Tactile and egalitarian, nourishing and slow, arts and crafts are enjoying a deserved revival in our recession-hit society
At Prick Your Finger, a wool shop in east London’s Bethnal Green, Rachael Matthews is spinning a rolag of cashmere and alpaca, her right leg drawing rhythmic cadences from the wooden wheel’s foot pedal. In tandem, her friend and business partner Louise Harries inventories their selection of nationally sourced yarns, from a high lustre Wensleydale to a tender Shetland. In the corner, a crocheted porcupine sports knitting-needle quills. Big jars of buttons wink on the shelf, while rainbow ribbons cascade from a drawer.
This cosy establishment is the net-based Cast Off Knitting Club made mortar, offering a sheep-to-shoulder service for those who are as exercised by the provenance of their wool as the tension on their purl row. Cast Off, with its commitment to design beyond the ribbed tank-top and guerrilla knitting tactics in pubs and clubs, was at the vanguard of the craft’s recent revival. But it is emblematic of a broader do-it-yourself movement, from window-box salads to car-boot sale recycling, which is recruiting the most unlikely advocates.
This week, the thinktank Demos published a collection of essays exploring the idea of “expressive life”. In the volume, US arts writer Bill Ivey – who coined the phrase – and Sandy Nairne, director of the National Portrait Gallery, tease out the prospect of a rebirth of the arts and crafts movement as part of the search for quality of life in a post-consumerist, recession-hit society.
At a moment when laid-off bankers are testifying to the benefits of basket-weaving, a reversion to the reformist aesthetic of John Ruskin and William Morris can feel suitably corrective. The old manifesto has serious contemporary traction: respect for nature, dignity of labour, importance of long-garnered skills, access to beauty for all.
The reasons for this resurgence are not hard to fathom: we are producers frustrated with never seeing the end product of our efforts; consumers weary of being bullied into buying stuff we don’t need, that is badly made or doesn’t fit; and would-be creators waking up to the fact that inspiration exists beyond the Sunday style supplements.
Plus, craft is a slow pursuit. It takes many evenings to sew a tapestry or knit a jumper. As the author Nick Laird observed about the immediacy of the internet age: “Concentration proves hard to come by in a space where the vaguest thought, whim or wonder can be indulged or resolved in an instant.” But you cannot Twitter a cushion cover.
Likewise, while it is a meditation, craft can be a highly social pursuit when our networks feel all too electronic. And for many, thrift is a necessity as much as an ideological position – though anyone who has bought wool or fabric lately will know that the craft economy can be as extortionate as any other.
There is, inevitably, more than a whiff of nostalgia surrounding this renaissance. But bountiful craft is no guarantee of moral purity. As the craft historian Glenn Adamson observes, German National Socialists were particularly enamoured with the patriotic impact and authenticity of craftwork.
As revolutionarily socialist as it strove to be, the arts and crafts movement was riddled with inconsistency. Morris wrestled with the paradox of insisting on art for all while championing creations so labour-intensive they could only be afforded by the few (not to mention the paternalism that dictated the lackadaisical poor could be rescued from the pub by the intervention of cane-weaving).
It’s ironic that, as amateur craft surges, the professional sector faces a skills crisis, with courses in such disciplines as ceramics, glass and metalwork closing down. Although the craft industry contributes more to the economy than the visual arts, cultural heritage or literature sectors, and demand for craft skills has never been higher, it remains the Cinderella order of the arts world.
But if craft is, as Richard Sennett argues in his 2008 book The Craftsman, the doing of good work for its own sake, if competence and engagement are the most solid sources of adult self-respect, then the ethic of this industry is as relevant as ever. A recession invites fundamental reassessment of the place of work – and leisure – in our lives. Practically, this means recognising that teaching a tradable, portable skill is one of the best ways to lift people out of poverty. Philosophically, it invites an acceptance that a trade-off between hamster-wheel presenteeism and mollifying consumption has never been good for us and is not feasible in this economic climate.
Crucially, craft is egalitarian. While some in the Labour party appear bent on resuscitating the canard of meritocracy, which divides the gifted few from the unexceptional mass, craft reminds us of the significance of equality of outcome, rather than of opportunity. Everyone shares the capacity to develop a skill, based on decent teaching, application and time – not raw talent.
Back at Prick Your Finger, the bobbin is growing fat with yarn. People talk about a “comeback”, says Rachael; but really, craft never went away. “Craft skills are in our DNA. But we still have to practise our dexterity.”
