Starting this particular post has been tricky, mostly because I keep getting hung up on labels: autistic, neurodivergent, ADHD, dyslexic, learning differences, disabled, learning disability. The list goes on. Labels can be incredibly helpful. They help people understand themselves, find community, advocate for what they need and access support that might otherwise be out of reach. But for this conversation, I’d rather leave them out, because I don’t think they matter here.
If you learn differently, then I’m here to teach differently.
I don’t identify as neurodivergent myself, but I’ve spent years working with and teaching people who do, and I married someone who does. The idea of needing to learn differently from others has never seemed odd to me. Some people would rather read instructions. Some need to see something demonstrated. Some need you to show them once and they’re off. Others need to do it alongside you. Some need to try it, mess it up, try again and ask seventeen questions before it finally clicks. Why would one of those ways of learning be more legitimate than another?
Unfortunately, that’s not always how school works.
Maybe I wasn’t bad at math
In high school, I was great at English, French, Art, Music and Science. History and Math? Not so much. For most of my life, I took that as proof that I just wasn’t very good at History or Math. Now I’m not so sure. Looking back, I think there’s a good chance that if somebody had taught those subjects to me differently, I would have done just fine. Maybe I would even have excelled.
Classes tend to be taught the way they’re taught. The teacher teaches, the students get a set amount of time to learn the material, and then everybody moves on. Some students thrive in that system and others don’t. I’m not convinced that tells us nearly as much about a student’s ability as we think it does.
Animation school was different for me. There weren’t many textbooks or pages of notes. Animation is visual, so we learned mostly through demonstrations, watching films, looking at artwork and, most importantly, doing the work. There was a lot of trial and error. Draw it. Look at it. Fix it. Draw it again. That made sense to me.
Animation training came with a different problem, though. There was SO MUCH to learn all at once: life drawing, perspective, layout, character design, storyboarding, animation, painting, visual language and creative writing, each with its own homework and deadlines. Some of us also had jobs to pay rent, and we were figuring out life as adults on our own for the first time. What looked like bad excuses back then now looks like a poor system for a healthy balance between work, study and life. It was SO overwhelming.
To be fair, most students who didn’t drop out right away still passed and went on to work in the industry. But what about those who didn’t? And what about all the potentially amazing artists who were never accepted into the program in the first place?
What if you just need more time or a different approach?
I’ve taught some incredibly talented artists who would have had enormous difficulty getting through a traditional college program. Not because they weren’t capable. Some needed more time. Some needed one thing to focus on instead of six. Some needed step-by-step instruction. Some needed concepts shown a different way, and others needed more practice before moving on.
Frankly, most animation students would benefit from more time with the basics anyway. In decades of reviewing graduates’ artwork, I keep seeing artists who have learned a little bit of everything but haven’t had the time to get really strong at anything yet. The basics aren’t there, and their individual strengths haven’t had time to show.
It doesn’t seem fair.
So let’s take the clock out of it
This is where SlowLine works differently. There are no grades, no tests and no hard deadlines designed to decide whether you pass or fail. Instead, SlowLine classes are built around levels.
Think about learning piano. You don’t take eight lessons and automatically become an intermediate pianist because eight weeks have passed. You learn, you practise, your teacher corrects you, you practise some more and you play different pieces. Some things come easily and others don’t.
Or think about martial arts. You don’t become a yellow belt because you attended a set number of Tuesday-night karate classes. You train at your current level until you’ve developed the skills you need for the next one.
That’s much closer to how SlowLine works.
Let’s say you take Character Design: Level 1. Over eight weeks, we’ll work toward specific goals, and you’ll create an original character and produce a professional-style model sheet. At the end, we’ll look at what you can do. Maybe you’re ready for Level 2. Maybe you’ve made great progress but still have some foundational skills to work on. In that case, you can sign up for Level 1 again and keep training, with fresh assignments and practice aimed at what you need to be ready for the next level. You’re not repeating the class. You’re continuing at that level.
Every artist learns differently and progresses differently. There are no boxes or cookie-cutter courses here.
What does that look like in class?
First, it means I don’t expect six people to be the same just because they’re in the same class. I’ll do everything I can to group artists with similar interests and skill levels, but they’ll still be six different artists. One student may be a few steps ahead while another is still getting started. They’re both in the right place in their own learning journey.
It also means room for different personalities. One student might talk nonstop about the movie they watched last week, and another might happily go a whole class without saying much at all. If somebody needs quiet to concentrate, we’ll figure that out together. There can always be fifteen minutes of quiet work time, and headphones are welcome. Maybe we take a break. If an assignment is frustrating someone, I’ll happily find something different for them to work on that builds a different skill.
Teach the student, not the lesson plan
I use a lot of different teaching methods:
- Live demonstrations
- Notes
- Recorded demonstrations
- Written step-by-step instructions
- Visual step-by-step instructions
- Finished examples
- Guided practice and hands-on practice
- Discussion and feedback
- Trial and error
- One-on-one help
Before a course starts, I’ll learn about your skills, interests and learning style so I can help you best. I’ll use whatever approach I reasonably can to help you understand the concepts and work the way you prefer to work. If you’re not sure what that is yet, we’ll figure it out together.
If I’ve explained something and you still don’t understand it, my first assumption isn’t that you can’t learn it. My first plan is to figure out how to teach it another way. And sometimes we may discover that a particular skill is especially hard for you. That’s useful to know, because I’m much more interested in what you can do than what you can’t. If an artist struggles enormously with perspective but has an incredible eye for shape, colour and composition, we can work with that. We might explore flat backgrounds, graphic design, stylized environments or deliberately distorted perspective.
There are a lot of ways to be an artist, and I’m not here to force you into a box. The most rewarding part of teaching at SlowLine is helping you discover what works best for you.
There is no “behind”
Just like piano or martial arts, there’s no falling behind. There’s simply working on a skill until you’ve got it and you’re ready for the next level. It stands to reason that the more time you put into homework, the faster you’ll build the skill, but there’s no rush from me. You’re not learning for me. You’re learning for YOU.
That doesn’t mean I have no expectations. I need you to show up, and show up on time. I need you to pay attention as much as you reasonably can. You’ll need to put some time into practising outside class. And most importantly, you need to want to be there.
What you get out of SlowLine will have a lot to do with what you’re willing and able to put into it. I’m not at all interested in comparing your progress with the artist in the Zoom square beside you. I’m only interested in comparing you with you.
What couldn’t you do eight weeks ago that you can do now? That’s the good stuff, and those are the victories I want to celebrate.