
Comedian · Course
The Second City
The legendary comedy school where you write, workshop, and perform your own stand-up material.
Chicago, IL
Explore the craftMake a little time for
33 real places across 33 crafts. Classes, workshops and people worth meeting.
See every place in Chicago →A few places to begin

Comedian · Course
The legendary comedy school where you write, workshop, and perform your own stand-up material.
Chicago, IL
Explore the craft
Circus Acrobat · Course
Intensive circus theatre training in acrobatics and clown; a serious route toward performing professionally.
Evanston, IL
Explore the craft
Potter · Course
Sit down at the wheel for six weeks and learn to center clay and throw your first bowls at this welcoming north-side studio.
Chicago, IL
Explore the craftPhotographs show the crafts. They are not portraits of the listed studios.
A microphone, a dark room, and one person betting they can make strangers laugh tonight.
No net, no retake, one body defying gravity while a room holds its breath.
A wheel, some mud, a teacher's hands over yours. Two hours where your phone doesn't matter.
A breath, held inside molten glass, kept forever.
Fire, hammer, and a person who can feel, through the steel, the moment it is ready.
Ink, metal, and pressure. A page you can feel with your fingertips, made by a person.
A city has a thousand doors. They know which ones open.
A hot kitchen, twelve tickets, a plate that tastes like a place.
Tens of thousands of lives in one box, and a person who tends them without ever giving an order.
The corners you trust with your home.
Thread by thread, on a loom older than the machine age, a person makes cloth mean something.
Your name, your usual, and ninety seconds of care poured slowly.
Someone who translates what you couldn't say into stems and color.
Someone who thinks in seasons and kneels to work in one.
Metal and fire and a magnifier, turned into the thing you will wear for fifty years.
Cut glass and lead and light, joined by hand into a window that paints the floor in color.
A tiler turns a bare floor into a surface that looks effortless and lasts for decades.
Eighty-eight keys, ten fingers, and a person deciding in the moment how loud the quiet part should be.
Thousands of small broken pieces, placed one by one, until a picture rises that no single tile could ever be.
A performer who steps up into the air and turns an ordinary street into a wonder.
A person stands before a blank canvas and decides, stroke by stroke, what deserves to be seen.
Ink, a screen, a steady pull, and one image becomes a hundred, each pressed by hand.
A silversmith raises a flat sheet into a vessel, one measured hammer blow at a time.
Oils, water, and a careful measure of lye, stirred by hand into something that leaves your skin softer than it found it.
Grain, water, hops and yeast, tended by someone who knows when to trust the tank and when to taste.
The person who sends you back out on a bike that feels brand new.
Skilled, unhurried hands that read your skin and leave you feeling cared for.
One person, four strings, and a melody that seems to come straight from the chest.
The one instrument you hold in your arms like a person, singing in the register of the human voice.
A dancer who is also the drummer, writing rhythm on the floor with two feet.
Boiled sugar caught at exactly the right heartbeat, pulled and shaped into small, bright happiness.
A voice, a few chords, and a room that leans in closer with every verse.
A person seasons, stuffs, and links by hand until humble trimmings become something worth gathering around.
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