How To Plan A Community Textile Exhibition Launch | Lessons From A Textile Artist In Amber Valley, Derbyshire

Preparing For A Community Launch

As a contemporary community textile artist in Derbyshire or any other place, when you show work in a local place, it feels different from a gallery.

Here, in Amber Valley (the place I call home ), I've just launched Beneath Our Feet, created as part of the Visual Artists Association (VAA) OpenSpaces 2025 global art trail. It grew from months of flax growing, story collecting, and stitching, and ended with a busy launch full of warmth and connection.

I am writing this for anyone preparing a community art exhibition launch. It's part story, part guide, and all true.

Why It Mattered

Amber Valley has a deep and rich industrial heritage, but very few art events. I wanted people here to feel proud of our place again. The show wasn't in a big white gallery; it was in a pottery workshop where people already meet for cups of tea.

That setting meant everything. The work wasn't separate from everyday life; it was part of it. Neighbours, friends, and supporters came together to share a drink, time, and a sense of commitment to each other. The conversations flowed easily, and it felt as though the community itself had been woven into the exhibition's fabric.

That's why I love being a community textile artist. The threads connect people.

How I Planned It With The VAA Art Curation & Exhibition Management CPD Course

Before this show, I had completed the VAA Art Curation & Exhibition Management CPD Course. It offered a clear, practical framework for planning exhibitions from first idea to opening night. The course included a detailed crib sheet that became the backbone of my preparation for Beneath Our Feet.

I feel that the textile degrees of my time (when Jesus was a lad) didn't properly prepare the modern artist. Yes, we did a 'show' at the end, but it was very much, 'Here's your space, here are your boards; off you go!' I wonder now how I'd have gone about it. Then, I was leaning on the handy person at the nursing home where I worked. Neither of us had a scooby.

Here's a basic framework of how I used my experience and professional VAA learning in this exhibition, all derived from Karen Van Hoey Smith's mantra 3 Cs Of Curation - Criteteria, Context, Cohesion:

• I thought hard about how I wanted to be seen in my new home of Derbyshire, what did I stand for, how did I want to be known (it seems like 'mad flax lady' is sticking, but it could be worse, I guess), and encourage future adventures here - this takes time

• I wanted to create a certain scene, setting and flax 'show and tell' (true relaxation, belonging, and understanding were success drivers); these were duly scribbled down, and everything else circled around them

• I gathered stakeholder and location intel to see if we were a 'good fit' and what the limitations were to the showing

• I wrote down every date, from meeting the venue and significant stakeholders to considering the lights, to the actual launch and conclusion

• I drew the room and worked out how people would walk through and view the installation

• I tested how the textile piece hung, how the light hit it, and whether small hands could reach

• I added the time taken to create the interpretation and work with a printer (many thanks to Ian's Print for that)

• I used local Facebook groups, our community noticeboard, and my Instagram @amandaharantextileartist and sent out invites and information to other suitable marketing parties, including the VAA

• I documented my journey in my sketch pad, through photos and took the time to write a blog post

• I wrestled with how I would decide if it had been a success (honestly, this pondering is worth its weight in gold to assist mental clarity and wellbeing)

• And I kept checking the basics: labels printed, music tested, stands bought and erected, the tea urn primed and ready to go

That crib sheet kept me calm (and sane). It turned a jumble of ideas into a cunning plan.

From Sketchbook To Space | Bringing The Exhibition To Life

Once my ideas began taking shape on paper, I started to visualise how people would actually move through the space, what they would see, feel, and connect with first.

My sketchbook pages were full of arrows, annotations, and questions about flow, light, and the rhythm between each piece. Translating these notes into the pottery's physical layout was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Many photographs and measurements were taken. Measuring is not my strong point, as I believe the knowledge of the eye sensing what is right, but as a dutiful Hoey scholar, I did give passing consideration to the holy grail of 54 or 62 inches.

Every decision, from the height of an interpretation board to the angle of a light, carries meaning. However, I've worked in the industry long enough to know that purist ideals are seldom reasonable. Plans A, B, C and beyond are often needed to work within the parameters of time, money, location, community and the venue owner's ideas. My intention is to never cause a big fuss, take as much of the installation strain as possible on my own shoulders, and make it a pleasure for all to work with me. This is part of how I wish to be seen, especially in my community.

Installing The Work | From Blank Walls To Living Stories

Installation day for Beneath Our Feet was shaped by the rhythms of Creative Connections — by who had the key, when the tea room and conservatory were free, and how long I had before the next event. Community exhibitions often happen this way: within shared spaces that already hold the community's life. I was grateful for the generosity that allowed me to fit in during those windows of time, working around cups of tea, conversations, and the café's gentle hum.

Although there was one main installation for the launch, I added additional pieces to showcase the range of my work and the techniques behind it. With no spare walls available, I used wedding sign hanging frames to display extra textile works that would need to come down soon after. It was a practical solution, but also one that reflected the adaptability at the heart of community arts, finding creative ways to make something meaningful within real-world limits.

One important area of the exhibition was the viewing point for the main installation. The venue had a lovely bucket chair positioned opposite the piece, and I transformed it into a comfortable and inviting space to pause. I draped it with a soft linen throw, added a flax-printed cushion, and placed a standard lamp from a local charity shop beside it to create a homely, reflective atmosphere. To gently mark the space, I laid a small patch of turf beneath the chair—a simple gesture that connects the work back to Nature and the land beneath our feet.

