craft does not equal crap.

Recently I wrote a bit about how the word “activism” is often misconstrued, but what about the “craft” part of craftivism? Unfortunately, it too, is frequently viewed in a negative light.

As a kid, the word craft was synonymous with popsicle sticks (post-popsicle), potholder looms and Elmer’s glue. As I grew older, it also became synonymous with the word “crap.” I remember being taken to local craft festivals by my parents for a cultural outdoor-type activity and looking at booth after booth of items that were more often than not more visually appealing than the scribbles I brought home from art class or the lumps of clay I proudly called “ashtrays” or “bowls,” things that also were considered crafts. Everything in those booths was perfectly created to the point that they looked mass-produced.

It was as if in an effort to obtain profit, artisans mirrored what they were ethically trying to avoid, an impersonal approach to aesthetic beauty. From these semi-frequent outings, I began to see craft as something best ignored and devalued. Little did I know that I was already actively taking part in an ongoing devaluation of the word “craft.”

While it failed to help my argument for the positive side of “activism,” Dictionary.com delivered the goods on “craft: “1. skill in doing or making something, as in the arts; proficiency. 2. skill in evasion or deception; guile. 3a. An occupation or trade requiring manual dexterity or skilled artistry. 3b. The membership of such an occupation or trade; guild.”

Thanks to the postmodern invention of the internet, subjectivity’s influence in things published (in whatever form) is at new heights. This is no exception.

Somewhere during the art vs. craft debate that has been waging for more than a century, the notion that craft required “skilled artistry” (or that such “skilled artistry” should be valued) was lost. While “art” was made hallowed on the walls of exclusive galleries in expensive cities, “craft” was relegated to horror stories of three-armed sweaters knit by aged pensioners who were still nostalgic to create as opposed to consume.

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Just as Jean-Michel Basquiat* reminded us that art has many forms and can be found where you least expect it, (although his early career was a much better representation of my argument here than his later career…) the recent** revival of craft was born out of rejection of the mainstream, not an embracement of it. After constantly being bombarded with advertisements, billboards and commercials trying to dictate what we should eat, wear, do and choose, it is essentially a no-brainer that a craft like knitting permeated into the mainstream. It seemed radical and ironic not because we were looking for a way out of technology, but because we were searching for a way to escape rampant materialism.

While yarn stores (mostly chain craft stores) do advertise their products, the posters advertising a ball of yarn on sale are much less seductive than a jean jacket bought off the rack and worn by Kate Moss in the shop window. Instead of buying something and wearing it to work the next day, an act of creation takes place with handcrafts. Suddenly the crafter becomes a part of the finished items history instead of just acquiring it post-production.

This allowance back into our wardrobe choices ushers in a new take on craft in a new century, after years of mass production, sweatshop abuses and looking like everyone else, craft’s PR boost has enabled us, the consumer, to become skilled in something besides the remote control. And as I become adept with my craft supplies, I am creating products that marry proficiency with uniquity, products that embrace the term “craft” proudly instead of apologetically.

By becoming a part of our possessions’ conception, we are helping to destroy a definition of “craft” as something to be ridiculed, as we realize that “craft” is more than just the finished product- it is also about creating something that is as exciting to make as it is to wear. In re-valuing age-old definitions, it’s possible to shift cultural paradigms just a wee bit, stitch by stitch.

*Early in his career, Basquiat did a series of graffiti pieces under the name SAMO. I found the above photograph here. If you can’t read German, there’s more here.
**It’s really not-so-recent, unless you consider something that has been eyed as trendy for half a decade “recent.” But then again, this matters entirely on where you get your news or what circles you belong to and is a subject for another semi-rantible day.

buy nothing day…

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As I type this, I am the only member of my immediate family* not out shopping at this very moment. I know that fighting with the crowds is something of an American November rite of passage, but I am happily at home celebrating the joys of Buy Nothing Day!

“For 24 hours, millions of people around the world do not participate — in the doomsday economy, the marketing mind-games, and the frantic consumer-binge that’s become our culture. We pause. We make a small choice not to shop. We shrink our footprint and gain some calm. Together we say: enough is enough. And we help build this movement to rethink our unsustainable course.” (from here)

Instead of buying new things and reveling in coming home and enjoying that “just off the rack” smell, today I am going to be perusing the many things I have bought in the past. Because, sadly, some of the things I have so happily purchased in the past, I have forgotten about quicker than you can say “holiday sale!” And they need the love and attention they never got…I have been ecstatic to flip through a stack of craft books I had completely forgotten about- now comes the real trouble of trying to figure out what to make for whom!

