Pedagogy in Fencing pt II: The Craft of the Fencing Hall

Minding the gap

Since time immemorial, historical fencers have spoken of "bridging the gap" between drill and free fencing. I think this is a lost cause. The ultimate drill is free fencing — that's the only thing you absolutely need, especially if it is done to impart knowledge or to deliberately improve. But practice shouldn't be only free fencing. A child learns to speak from communicating with other people, but more is needed if they later choose to pursue mastery in their language — or other languages.

You also need to practice alone. A little every morning, every night. Practice your cuts when cutting bread; practice your footwork when you navigate a crowd. True understanding — the kind that exists on a meta-level and that you can pass on — requires knowing the basics. Knowing the alphabet in addition to knowing how to communicate.

Start from the why. If your goal is to learn or teach fencing, define what it is, and work down from there to discover the angle at which any individual should approach it.

Part of it is show business

A class is also a performance, and the best instructors know this without being diminished by it. Energy is contagious — so is its absence. When you bring an element of surprise, let yourself get a little carried away with a drill, or find the humour in a moment, the class doesn't just enjoy it. They become more alert, more willing, more open to what comes next. This isn't entertainment at the expense of learning. It is the learning — because people absorb more when they're alive to what's happening. Think of yourself as an actor who happens to be teaching, not a teacher who occasionally performs.

Tempo of a class

You set the tempo, and the class will follow it whether you intend them to or not. Use this deliberately. A slower pace invites reflection and precision; a faster one builds energy and flow. If a correction starts consuming the room's attention, turn it into a demonstration for everyone — don't let the rhythm die while one student waits. If the energy drops, shift gears, but do it naturally. Punishing the class with a sudden change because you lost the pace is its own kind of loss of control. Think of a speaker who holds a room, or a DJ who reads the floor — the art is in making the transitions invisible.

Making contact with the audience

The class is not a passive audience — they're participants who need to feel met. Watch them, listen to them, read the room. Keep them alert with variety and the occasional surprise. Move among them rather than teaching from a fixed point. Address individuals, but let the whole group feel the exchange. The instructor who is genuinely interested in the people in front of them never has to manufacture engagement. It's already there.

Finding demonstration partners

Always know in advance who you'll use as a demonstration partner, and have a reliable default — someone who knows the exercises, can move in sync with you, and amplifies rather than distracts from what you're showing. When you bring someone less familiar into a demonstration, be explicit about what you need from them. And consider this: rather than delivering a clean performance of the technique for the audience, try giving your partner a private lesson instead. Instruct them directly, in the moment, as if the class weren't there. The result is almost always more honest, more alive, and paradoxically more instructive to watch — because the audience is observing you actually teach, not perform.

Forms

Many see forms as embellishment — a ritual remnant that has little to do with practical fencing. But no solo training truly prepares for an adversary, and forms offer something repetitive drilling alone cannot: a compressed, transmissible record of how the art moves as a whole. To watch a fencer perform a form well is to see the techniques animated without an opponent — and if the form is understood, the spectator will see the missing adversary in their mind. Cuts, thrusts, and positions comprise actions; actions comprise plays; long plays become forms. Practice them in parts and in full, solo and with a partner, in sequence and out of it. This variation is itself a kind of over-learning that hardens the fundamentals. Forms are not only part of the tradition. They encase a part of its spirit.

Measuring success

Progress in fencing is real but hard to quantify, and the instinct is to compare — who is better than whom, who has improved the most. Resist building that into your environment. Your students will want to validate what they're learning; give them ways to do that, but keep it individual and introspective. The only meaningful comparison is with themselves: where they were, where they are, and where the art might still take them.

When you make a mistake

Acknowledge it immediately, address any consequences, understand the cause, and move on. Don't perform contrition and don't minimise — just deal with it cleanly and keep going. How you handle your own errors is one of the most instructive things your students will ever observe. It models exactly what you want from them: accountability without shame, correction without collapse. Have self-compassion. You owe it to yourself, and indirectly to everyone in the room.

Taking risks

Don't take risks with your students. Fencing carries inherent danger, but do everything reasonable to prevent serious injuries — eye injuries, concussions, repetitive head trauma, punctures, lacerations. Be especially careful with what you normalise through demonstration. I have taken risks with my own health in the past that I wouldn't recommend, and one lesson stayed with me: demonstrate without a mask once, and you should not be surprised when the class begins to drill without masks. They are following your lead. You can't blame them for it. Lead carefully.

Create a safe space

Your job is to create and maintain an environment that is both physically and psychologically safe for everyone in it. Not just to intend this, but to actively build it. You won't always know how, but do it anyway, and keep trying to do it better. Everything else in this list depends on it.

Leave them wanting more

Toward the end of a class, step outside the plan. Show the students why what they practiced today matters — where it leads, what it connects to, what they will eventually be able to do. Give them a glimpse of something beyond their current reach. A student who leaves with a clear sense of the path ahead, and something they haven't yet mastered still vivid in their mind, will practice between sessions. They'll return. And when they do, they'll already be a little further along — not just from what you taught, but from everything they imagined since.