Next to the chair sat a small show-and-tell table displaying flax fibres at different stages of growing and processing, along with heritage notes and reading material. I wanted people to sit, look, and think — to linger long enough to hold the story of flax in their hands.

The installation boards were designed so that the text and photographs could be read clearly from the chair; I set the font size and image scale deliberately to make the experience both accessible and contemplative.

By the end of a couple of hours, the tea room and conservatory had quietly transformed into a living exhibition: a collection of textures, stories, and shared histories woven together through flax, fibre, and connection.

Launch Day & Community Response | Conversations Beneath Our Feet

The launch of Beneath Our Feet at Creative Connections came together in just a few short weeks — from finding the venue to final installation. It was a whirlwind of planning, making, and adapting, but also a reminder of how responsive and supportive community spaces can be. Despite the tight turnaround, the atmosphere on the day was calm, welcoming, and full of curiosity.

I was delighted that Linsey Farnsworth MP joined us for the opening. Her presence brought an extra sense of celebration and recognition for the work's focus on community connection, sustainability, and local heritage. We spoke about the value of grassroots creativity — the kind that grows from shared stories, collaboration, and care for place.

In true community spirit, one local venue had hosted an event earlier that week and, finding themselves with too much food, kindly donated a smorgasbord of goodies for our launch. It was such a thoughtful gesture, tables soon filled with sandwiches, cakes, and savoury bites for everyone to graze on. That spontaneous act of generosity captured exactly what Beneath Our Feet was about: shared kindness, reciprocity, and the weaving together of local networks.

Throughout the afternoon, people gathered in the tea room and conservatory, taking time to explore the textures and meaning behind the exhibition. Visitors sat in the linen-draped chair, read the interpretation boards, and gently handled the flax fibres. While stories about flax and the related mills are harder to find, many people spoke with pride about their own memories, of themselves or their families working in the heavy industries that once defined everyday life here. There was a strong sense of continuity, resilience, and belonging.

What stayed with me most were the quiet, thoughtful moments: someone pausing in the chair, another person turning the fibres in their hands, the soft conversations about work, identity, and change. The installation became a catalyst for memory, helping people recognise their place within a shared landscape of making, labour, and heritage.

Reflecting On The Process | What I Learned From Curating My Own Exhibition

Looking back, curating Beneath Our Feet in such a short time taught me more than any course or guide could. The experience became an education in trust, in following my instincts, my planning, and the people who helped make it possible. Working with Creative Connections reminded me that community venues hold a special kind of energy. They are alive with movement, conversation, and the quiet generosity of those who open their doors to creativity.

Being selected for VAA OpenSpaces 2025 was a real turning point. It spurred me into action, proof that sometimes you just need a deadline to move from thinking to doing. It gave me the structure and motivation to bring ideas to life, and the confidence to apply what I had learned through the VAA Art Curation & Exhibition Management CPD Course. That combination of opportunity and accountability was exactly what I needed. It turned what had felt like a distant goal into something tangible and achievable.

Leaning on what I had already agreed in my head would define success was critical. Although I secretly dream of global flax domination, I decided that success for this project would be something much simpler.

What I learned most clearly is that exhibitions do not have to be perfect to be powerful. Beneath Our Feet was not the product of months of preparation or a large team. It was built on responsiveness, collaboration, and heart. Every limitation became an invitation to adapt. Short timeframes, limited wall space, borrowed frames, shared food, and all the small kindnesses held it together.

It also changed how I understand success. For me, it is not measured in numbers or coverage, but in connection: a shared glance, a story remembered, a hand touching fibre. The conversations that grew from this work showed me that creativity can still ground us, even in the most practical of settings. Curating my own exhibition was not just about showing finished pieces. It was about creating a moment where people could stop, look, and feel part of something bigger.

What's Next | Continuing The Story Beneath Our Feet

Beneath Our Feet was never meant to be the end of something. It feels more like a beginning, a spark that has set new ideas in motion. The experience has deepened my commitment to exploring how flax can connect people, places, and memory. I want to keep building those creative bridges, finding new ways for art to bring local heritage to life through conversation, touch, and storytelling.

Plans are already beginning to grow from this exhibition. I hope to plant flax again next year at Creative Connections so visitors can watch the process unfold from seed to fibre. I am also exploring ways to take the flax processing stage into the local school, giving young people the chance to touch, twist, and understand the material that once shaped our region. Conversations are underway with a local Somercotes historian to uncover stories about the flax factory and the old flax croft, and I hope to take the installation to other community venues to gather even more memories.

Alongside these plans, I will be working with the Understory team at the University of Derby to explore new ways to plot and understand flax within local landscapes, and to continue discussions with Linsey Farnsworth MP about potential heritage projects that celebrate and protect our local histories.

There is also the exciting possibility of working at the Museum of Making to fabricate and experiment with a rope-making machine, turning the processed flax fibre back into rope — the very material that first sparked my curiosity about our industrial past. As I wait for the outcome of my interview with BBC Radio Derby, I feel encouraged by how many people want to be part of this unfolding story.

And just to put it out into the universe, I have already imagined sowing flax on the disused site of Butterley Iron Works. So who knows — perhaps global flax domination is not so far away after all.

The flax will keep growing, the stories will keep surfacing, and I will keep listening to what lies beneath our feet.