Why Makerspaces Die in Committee (And How Ours Almost Did)

Our makerspace initiative existed for seven years before anyone could walk through the door. Here's what finally broke the cycle.

Who This Is For

You're part of a group that's been talking about starting a makerspace for months (or years). You've had meetings. You've discussed bylaws, locations, insurance, and equipment. But you still don't have a space with a door that members can walk through. This post is about why that happens and what breaks the pattern.

The Problem

I needed a workshop. Specifically, I needed to rebuild an 8-foot by 8-foot set of French doors with sidelights—a $10,000 replacement I couldn't afford. So I spent $2,000 on tools I knew I'd only use once: a planer, jigs, an outfeed table setup. I built the doors in my garage. The economics were absurd—and I realized a shared workshop space could solve exactly this problem for dozens of people.

Milwaukee had a makerspace, but it was 45 minutes to an hour and a half away depending on traffic. For a project this size, that commute made it useless. I couldn't transport an 8x8 assembly home, and I couldn't justify the drive for every work session.

I wanted a makerspace in Waukesha. One already "existed"—sort of.

What We Tried

The Existing Initiative (2012–2021)

Someone had started a nonprofit makerspace initiative around 2012. By the time I found them in 2018 or 2019, they'd been meeting for years. Zoom calls, in-person discussions, planning sessions about what a makerspace could be.

They had a deal with a local business to use mezzanine space—but only during off-hours, only with advance arrangement, only when someone from the business could let them in. The makerspace volunteers had even helped resurface the floor. But they couldn't actually use the space independently.

They held a mini maker faire once. It went well. But there was still no door that members could walk through on their own.

My First Proposal (Shot Down)

I found two small office spaces—300 and 500 square feet—that we could actually rent. They weren't woodshops. They'd be for 3D printing, leather work, fiber arts, electronics. Dust-free creative space. Something to offer value. Something people could pay for.

I posed it to the group. Every person had a reason why it wouldn't work:

• "We can't do metalworking there."
• "We can't do woodworking."
• "It's on a flood plain."
• "Not enough parking."
• "No fire or casting."

Eight to twelve people on a call, each explaining why this particular space wasn't the perfect makerspace they'd been imagining for seven years.

The leader at the time wanted everyone to feel included, so he took all opinions to heart. The answer was no.

This was spring of 2021.

What Failed (Or Went Sideways)

Too Many Cooks, No Kitchen

The core problem: the group was optimizing for a perfect space that didn't exist, instead of a functional space that did.

Every proposed location got vetted against everyone's personal wishlist. Someone wanted welding. Someone wanted a loading dock. Someone wanted ADA compliance from day one. Someone worried about liability. The intersection of all these requirements was zero available buildings in our price range.

Meanwhile, no one was paying dues because there was nothing to pay for. No one could use anything because there was nothing to use. The initiative existed only as meetings about a future that never arrived.

The Conservative Leader

The gentleman running the initiative was financially conservative—which is fair. He didn't want to take risks. He wanted to move slowly and deliberately.

But "slowly and deliberately" from 2012 to 2021 meant nine years of meetings with no space. The original founder started it in 2012, handed it off around 2016, and the second leader ran it until he announced he was moving to Michigan in December 2021.

What Worked

Someone Had to Just Do It

I gave up on the group and told the leader: "I'm going to find my own workshop. If the makerspace wants to come along, great."

I found a space—1,100 square feet in the middle of a warehouse. Not ideal: you had to walk through other businesses to reach it. No dedicated entrance. Shared bathroom. Not ADA compliant.

The makerspace leader toured it and declined for the group. I rented it anyway for myself and three friends—none of them from the planning group. We used the space for months, working on personal projects and improving the shop itself. No meetings. No committees. Just building.

Then the leader moved to Michigan and asked if I wanted to take over the makerspace initiative.

I said yes.