A revolution is being knitted
Tactile and egalitarian, nourishing and slow, arts and crafts are enjoying a deserved revival in our recession-hit society
At Prick Your Finger, a wool shop in east London’s Bethnal Green, Rachael Matthews is spinning a rolag of cashmere and alpaca, her right leg drawing rhythmic cadences from the wooden wheel’s foot pedal. In tandem, her friend and business partner Louise Harries inventories their selection of nationally sourced yarns, from a high lustre Wensleydale to a tender Shetland. In the corner, a crocheted porcupine sports knitting-needle quills. Big jars of buttons wink on the shelf, while rainbow ribbons cascade from a drawer.
This cosy establishment is the net-based Cast Off Knitting Club made mortar, offering a sheep-to-shoulder service for those who are as exercised by the provenance of their wool as the tension on their purl row. Cast Off, with its commitment to design beyond the ribbed tank-top and guerrilla knitting tactics in pubs and clubs, was at the vanguard of the craft’s recent revival. But it is emblematic of a broader do-it-yourself movement, from window-box salads to car-boot sale recycling, which is recruiting the most unlikely advocates.
This week, the thinktank Demos published a collection of essays exploring the idea of “expressive life”. In the volume, US arts writer Bill Ivey – who coined the phrase – and Sandy Nairne, director of the National Portrait Gallery, tease out the prospect of a rebirth of the arts and crafts movement as part of the search for quality of life in a post-consumerist, recession-hit society.
At a moment when laid-off bankers are testifying to the benefits of basket-weaving, a reversion to the reformist aesthetic of John Ruskin and William Morris can feel suitably corrective. The old manifesto has serious contemporary traction: respect for nature, dignity of labour, importance of long-garnered skills, access to beauty for all.
The reasons for this resurgence are not hard to fathom: we are producers frustrated with never seeing the end product of our efforts; consumers weary of being bullied into buying stuff we don’t need, that is badly made or doesn’t fit; and would-be creators waking up to the fact that inspiration exists beyond the Sunday style supplements.
Plus, craft is a slow pursuit. It takes many evenings to sew a tapestry or knit a jumper. As the author Nick Laird observed about the immediacy of the internet age: “Concentration proves hard to come by in a space where the vaguest thought, whim or wonder can be indulged or resolved in an instant.” But you cannot Twitter a cushion cover.
Likewise, while it is a meditation, craft can be a highly social pursuit when our networks feel all too electronic. And for many, thrift is a necessity as much as an ideological position – though anyone who has bought wool or fabric lately will know that the craft economy can be as extortionate as any other.
There is, inevitably, more than a whiff of nostalgia surrounding this renaissance. But bountiful craft is no guarantee of moral purity. As the craft historian Glenn Adamson observes, German National Socialists were particularly enamoured with the patriotic impact and authenticity of craftwork.
As revolutionarily socialist as it strove to be, the arts and crafts movement was riddled with inconsistency. Morris wrestled with the paradox of insisting on art for all while championing creations so labour-intensive they could only be afforded by the few (not to mention the paternalism that dictated the lackadaisical poor could be rescued from the pub by the intervention of cane-weaving).
It’s ironic that, as amateur craft surges, the professional sector faces a skills crisis, with courses in such disciplines as ceramics, glass and metalwork closing down. Although the craft industry contributes more to the economy than the visual arts, cultural heritage or literature sectors, and demand for craft skills has never been higher, it remains the Cinderella order of the arts world.
But if craft is, as Richard Sennett argues in his 2008 book The Craftsman, the doing of good work for its own sake, if competence and engagement are the most solid sources of adult self-respect, then the ethic of this industry is as relevant as ever. A recession invites fundamental reassessment of the place of work – and leisure – in our lives. Practically, this means recognising that teaching a tradable, portable skill is one of the best ways to lift people out of poverty. Philosophically, it invites an acceptance that a trade-off between hamster-wheel presenteeism and mollifying consumption has never been good for us and is not feasible in this economic climate.
Crucially, craft is egalitarian. While some in the Labour party appear bent on resuscitating the canard of meritocracy, which divides the gifted few from the unexceptional mass, craft reminds us of the significance of equality of outcome, rather than of opportunity. Everyone shares the capacity to develop a skill, based on decent teaching, application and time – not raw talent.
Back at Prick Your Finger, the bobbin is growing fat with yarn. People talk about a “comeback”, says Rachael; but really, craft never went away. “Craft skills are in our DNA. But we still have to practise our dexterity.”