Instead of rushing around and squabbling over parking spaces, I see this extended weekend as time to relax and enjoy the quiet moments before the holiday crush starts up with parties and gifts and trips and whatnot on Monday. Given my sudden departure back west earlier this week, I am anxious to catch up on projects that have been neglected, cozy and warm by the fire with a cup of coffee on the table next to me.

Because the period from Thanksgiving through New Year’s is my favorite. Not because of all the bargains to be had, but because it is the one time of year where everyone holds each other a little closer and takes time just to enjoy being in one another’s company. After a day of giving thanks (although I detest the origins of the holiday, I love getting together with friends and family), consider staying in and continuing enjoying the moment- even if you find yourself at home alone, while everyone else is out to fight the crowds, I think it’s time better spent, creating peace instead of adding to chaos.

Although my Thanksgiving was tinged with sadness, suitcases, hurried airports and a 21-gun salute,* I am thankful for being able to have had the chance to spend the last month in England working with small-scale producers. Now comes the real challenge, figuring out how to revive an industry that’s on its last leg. But that’s what life is all about now isn’t it? Finding a way to live your life holistically instead of departmentally- creating a life worth living that allows for more beauty than boredom and more happiness than heartache.

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*one is actually at work
**thank you for all of your kindness regarding recent personal events.

namaste.

My grandfather lost his battle with cancer yesterday morning, and I think it is the only battle he has ever lost. Like a true soldier, he faced the disease with dignity, honor and courage, although I would expect nothing less of him. This means changing of plans and leaving the farm weeks earlier than expected to return home for the military funeral and then to my grandmother’s house to help clean and pack.

I was getting coffee on Tottenham Court Road, after a day of just aimlessly wandering around for real reason, just one of those days where you just walk and walk and walk. After meeting some friends to knit in the morning I walked through Soho, past the sex shops and the veg market and the flocks of pigeons. Eventually I ended up at Picadilly Circus, dodging the tourists taking photographs of the Eros statue, my feet taking me down to St. James’ Park, where I used to always go whenever I was feeling sad or restless.

I haven’t actually been to the park in ages, but my feet remembered the way without my head adding too much input. Soon I was walking on the path by the pond, listening to the leaves crunch under my feet and the geese squawking at tourists trying to steal their lunch. I made sure to spot the pelicans, whose presence never fails to amuse me, sitting like confused sentinels so far from the sea. Then past the palace and back up to Regent Street and on to Oxford Circus.

So after this, I put my free hand (my other hand holding my just purchased almond soya latte) in my pocket to check my phone and immediately knew what had happened when I saw there was a new voice mail. After a day of flaneury on London streets, they seemed much more cold and isolating post-bad news, as I stared at my feet, tears plopping on the cement, one young boy saying ‘don’t cry’ as I walked past.

I ended up at St. Paul’s Cathedral, to light a candle for my intensely devout Catholic grandfather, but wasn’t able to because of the barriers put by staff to keep tourists out. It was surreal being surrounded by happy tourists belting out different languages, taking pictures, reading brochures, with a puffy tear-stained face, trying to hide my coffee which for some reason my hand wouldn’t let go.

Whereas usually the anonymity of the city breathes life and ideas into my head, yesterday it seemed almost overwhelming and alien. When I got back to my dear friend’s flat (after navigating the subway in rush hour, trying to not make direct eye contact) I called my family and made arrangements and heard their voices strong yet shaken on the other end.

Today I’ve been restless around the flat, drinking tea and eating toast and feeling like someone stuffed my head with cotton wool. Tomorrow I’m going to the Diane Arbus exhibition at the V+A , because I need to get outside my own head and take in the noise of the city instead of thinking about loads of unanswered questions and sorrows and hugs that I want to give only my arms won’t reach.

In honor of him, I will be making this cable knit hat for Head Huggers. I picked the pattern because a) it is for men, and b) cables scare me and my grandfather wasn’t scared of anything. So, if you’re reading this, and have lost someone you love to this disease, consider whipping out your craft supplies and creating something to help those currently fighting remember that they are not alone, and that their courage is unparalleled. G’Pop, I’ll miss you fiercely, but never will forget your courage and your endless love.

small-scale doesn’t mean small-minded.

I know it’s uncool to pick favorites, but below is my favorite ewe here. She was really friendly to me before I started feeding her, so now, of course, after I’ve started feeding, she is super friendly. On the day I took this photo, she enthusiastically tried climbed the first rung of the gate in order for me to better pat her head.

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It’s been moments like these that remind me why I am here at this farm. Because I am interested in small-scale wool production, I am overjoyed to know that the sheep here are lovingly taken care of and shorn with the animals well-being and health in mind. I am also happy to have found many other farmers/sheep owners who treat their animals the same way.

