It’s been a long long time since I learned how to play the piano, and like many people who end up teaching music, piano was something that came fairly easily to me. Not that I wasn’t responsible for plenty of  grave-spinning among the great old classical composers, but I don’t remember having much trouble learning to read music or playing fast and loud (whether appropriate or not).

I am, however gravitationally challenged. Remaining upright on a board that is moving beneath me — say a surfboard, a windsurfer, a skateboard, or a snowboard — seems a feat much more difficult than playing a Beethoven sonata. Last week, on the island of Kaua’i, I was introduced to what is purportedly one of the hottest new water sports going: stand-up paddle-boarding.

Basically, stand-up paddle-boarding is a geeky-looking sport that is something of a cross between surfing and kayaking, with a bit of Venetian gondolier action thrown into the mix. You are issued a wide, supposedly stable, beginner-suitable board. You kneel on it, then scramble to a standing position. Once you adjust your feet and balance, you start paddling, first on one side, then the other. Every once in a while the wake from a motor boat  or a wave passes underfoot, meaning that — if you are me — you end up doing a belly-side-or-back- flop into the water .

It’s a little like learning to play golf  (or, I suppose, piano).  Move this, but don’t move that. Bend here, but not there. Twist  this way, but don’t twist that. Knees bent, paddle forward, thumbs, up, toes here, heels there…. And just as you finally feel like you’re getting going, an instructor shows up with another half dozen helpful hints. You concentrate on what he’s telling you, forget to do something else, and end up doing the backstroke once more.

Don’t get me wrong: It was a lot of fun. And after practicing on Kauai’s placid Hanalei River, I even made it out to not-quite-entirely-so-placid Hanalei Bay where a few gentle ripples underfoot made me feel as though I was riding some giant championship surfer wave on Waikiki Beach. Meanwhile, Puff the mighty dragon (yes, he really is there)  looked on, lounging on his perch by the sea. 

Here are a few things that learning to paddleboard reminded me about teaching piano:

• Most people can’t take in too much information at once: Better to concentrate on two or three main essential skills, and add refinements as you go.
• Even when you’re flopping into the ocean, a good teacher will find something nice, or funny, or encouraging to say.  
• Funny little anecdotes about how your teacher learned something or got over a hump reassure the learner that everyone faces challenges when trying something new – - and can get over them.
• It really is all about the practice: To paddleboard like my teacher, I’d have to spend a few weeks going up and down and up and down and up and down the river, practicing falling and getting up, turning, and paddling against the wind and over waves.
• Enthusiasm counts. Taking breaks helps. You don’t have to learn it all at once.
• Having fun means you’ll try it again tomorrow. Getting better at it means you’ll have more fun doing it.

Just like learning piano.

But I’m pleased to announce that The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Teaching Music on Your Own is out.

Whatever your instrument: if you are teaching independently, there’s probably something in this book to help ease the way. I relied not only on my experience, but canvassed hundreds of other music teachers, and included their input, as well.

The book covers business issues (getting started, pricing, marketing, studio policies, late fees), student relations (everything from practice skills to working with different age levels), teaching resources, and problem solving.

It all started with the electrifying  performances at the 13th Van Cliburn International Piano Competition (www.cliburn.tv). The poise of these young performers is almost unbelievable, and their death-defying acts of pianism are inspiring, amazing, exciting, and rejuvenating.

I can’t tell you how many times in the last few days I’ve heard a performance of a piece of music I used to play. Often, I’ve been moved to rifle through my music cabinets, then go back to the piano to play something I haven’t looked at since high school.  Lots of train wrecks have been happening on my old Steinway, but I’ve had lots of fun, too, as well as the occasional moment of something that sounds pretty darn good.

Inspired by 20-year old phenom Tsujii Naboyuki, the blind Japenese pianist who was one of the tying gold medalists, I even attempted to play Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu, a piece that’s been in my repertoire since age 11, with a blindfold on.  The result wasn’t pretty, but it was enlightening, and I’d encourage anyone who has an old warhorse sitting around to try the experiment for themselves.

While surfing around the Cliburn website, I came upon the information and application for the amateur arm of the Van Cliburn competition. Now, make no mistake, this may be an amateur competition, as in “not a concert pianist,” but the playing here is at a very high level, mostly by people who could have gotten (or did get into) fine conservatories as students, but ultimately elected to pursue a saner way of making a living. 

