By Madison Lee, Undergraduate Library Making Fellow, 2024-2025
As my time as a Makerspace Fellow comes to a close, I’ve been reflecting on the past year—and realizing the Makerspace has become so much more than a workplace. It became a second home.
Some days, I’d stop by just to finish a 3D printing project. Other times, I found myself in the Fiber Arts Room on a quiet weekend—not to sew, but simply to sit, fold a piece of origami, or breathe in the calm energy of a space filled with texture, color, and possibility.
This semester wasn’t about tying up loose ends. I knew my fellowship was ending, but there are still unfinished stitches on the embroidery I started last fall. The serger machine I wanted to try on a hem is still waiting. A potential Makerspace website redesign still lives in a PowerPoint. And yet, I’ve learned not to measure this experience by a checklist of completed tasks. If I had, I might have missed the joy of turning a personal experiment—the paper flowers I once made for some friends—into a full-fledged Valentine’s Day workshop, with students designing heartfelt bouquet cards of their own.
In preparation, we experimented with different petal shapes and sizes to add variety, created card templates, and even designed a 3D-printed rolling tool that students could attach to a pencil to make flower assembly easier. Some students were hesitant at first—unsure how a flat spiral could transform into a flower—but we worked through it together, modifying layouts, adding leaf cutouts, and building layered bouquets on cardstock that opened like pop-up scenes. One student even turned theirs into a lily pad design with floating flowers and hot glue dew drops. It was exciting to see everyone personalize their cards with unique color combinations, messages, and interpretations. The workshop reminded me that making is never a one-size-fits-all process, but rather a shared act of discovery, with space for every style, pace, and idea.
What stays with me most are the small, vibrant moments: The joyful chaos of the Cal Merch workshop, where even a misbehaving Silhouette cutter couldn’t stop students from printing their own tote bags. The Fiber Arts room buzzing with activity—tables covered in fabric, stickers, stamps, and sewing machines humming as students helped each other troubleshoot. The thrill of watching someone discover they can make something with their own hands.
Beyond the hands-on projects, I also had the chance to reshape our digital space, such as revamping our LibGuides to feel more visual, more intuitive, more Makerspace. Shifting the tools page design from a carousel to a gallery format became its own form of crafting: thoughtful, iterative, and grounded in empathy for the user.
Throughout the semester, I kept hearing students say, “I wish I had found the Makerspace sooner.” I used to feel that way too. But now, I think we all found it when we were ready—when we needed it most.
In a campus culture where productivity often overshadows presence, the Makerspace taught me how to slow down—to make room for creativity, imperfection, and spontaneous joy. It reminded me, and so many others, that creativity doesn’t have to be perfect or even purposeful to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s enough just to show up. To experiment. To be surrounded by others who are also figuring it out.
I’ll carry that mindset with me through the rest of my time at Berkeley—trying new things, savoring moments, and resisting the urge to reduce everything to a checklist. Because the most meaningful things we make here aren’t always physical. Sometimes, they’re the quiet moments of connection, the confidence built one attempt at a time, the joy of learning something unexpected. Those are the memories that last.
Looking ahead, I know I’ll return to this lesson—not just in how I make, but in how I live, learn, and show up for others. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
In a campus culture where productivity often overshadows presence, the Makerspace taught me how to slow down. How to make space for creativity, imperfection, and spontaneous joy. The Makerspace reminded me and so many others that creativity doesn’t need to be perfect or productive to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s enough to show up. To experiment. To be surrounded by people who are also figuring it out, together.
Looking ahead, I carry that lesson with me—not just in how I make, but in how I live and learn. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.