The Pathology of Craft

Something called "Diamond Painting". Not anything I would be getting into in the near future.

I went to a yard sale today that promised craft supplies. As soon as I got there, I realized that these were for the other kind of craft, bad craft, that I have usually been able to avoid. The kind of craft that is often seen at church bazaars and senior's centre fundraisers: plastic, ticky-tacky, luridly coloured, offensive to the senses.

Okay, I am a craft snob. I freely admit it. To me craft means excellent workmanship, skill, quality materials, a connection to culture and history. Not for me the polyester lace toilet roll cozies, or Phentex slippers, or plastic canvas Christmas tree ornaments.

I connect these kinds of "crafted" items to the 1970's, when I was growing up. I loved to make things, and was attracted to the magazines that had instructions for macrame plant hangers and footstools made out of giant juice cans and upholstery samples. Even then, I preferred the projects that were made of natural materials - once I made a set of choristers with walnuts for heads and pinecones for bodies, arranged on a piece of driftwood.

Then, craft seemed to vanish until the knitting revival of the late 80's. But it had been reinvented as something a bit more exclusive and high end - designer patterns and yarns of merino wool and silk. I returned to hand spinning and weaving - skills I had learned in high school. This was what I considered craft.

Every now and then I might venture into a big box craft supply store and am vaguely aware of the existence of cheap, plastic-y materials, but for the most part I ignore them. But at this yard sale I saw where they end up.

The seller had neatly arranged tables full of ribbons, lace,  novelty buttons and artificial flowers, all plastic, all made in China. There were tables with hand knitted and crocheted items, all of cheap polyester yarn, made by the seller, who seemed to be a perfectly reasonable woman only slightly older than myself. I commented on how much work she had put into organizing her goods, to which she replied "It is amazing what you can do when you have a glass of wine."

Whether this was an allusion to a drinking problem, or just a sign of a lonely, unstimulating existence, it made me think about what motivates this species of crafters to make what they do. I do believe that making things can be a positive creative outlet, even healing and life-affirming - why do I hold those that choose to make, in my opinion, ugly cheap crap, in such disregard?

Part of it might be the associations that the general public has with craft, who, when I say I am a textile artist, nod knowingly and assume that I am a "crafter". I fear those assumptions, probably because they echo my own insecurities. I am highly critical, which gets me into no end of trouble, but I am always hardest on myself.

I think one of the responsibilities of a maker is to ask the question "Am I contributing to making the world a better place with this work?" The answer had better be yes, although there is wiggle room there for those might become axe murderers, were it not for the less lethal pastime of craft, even ugly craft.

(I wrote this post months ago. I hesitated to publish it because it seemed mean-spirited. But somehow it prevented me from moving on, and I have a whole slew of new posts up my sleeve. So please consider this just cleaning house.)