There Was Nothing Useful to Hand Off

The previous leader did have a nonprofit—but it was focused on teenagers and children, not adults. Due to insurance and liability concerns, we couldn't serve minors in our current setup. The name and mission didn't fit what we were building.

So we started fresh. I filed a new nonprofit corporation: Waukesha Makerspace Inc. Our mission: to empower individuals, enrich our community, and support environmental stewardship by fostering hands-on learning, innovation, and collaboration through skills and technology in a supportive, healthy environment.

There was no bank account to inherit, no email list, no equipment, no members. Just an idea and nine years of planning documents that had never produced a physical space.

I reached out to the remaining group members and said: "I have a space. It exists. Come see it."

Two people showed up. Combined with the three friends already using the workshop, we had our founding five. They seemed satisfied that an actual building existed with actual tools inside it.

That was the inflection point. Not a better plan. Not more meetings. Just: here's a door, here are tools, this is real.

From Workshop to Nonprofit

Once I had the space, the nonprofit paperwork followed—but so did the liability homework. You can't open a door to the public without addressing safety first.

The legal foundation:

• Filed a fresh nonprofit corporation in Wisconsin
• Applied for 501(c)(3) status (approved November 2022)
• Got general liability insurance before anyone touched a power tool—expect $500–$2,000/year depending on your activities

The safety basics:

• Liability waivers for every member (have a lawyer draft one for your state—waivers don't make you lawsuit-proof, especially for gross negligence, but they establish that members understand the risks)
• Fire extinguishers, first aid kit, emergency contacts posted visibly
• Basic safety rules near high-risk tools
• Member orientation before tool access

Access control:
We needed to know who was in the space and when. We installed RFID key fobs tied to a Ubiquiti access control system—it logs every entry and exit, and we can revoke access instantly if needed. Cheaper options exist (keypad locks, smart locks), but logging matters for both safety and liability.

We started bringing in members through word of mouth and Facebook. The vetting process was simple: one of our existing members (all three to five of us) would work alongside a prospective member to see if they fit the culture.

We grew from the initial handful to about a dozen active members—people with the maker mindset who came and went as needed. The 24/7 access was a selling point—members could work on projects at 2am if they wanted.

Disclaimer: I'm not a lawyer. This is general guidance based on our experience, not legal advice. Consult an attorney in your state about liability, waivers, insurance requirements, and nonprofit compliance.

The Second Space (And Why We Moved)

The warehouse space had serious problems. No private entrance meant walking through other businesses to reach our door. The shared bathroom was unpredictable. Women members felt unsafe walking past male-dominated businesses late at night. The landlord refused to offer us a better unit in the same building.

We needed to move, but commercial real estate in Waukesha runs about $9 per square foot per year—expensive when you're looking at 2,400+ square feet.

We found a building and negotiated a graduated lease over five years:

• Year 1: $6.00/sq ft ($1,200/month)
• Year 2: $7.25/sq ft ($1,450/month)
• Year 3: $7.75/sq ft ($1,550/month)
• Year 4: $8.25/sq ft ($1,650/month)
• Year 5: $8.75/sq ft ($1,750/month)

The owner required proof of solvency. I provided my personal business financials and signed a personal guarantee on the lease. We got the space.

Tradeoffs and Caveats

I'm Fronting the Money

Let's be honest: this only worked because I could personally absorb the financial risk. I'm in software. I have a profitable business. I can front $1,500+/month in rent plus utilities while we build toward sustainability.

The tax deduction helps, but it's not a windfall. If you donate $100 and you're in a 30% bracket, you save $30 in taxes. You're still out $70. I'm losing money on this gamble—I just believe it's worth it for the future.

Personal Guarantees Are Real Legal Risk

Personal guarantees are common when leasing commercial space as a new nonprofit. A personal guarantee means the individual signing is personally liable if the organization defaults on rent—the landlord can pursue personal assets like homes or business accounts. Before signing a personal guarantee, consult a lawyer and ensure you can absorb the worst-case scenario. This is not a symbolic formality.

