With the Community. Learning to Create, Creating to Learn

Learning is everywhere — in conversations with neighbours, in shared meals, in community events, workshops, libraries, and even transnational Facebook groups. Community learning is the idea that knowledge lives in people and places, not just textbooks and classrooms. It’s about people coming together to share what they know, learn from one another, and build stronger, more connected communities in the process.

When I moved to Iceland in 2013, I was an aspiring artist locked in the body of a project manager. The practical side of cultural organising, like budget and schedules, came naturally to me — much more than believing in something as ephemeral as “talent.” But the democratic approach to the arts in Iceland has been a blessing. I often share this with visitors: “In Iceland, if you have a camera and take pictures, you’re a photographer.” It’s a mental shortcut, of course, but I think it captures something essential. The small population and the spaciousness of the culture give people permission to try, create, and learn.

That openness saved me, but also shaped how I understand community learning. If you don’t need a diploma or permission to express yourself through art, then why should learning be any different? Why not trust your community — find those willing to share their knowledge and experience? Why not research, explore, and build learning tools together?

As a published author with a diploma in creative writing, I’ve learned more about writing through my community in Iceland than I ever did at university back home in Poland. I learned by attending community workshops, talking with fellow writers, performing my work, giving public readings, editing, and publishing — not in a classroom, but side by side with others. Now, I try to give back to that community: by sharing what I know, and by supporting those who are willing to teach or eager to learn. I’m part of multiple fascinating projects, and above all, I continue to give myself permission to try.

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When Were You a Leaky Bucket—And Who Was Your Gardener? How Storytelling Makes Us Stronger