The requirements for the competition include that you be over 35 (in other words, it’s not a back door to a debut concert career). That’s fair. No ringers allowed.

You can’t make your living (or most of your living) as a concert pianist (in other words, it’s not a career bumper) Okay, that’s fair, too.

And you can’t make your living (or most of your living) teaching music.  Which seems reasonable, right? Unfair advantage and all that?

Or does it?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no intention of EVER entering this, or any other piano competition, so I’ve got no dog in this fight.  However, as I’ve spent my week going about my teaching, this “no teachers” restriction has had me bursting out in uncontrolled giggles, usually in the middle of a lesson.

I guess it gives me an unfair advantage when I spend my workdays :

Reminding Student A that the finger in his mouth is the same finger that  is supposed to go on middle C.

Telling Student B that no matter how many time he plays that “B”  it is always going to sound wrong, and it will continue to sound wrong until he looks at the music and figures out that he is supposed to be playing a different note. 

Trying to figure out how to get Little Student C to stretch her tiny hands so that she can get to that top A in “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

Explaining to Student D’s parents that coming to a piano lesson once a week does not constitute “practice” and that unless the child actually touches the piano a few times a week, he has a  better chance of flying into space than he does of getting through Book I of the “How to Play Piano” series.    

Don’t get me wrong: I like my students. Right now, I’ve got a great studio of kids, and I happen to be truly fond of every one of them: They are cute and funny, and fun to teach, and most of them actually practice once in a while. And while it’s true that I AM teaching a few more advanced students some Chopin nocturnes and some of the easier Beethoven and Mozart sonatas and such, the vast majority of my time is spent on finger number one, finger number two, and pleas to COUNT COUNT COUNT, and TRY TRY TRY to remember what “every good boy deserves.”

So it tickles my funny bone to think that this job disqualifies me from standing on a stage, just me and the black beast, to wrestle in public with my Chopin G minor Ballade or my Beethoven “Les Adieux.” 

Student E wiggles her tooth for me and announces that it might come out during this very lesson, and I tell her my cardinal rule: “No blood on the piano.”  

And the giggling starts again.

But then the studio grew. It grew so much, in fact, that every after-school slot was booked and I was turning students away. And as the studio grew, I was depending more and more on that income. At the same time, I felt that I had to reserve the time I needed for my own practicing and writing: I didn’t want to be available to teach just any old time of the day. At that point, excessive cancellations started becoming a problem because I didn’t have times when I could make-up the missed lessons without encroaching on my own creative work. The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred one week when 19 (yes, nineteen) students requested scheduling changes. Clearly, that was impossible to accommodate, and now I had the problem of explaining to parents why all of a sudden they weren’t getting make-ups any time they wanted. 

Anyone who teaches or tutors independently needs a studio policy to address issues such as payments, refunds, and missed lessons. While you may be able to be flexible when you first start and have an empty schedule, the earlier you get on board with this the better: It’s easier to have a policy and be flexible with it than to try to enforce a new, stricter policy after people have gotten used to your accommodating ways!

At the minimum, policies should cover the following issues: Your payment schedule, materials fees, late fees (if any), attendance expectations, and cancellations, refunds, and make-ups.

Some teachers’ policies run for many pages and include additional issues such as practice expectations, parental involvment and supervision, requirements for summer study, recital attendance, and notice required to stop lessons.

Really, you can put anything in there that you want: Personally, I like to keep my policy as short and simple as possible, covering only the major points of contention and headache. Otherwise it starts looking like a fine-print legal contract, and that’s not the image I want to project.  (And my experience is that people tune out if you give them too much information all at once.) Other teachers, though, like having everything all spelled out in one place. 

The following website  (http://www.toddfamily.com/policies/Policies/Policies.htm) contains links to dozens of studio policies. While this is a piano teacher’s page, the policies can be adapted by anyone who teaches or tutors ANYTHING (not just music) in a private setting. If you read a few of them, you’ll soon see what’s typical and what’s not. You’ll see some of the issues other teachers have found it necessary to address (some of which you may never have thought of; others that may not apply to you). And you’ll be able to cut and paste and mix and match so that you have a policy that works for you. 

