worry about already knowing what she was doing.
I realized that I had become exactly what someone else had been for me only a few weeks earlier.
Someone pointing toward an open door.
And that is one of the beautiful things about healthy communities.
They naturally grow through invitation.
Not because people are pressured to join.
But because someone has a genuinely positive experience and wants others to experience it too.
One person tells a friend.
That friend tells someone else.
Someone brings a family member.
Someone invites a neighbor.
Little by little, the community grows—not because of advertising or obligation, but because people have found something worth sharing.
That is how so many meaningful communities begin.
More Than an Art Club
When I first walked through the doors of Community Art Club, I hoped to learn a new skill.
And I did.
I learned how to cast on.
How to knit.
How to recognize mistakes and, more importantly, how to fix them.
I learned that dropped stitches aren't the end of a project.
I learned that sometimes an accidental "bag" can become everyone's favorite development.
I learned how a ball of yarn can slowly become a scarf made with gratitude for someone who has shown kindness.
But those aren't the lessons that have stayed with me the most.
The greatest gift Community Art Club has given me hasn't been knitting.
It's been a glimpse of what healthy community looks like.
A place where beginners are welcomed instead of judged.
Where people celebrate one another's progress instead of comparing it.
Where knowledge is shared freely.
Where conversations naturally flow between stitches.
Where birthdays are celebrated with sweet treats.
Where people remember what you're working on and get excited to see how far you've come since last week.
Where someone notices that you're struggling and offers help without expecting anything in return.
Where friendships begin around a table covered in yarn, embroidery hoops, sketchbooks, and half-finished projects.
For so much of my life, I believed community was something people talked about more than they actually practiced.
Over the past several months, however, I've been discovering something different as I've explored creative spaces throughout the St. Louis area.
I've met artists who freely share supplies.
Teachers who genuinely want beginners to succeed.
Organizations that remove financial barriers so more people can participate.
People who open doors instead of guarding them.
Community Art Club is another beautiful example of that.
It reminds me that creativity isn't just about making art.
It's about making space.
Making connections.
Making people feel welcome.
Making room for someone to learn, to grow, and to simply be themselves.
In a world where many adults say it's difficult to make new friends, places like Community Art Club remind us that friendship often begins by simply showing up consistently.
You don't have to arrive knowing anyone.
Sometimes all it takes is sharing a table, working on a project, and returning the following week.
Over time, familiar faces become conversations, conversations become friendships, and a room that once felt unfamiliar begins to feel like home.
Perhaps that's why these Monday evenings have become something I look forward to so much.
Yes, I'm excited to keep learning new stitches and eventually tackle more ambitious knitting projects.
I found myself practicing throughout the week because I couldn't wait to bring my latest project back on Monday and show everyone what I'd learned.
But I'm equally excited to see the people gathered around the table.
To hear what everyone has been working on during the week.
To celebrate their progress and share my own.
To laugh over mistakes that somehow become part of the story.
Because somewhere along the way, Community Art Club stopped feeling like a place I went.
It started feeling like a place where I belonged.
And I hope more communities continue creating spaces like this.
Spaces where the cost of entry isn't perfection.
Where curiosity is enough.
Where beginners are celebrated.
Where creativity becomes a bridge between people who may never have met otherwise.
Because sometimes changing a community doesn't begin with a huge event or a grand program.
Sometimes it begins with a few chairs around a table.
A basket of yarn.
Someone willing to teach.
Someone willing to learn.
And an open invitation that simply says: "Come create with us."
Want even more content about creativity and art?
Be sure to check out all of our creative chronicles!
If you'd like to see examples of my work, you can find some of my art and creations at Redbubble and Gumroad!
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Check out some of these articles:
-Hidden Gems for St. Louis Artists
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-Leftovers and Upcycle Treasure Box
Jessica Carey