What If You Can't Self-Fund?

Our path required someone willing to absorb financial risk personally. That's not the only way. Other makerspaces have succeeded by forming multi-member LLCs to share liability, partnering with libraries or community colleges that provide space, using fiscal sponsors (established nonprofits that can sign leases on your behalf), or running pop-up workshops to build community before committing to a lease. Each approach trades speed for distributed risk—they take longer but don't depend on a single patron.

Grants Haven't Worked (Yet)

Everyone says "apply for grants" once you're a nonprofit. Reality:

• Grant writing is time-consuming
• Rejection letters rarely explain why
• Grant processes can feel opaque (we've seen grants go to established organizations or for-profit businesses while newer nonprofits struggle)

With three to five volunteers already handling space, tools, members, policies, and software—grant writing was too much overhead for uncertain returns. We may revisit this as we grow, but early on, it wasn't worth the time.

The Space Is Never "Full"

My high school shop teacher kept a workbench in the corner that looked immovable—until one semester he shifted it six inches and suddenly there was room for a whole new tool station. "Space is negotiable," he'd say. "You just have to be willing to move things."

We've rearranged the shop four times in two years. Every time I think we're at capacity, someone proposes a reconfiguration that frees up 20% more usable space. Don't assume your first layout is final.

Concrete First Steps

If you're stuck in planning purgatory, here's what to do this week:

1. Recruit your first 3–5 committed people. Not a mailing list. Not "interested people." Actual humans who will show up, pay dues, and help build the space. Post in local Facebook groups, maker forums, or community boards. Don't move forward until you have real commitments.

2. Search for available spaces. Use LoopNet, Craigslist commercial listings, or drive around industrial parks looking for "For Lease" signs. Target 1,000–2,500 square feet to start. Warehouse space is cheaper than retail. Before signing anything, verify the zoning allows your intended use—a makerspace with power tools may not be permitted in every commercial zone.

3. Get insurance quotes. Call three brokers and ask for general liability quotes for a community workshop. This gives you a real number instead of a vague concern.

4. Do the financial math. Add up rent + utilities + insurance. Divide by your committed members. Can each person afford that monthly amount? If not, you need more members or a cheaper space. Don't sign a lease hoping people will show up later.

5. Draft a basic waiver. Search "makerspace liability waiver template" or hire a local attorney to draft one. Budget $500–$1,500 for a lawyer if you go that route.

6. Sign a lease. This is the hard part. Someone has to commit. If you can't afford the risk alone, find a co-signer or a small group willing to split the liability. But only do this after steps 1–5 are complete. Signing a lease without committed members is how makerspaces die in their first year.

Practical Takeaways

1. Someone has to stop planning and start renting. Seven years of meetings produced nothing. One person signing a lease produced a makerspace.

2. An imperfect space beats a perfect plan. Our first space had no private entrance and a shared bathroom. It was still infinitely more useful than another Zoom call.

3. Consensus kills momentum. If everyone has to agree, no space will ever be good enough. One person needs authority to say "we're doing this."

4. Free membership delays sustainability. We started free to build momentum, but you can't fund a space on zero revenue. We now charge $40/month for individuals and $50/month for families (pay yearly, get a month free).

5. You need someone who can absorb the risk. Ideally this doesn't fall on one person forever, but at the start, someone has to be willing to sign the lease personally.

6. Insurance and waivers aren't optional. Budget for general liability insurance and legal fees before you open the door.

Where to Go From Here

This is the origin story. Future posts will cover:

• How we're transitioning from free to paid membership
• Our tool training system (we're on version 3)
• The real budget breakdown for our space
• Why we filed as a 501(c)(3) and what that actually gets you

If you're stuck in makerspace planning purgatory, the way out is simpler than you think: find a space you can afford, sign the lease, and open the door. Everything else follows.