First of all, have a clear idea of which kids of gigs you want to go after: A school, private teaching, community college, whatever.  Imagine your ideal situation: Would you do your creative work in the morning? Or are you a performer who needs to work nights? When and where are students available? (If you are hoping to teach kids, you’re pretty much limited to after school and weekends, unless you can make an arrangement to teach inside a school. Adults have varied schedules. Seniors and homeschoolers may be available during the day.) 

Then it’s time to start reaching out.

Not every strategy works in every community, but here are some to try: 

• Call other people who do what you do and introduce yourself. Some may not teach, but they may get inquiries they can refer to you. Some may teach, but may have overflow. Some may teach only advanced students, but be willing to send beginners your way.
• You’ll need business cards and brochures. They don’t have to be fancy, but they should look professional. Brochures should include statements regarding what you offer (a group writing workshop, private lessons, a one-day seminar), your training and expertise in in your field, and perhaps a few words about your teaching philosophy. 
• Stop in at all the stores in your area that sell materials pertaining to your art. For example: Booskstores (and also libraries) for writers, photo equipment stores for photographers, music stores for musicians, art supply shops and galleries for artists. Leave a stack of cards. If you are targeting parents of small children, stop in at locally owned children’s stores, as well. 
• Send letters of introduction to people you may not feel comfortable calling (or who are very difficult to reach), but who you would like to make aware of your presence: This list could include school teachers in various arts or department heads at the college level.
• Check out the local papers and see who’s advertising programs and classes in your field. Could you fit in somewhere?
• If the community college is offering a beginning writing class, could you take on a “how to get published” class?
• Find out what the effective local advertising media are and use them. In my town, it’s not the daily paper or the weekly community paper, it’s the advertising-only “Shopper’s Guide” that people read to find out who is selling and offering what.
• Check out local bulletin boards where you can post notices: These might include boards outside some businesses, and in supermarkets, libraries, and coffeehouses, and bookstores. Ask first: Some are limited to non-profits.
• Neighborhood brochures can be effective.
• Give a free introductory program at a local library. 
• Use the Internet. If you are already using social networking such as Facebook or Linkdin, use it for this. Develop a website (A free one-page site using blogging software is simple to set up).
• Advertise or list your name on free Internet services ranging from the general (Craig’s List) to the specific (A list solely for people who give writing seminars, or music lessons). 
• SHOW UP. Benefits, concerts, gallery events are all places where you can meet someone who might hire you.
• Solicit and generate word of mouth.

Student progress? Student adulation? Parental response? Professional reputation? Results in juried contests? Fame of former students? Placement of students in prestigious programs? Daily job satisfaction?  Obvious progress in instilling skills, confidence, and a love of the art form?

The definition of “success” is as varied as the teachers who might try to answer this question, but there’s one thing I’m pretty sure about: The better the match between the teacher and the student, and the more compatible their goals, the more successful the teaching/learning process.

The challenge is that students come in all flavors. It doesn’t matter WHAT you’re teaching: Some of your students will be convinced that they are one step away from the big time, others are convinced that they will never be any good, and some just want to have fun. Some will work daily, some only under duress.

Who do you want to be teaching? Next season’s hit novelist? (If I knew how to do that…. well, I’d become next season’s hit novelist MYSELF.) A senior citizen who has always wanted to sculpt, photograph, paint, play guitar? An adult who enjoys the discipline and practice of cultivating an art form? A child who is just discovering the magic of turning sound into music? A teen who is discovering how to take words and feelings and turn them into poetry? 

This is an incredibly important question because teaching can be emotionally draining, especially to practicing artists who are dividing their time between doing their art and sharing it. It can be especially draining if the student and teacher don’t “click.” Some of us find a small child who is making her first forays into our world to be charming, funny, and invigorating; others of us feel like we are going to scream if we have to help a six-year-old figure out which is the left hand and the right hand one more time.  

In some cases, a bad match can almost be harmful to our own art: My own teaching experience includes writing, publishing. and piano, but I have found that teaching the mechanics of writing is not for me. While I can edit or rewrite a turgid page of disorganized and muddy prose, I’m not sure if I can effectively impart the whys and hows so that the student can do better next time. I’m not sure that this CAN be taught. And I find that the bad syntax sticks in my brain.

Similarly, with piano, I have strong preferences: Students needn’t be geniuses, but they do need to be engaged. They need to WANT to be here. And that desire needs to primarily come from them: I can encourage it and nurture it, but I can’t create what isn’t there.