Which is so very different from the ways that many sheep are taken care on much larger farms, and why I had trouble buying wool whose origin I wasn’t sure of. Ethically it didn’t make sense for me to work with yarn made from fleece obtained via cruelty or use synthetic yarn made from petroleum-based products. And while fibers like bamboo, cotton and hemp are lovely, they aren’t so lovely when it’s cold and snowing.

When shorn by someone who has been trained to work slowly and treat the animal kindly, the sheep get a haircut instead of trauma. Is this possible worldwide? Yes. But once you realize that it takes more time to shear a sheep carefully and without injury, it gets trickier. For workers who get more money the more sheep they shear, animal welfare is not always a priority.

Which is precisely why purchasing wool from small-scale wool producers is so important- because not only are you enabling agriculture to have a future and farmers to work, but you are also allowing the sheep to live happier and healthier lives. And for people to work with sheep that come running up to the gates to greet them when they walk down the drive, lifting their heads for some TLC and wagging their tails like puppies.

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Earlier this week I went out to feed two of the ewes, who were idling away the morning on the far side of the paddock. The minute they saw me (and, I admit, the feed bucket), they dashed across the grass as fast as their little hooves would allow, raising up a chorus of ‘bahs’ with each step. Their noses nudged under my hands for a good morning scratch and their heads peeped curiously into the bucket anxiously awaiting their breakfast.

As I tipped the bucket over and they eagerly dove for the mix of organic meal, I couldn’t help but smile, because I knew that in a matter of minutes, I would go inside and start working on a new knitting project with yarn procured from their fleeces earlier in the year.

And working with this particular yarn makes me feel happy because I know the origin and I know that just a few yards away the sheep whose backs it came from are wagging their little puppy tails and eating grass and soaking in the sunshine. And when I walk past their paddock, they will say hello and come to greet me, which makes my craftwork lately even more fulfilling and enjoyable, knowing that I am working with a product that was produced with everyone’s welfare in mind.

ewe, you or u?

I’ve been counting stars as well as sheep lately. I’ve also discovered just how many jokes you can make using “ewe” instead of “you” or vice versa, although the ewes themselves don’t think I’m very funny.

This afternoon I was walking around the farm making sure all the animals were okay for the night, noting a stillness not only permeating through the air but through me as well. It was so breathtaking that it took me a full moment to notice that not only was there quiet outside but that there was quiet inside as well.

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Then one of the ewes heard my footsteps coming and anticipating food or a pat on the head, starting “bahhhing” and brought me back to the present. But really, that stillness was the present. One of the most important things I’ve been tackling since I got here is mindfulness. This remembrance to exist in the present moment has taken some wrangling, but has been worth every step- even though I’m still not there yet.

I started a scarf the other day and when I was almost finished, noticed that I had messed up in several places due to not paying attention to what I was doing. For awhile I tried to ignore it, but in the end, ripped it out to start again. Somehow in ripping it out, I was able to start anew without worry that I was going to mess up or wrap the yarn the wrong way or lose my concentration.

In giving myself a tabula rasa, I was able not only to raise my awareness of my actions, but also to quell the anxiety I was having over knitting the pattern correctly. In allowing myself to abandon any thoughts of failure or incompetence and giving myself the freedom to screw up and begin again without guilt, my fingers flowed through the stitches quicker than before.

In paying attention to what I was doing, instead of solely trying to finish as soon as possible, my mind finally cooperated with the pattern making the end result much more beautiful than my first attempt.

I am always a bit shellshocked when such simple actions become clear to me, like someone turned on a light bulb or took away blinders that I didn’t even know existed. All too often, I find myself fighting against the current trying to think up new ideas and better ways to do things, my mind going at whip speed. It always leads to frustration and angst.

Yet, when I find myself really truly in the present, projects for the future never fail to rain down on me like manna. As if I don’t already have enough projects on my plate, watch this space.


Next week, I’m heading back to London to check out two exhibitions:
.Her Noise at the South London Gallery. I just wish I was there at the weekend to participate in the incredible sounding We’re Alive, Let’s Meet! get togethers led by the always brilliant Emma Hedditch.
.The Christmas Exhibition show for Fine Cell Work, a charity that teaches inmates needlepoint, so they can learn, create and earn a bit of money while in prison

Also exciting is my first London Knitting Exchange meeting!

While I’m not running around town getting craft supplies to make things to sell at a craft fair 26 November at Here in Bristol, I will be taking a few minutes to sit down and read notes from the Craftivism panel last week, anxiously twiddling my thumbs for the full transcript that will be up in January!