It’s difficult, though, to know from the beginning which students will work out and which won’t. Learning an art is a long process; a single trial session isn’t going to tell you much.

I think where many of us get frustrated is that when we think about teaching and sharing our art, we think about sharing the whole package. We get excited about passing on our knowledge, and we know how much joy it brings us. But we also know how much work it takes. Sometimes, what we have to give may be too much for a casual student; certainly it may require more commitment than they are ready to put in. Do we simply limit our studios to advanced, committed students? Do we try to “convert” reluctant learners (Be prepared for a huge emotional toll if you choose this route — and be aware that you will only occasionally be successful). Do we accept lower standards and lower levels of achievement and just shrug when Johnny’s mom forgets the piano books and Johnny announces that he couldn’t practice for the fourth week in a row?  Do we slip into a neutral, disengaged mode to avoid expressing our disappointment? (Another emotionally draining choice.) Or do we deal with differing and inconsistent levels of progress as just part of the job of teaching, and move on as we can? Your answers to these questions may help you evaluate potential students to decide if they are a good match.

Whatever our art is, the truth is that in this day and age, children – -and adults — are used to instant gratification.  The kind of work it takes to become a skilled craftsperson in any art form is anathema to many kids; in fact, this may be one of the few situations in their lives which this kind of attention, commitment, and routine is required.

What this means to the Artist-Teacher is that it’s probably best to start slowly and let yourself learn what your preferences and limits are, and as you learn about your teaching strengths and weaknesses, you should be honest about confronting them with yourself and with prospective students. Considerations might include: Whether or not a family understand and accepts your policy regarding payment and attendance, the ages of students you accept, your requirements for home study, practice, or project completion,  the ability level you want to focus on, a certain type of expectation regarding progress, behavioral issues you may refuse to deal with, or learning issues you may not feel competent to deal with. We’ll deal with these topics in future posts. 

I will be perfectly honest and tell you that over the years I’ve had a small number of students who I wasn’t sorry to lose. Sometimes the teacher-student match simply isn’t a good one, or the student isn’t that interested, or makes no progress due to poor practice (or no practice). I find that draining — and harmful to my own creative work. But it’s tricky to know how to deal with the issue: Usually, it takes care of itself, because students who aren’t that motivated, or whose parents don’t support and encourage a structured practice routine, are often the first to drop out. What’s more difficult is evaluating potential new students to try to be sure you are making good matches for the future. It’s not always a clear road.

It’s not a good job for a control freak, that’s for sure.

In this article, I’m talking about the person who balances BOTH teaching and their creative work as an independent entrepreneur.

We all know the many reasons to teach our craft or our art: To share with the next generation, to get out of the house, to be part of a faculty community, to soften the sharp edges of freelance income fluctuations, to enjoy part-time work that has a schedule compatible with the schedule of an artist.  Some artists enjoy teaching so much that they charge hardly anything at all for it; others are less enthusiastic, or may even see it as “something to fall back on” (which is not conducive to either good teaching or happy students).

If the idea of teaching intrigues you, you’ll want to consider the many options available. Here are a few:

• Schools. In addition to (or sometimes instead of) hiring full-time arts teachers, some schools hire part-timers to either teach a few hours a week, or to offer after-school enrichment programs in art, music, or creative writing. Programs might include classes, limited-size group lessons, or private lessons (in which case, the school generally takes a small cut of the lesson fee).
• Organized home-schooler groups. Homeschooling moms and dads know that they can’t effectively teach their kids math and science and art and music and reading, especially as the kids get older (How much trigonometry do YOU remember?). So they often band together to form little groups, and then bring in a teacher for a morning or an afternoon session. This can work well for private teachers who would like to fill middle-of-the-day slots.
• Community schools of the arts. These can be either for profit or non-profit. They generally pay you an hourly rate for classes you teach, and offer nominal, if any benefits. The pay is less than you’d make in your own private studio, but the percentage they keep goes to pay for  access to instrument rentals, computer labs, photo labs, art supplies, recital halls, exhibit or performance space, along with clean studios, libraries, and booking and billing services.   
• Community colleges and college enrichment programs. Courses and lessons may be offered for groups or classes, for credit or simply for enrichment.
• For-credit colleges. Adjuncts are often hired on a class-by-class basis.
• Music or art supply stores. Many music stores and some art supply stores have back rooms where they offer lessons. Sometimes, the teachers have to work in the store to get first crack at students, but if you teach something exotic like trombone, you might net an afternoon a week.
• Private art and music studios. Some fine artists offer classes in their studios on a weekly or monthly basis. Recording studio owners may use their studio space for lessons when it isn’t booked for recording sessions. Musicians often teach in their own homes, if zoning, neighbors, and the family situation allow.
• Students’ homes. If you’re a traveling teacher, be sure to charge for travel time; this option does not work in  spread out rural communities where students will likely live far apart.
• City or town enrichment programs. Your town’s cultural council may offer a series.
• Classes offered by non-credit education prgrams such as the Learning Annex (which offers classes on hundreds of subjects in cities throughout the country). 
• Your YMCA, Community Center, Church, or Senior Center may have a program, or be open to starting one.  
• Internet programs. Education is a growing business on the net: Classes in writing are offered by writing sites such as www.Freelancesuccess.com or http://therenegadewriter.com/new-renegade-writer-classes/. (See my post at http://createworklive.com/2008/09/22/renegade-writer-classes/).  For music, check out www.workshoplive.com. All of these places need teachers.

Check in throughout the week: In addition to a host of other topics, I’ll be talking about how to get teaching gigs, their advantages and disadvantages, how to try to match your teaching strengths with the right students, how to develop a teaching policy, and more.

It’s been an incredibly busy week. David and I got back from Nashville on Sunday night, and went right to work teaching on Monday morning. Then I started on some article writing while he drove up to Pittsfield to pick up some guests from England. 

David knows Alan from the guitar website he manages; Alan is a classical guitarist and a volunteer moderator for the forums at www.guitarnoise.com. They met once before in New York, so when David learned Alan was going to be in the U.S., he invited him to come and visit. And then he decided that we needed to put on an open mike. The husband of one of David’s students owns Crissey Farm, which is not a farm at all, but rather a hall — it’s the venue where we played an open mike a few weeks back. She agreed to let us have the space and David invited some of our friends and some of his students to come play. Tonight, after getting done with my piano students, I rushed over to the hall to join in. 

Looking around at group, I felt instantly grateful to have found my way into the creative community here. There was Fred Schane, a singer-songwriter, recording engineer, and radio host who just had a bit role in the new movie being filmed about Woodstock. There was Joel Schick, who we first met at the hootenanny way back when we first moved here; Joel is a designer, an artist, and a singer-songwriter (You’ve probably seen his visual arts work, since he worked for years drawing popular Sesame Street characters). Tony owns the photo shop down the street and plays a mean harmonica, Lisa has been taking guitar lessons with David and is now writing and performing her own songs; she sounds better every time we hear her. John plays blues guitar and writes songs; his wife Karen was videotaping the whole show for public access cable TV. Darra, whose husband owns the Crissey Farm hall, has a gorgeous voice. Shaun and Todd have been taking guitar from David at the community college; Shaun has a great singing voice, as well. And last but certainly not least, there was 15-year old Molly Kate, who has been taking piano with me and guitar with David; Molly Kate plays both classical piano and rock keyboards; tonight, she played guitar and sang three songs, once of which she wrote. The first time I heard Molly Kate sing, I could barely make out the words: She had her head down and almost whispered into the mike; tonight, she was smiling at the audience and singing right into the mike, and she knocked everyone out with her voice and poise. I was so proud of her!  And Alan brought the show to an nice end with his classical guitar playing. The encore was an open invite to all to join in on “Angel from Montgomery.”

It wasn’t the easiest day in the world: I had two students who can’t seem to remember where middle C is, and the teaching today seemed to involve a lot of cajoling and refocusing. But when I got to the hall and saw the group assembled — students and friends — I really got the feeling that we are doing exactly what we are supposed to be doing: Helping put music into people’s lives.

Those of us who choose to teach — acting coaches, writing instructors, visual arts teachers, music teachers — do it for many reasons. Some of us teach for the pure enjoyment of it. For some of us, it’s a way of giving back, or participating in the time-honored chain of instruction that links us with our teachers, with their teachers, and their teachers, back into history (There’s a piano teacher in my town who can trace her musical genealogy all the way back to Beethoven!) For many of us, teaching is a way to interact with the community and to help us combat the solitude that is so often part of the creative process. And for some, it’s income we can count on.

But no matter why we teach, or what we teach, I think many of us face the same challenges. Most of us who became skilled at our crafts have put countless hours into them because we love doing it. But I think it’s safe to say that a large percent of us became musicians or artists or whatever because we had some sort of innate talent for our art to begin with.

I remember being taught to read music at the age of 7. My teacher showed me the black notes and white notes on the piano, explained their patterns and how they were named. He then pointed to a note on a staff and announced it was a “C.” That day I learned C, D, E, F, and G. And that was it: After that, I could read music. If you talk to other musicians, you’ll find that this isn’t all that unusual.

But it IS unusual for “average” students to “get it” that quickly, and I think that’s the crux of the whole “Can do can’t teach” issue.  Most of us are prone to teaching the way we were taught, without considering that the way WE were taught might have been suitable for a highly motivated or talented student. We can’t necessarily teach all our students the way we learned: Our students aren’t us.  In order to learn to teach kids (or adults) who don’t have an innate feel for our art, we have to learn to look at it in a whole new way. We have to look for what the student’s roadblock is to understanding, and we have to find creative ways to solve that problem, even if we’ve never experienced it ourselves. And the earlier we learn this simple truth in our teaching careers, the less frustrating it will be — for us AND our students.

“Those who can — CAN’T teach.”

I discovered this little anti-cliche today, and I’m wondering about it. It made me think of a guy I once had as a teacher in a bike repair class — one of those public classroom sorts of programs they have in major cities. He obviously knew everything there was to know about repairing a bike — he probably could have built a 20-speed racer out of the junk at the local dump. But he couldn’t have taught a frog to hop. I went in hoping to learn how to fix a flat tire and a broken chain (two of the most common bicycle roadside repairs); he started by taking all the ball bearings out of the wheels and putting them back in, then aligning the spokes.

When I was a budding music student, the curriculum for both the Bachelor of Music and Bachelor of Arts in Music degrees included not a single education class.  Only the music ed majors took pedagogy.  I’m sure this is true in the other arts.

Strange, isn’t it, when you think that just about all successful musicians do SOME form of teaching. They may not be school band conductors, and they may not spend their days explaining to a six year old which finger is finger number 3, but many artists – performing artists, writers, photographers, and others –  find themselves teaching, either in high-level master classes, in classrooms (perhaps as guest lecturers, perhaps as permanent teachers ), or in private studios.

Not everyone is a natural born teacher. In addition to enthusiasm and a desire to pass on your craft, you need a ton  of patience. It’s not a good job for a control freak — too much depends on the student.  And you need some understanding of pedagogy and the learning process, because you need to know the most effective ways to transmit your knowledge to a student, even if the student doesn’t think or learn like you do.  Sometimes the answers are not intuitive, especially to the beginning teacher.

Teaching is a wonderful complement to performing or practicing your craft. It encourages interaction between you and the outside world (something most artists lack if they spend all day with their computer, instrument, rehearsal room, or easel).  It increases your network of arts-minded people. It gets you out of the house. It can provide a steady paycheck. It keeps you up to date.

But you’re not doing anyone a service (least of all yourself) if you jump into it without any preparation or understanding. You can end up frustrated beyond belief — and a bad teacher can kill the joy right out of a student. 

I’ll share one anecdote: Back in the dark ages, I went on a date with a guy who was an expert windsurfer. He was going to teach me to windsurf, something I had tried unsuccessfully before. He got me out on the water, and I pulled myself up on the board, precariously balanced. Now I was supposed to turn. He told me to put all my weight on my left foot, which I did. Nothing happened. Using the time-honored pedagogical principle that if your instructions don’t work, repeating them will do the trick, he screamed louder. This went on for a while, me insisting my weight WAS on my left foot, him telling me to put my weight on my left foot, until I finally lifted my entire right leg and waved it in the air to demonstrate that my weight WAS on my left foot. And still, I didn’t turn. 

Clearly, there was some other instruction that was missing. I never found out what it was. This guy could make zig zags up and down the river, but he had no idea how to break down the motions into steps or how to communicate how to put them together. He could do — but he couldn’t teach. 

My partner, David Hodge (www.DavidHodge.com), who is a guitar teacher, performer, and writer,  recommends that people going into the arts take business courses. I second that notion, but I’d also add: Take some education classes, too. They’re not for falling back on — they’re for growing into. If you become  world-class at  your art, people are going to want to know how you do what  you do — and you’re going to want to know how to tell them.