Not all a maker's work is making.

It's rather a long time since I've put anything fresh on here, so no time like the present. I've been busy, along with two friends, in organising a new show for makers who throughout their careers have shown evidence of a strong sense of enquiry. I have been contributing to a blog on the project's website, and thought it worthwhile to share our posts here too. 

See details of the show and the makers taking part at craftpraktis

 

This year's 'praktis/ exhibition at Bury Court near Farnham in Surrey presents a group of makers who have spent years developing their creative voices to produce distinctive work that is both highly skilled and deeply personal.

Behind every artist and maker, whatever their discipline, is a story of discovery.  Like many others, my own interest in clay was born when, as a child, I was bundled along to an art activity session for children on Saturday mornings. My first creation was a wonderful galloping horse, its main and tail flying, sinewy legs outstretched. I was in another world.

I don’t know what happened to it, but that really doesn’t matter. The making of it was the thing.

With the clarity of hindsight, I can see that the reality was a rather stodgy sausage-like creature, with an unruly clutch of straw stuck up its bottom. But what also remains true is that the act of creating something takes us, in our heads, to a different place. My mother, like every parent, saw the first part of the reality, and understood the second.

We humans have evolved to create things with our hands, and our brains are hardwired to spark and respond to that instinct – to be curious about what materials can do, to experiment, to interpret the world, to express ourselves. And, over time, to learn to use our hands as readily as our imaginations.

Those of us who have made a life of making things are following that impulse to create with our hands the vision in our heads, and to do it better and better. It is challenging, sometimes frustrating, but deeply satisfying when things go well. As a maker, to see someone 'get' your work is a wonderful confirmation of a shared recognition, of having hit the right note.

The getting of knowledge is a lifelong process. And gradually, as we exhibit more widely and connect with those who appreciate what we do, our enquiry and thinking becomes still more sharply focused. Feedback from our audiences informs our ideas, sometimes confirming our impulses, sometimes challenging them.

So we never stop learning, and as makers we never stop responding to the fascination of what can be done with materials and processes, whether to meet a practical need - a favoured cup to drink from - or to create a work that defies practical purpose but simply delights us with its human ingenuity, mastery of process, and its beauty.

The exhibitors showing at ‘praktis/  at Bury Court Barn this October are makers who have established themselves through years of refining their practice, and are still looking for ways to move forward creatively. At this year’s exhibition, in a wonderfully sympathetic setting, we will be showing fresh and inspirational work across disciplines prompted by a strong sense of enquiry, with illustrated talks and demonstrations and an invitation to talk to pre-eminent makers about their craft.

Between now and October, through this blog, you are invited to share some of their insights, find out what inspires them and see examples of polished skills, the trial and error that leads to successes and occasional failures, and above all the thinking that goes into the work of 21st century makers.

Please follow us on Twitter @craftpraktis and call back if you'd like to see how we progress towards our exhibition, and share with your friends.

 

 

 

In praise of making things

 

We humans are driven to make our mark somehow.  Creativity is an intrinsic element of being human.  We are excited by the creation of music, drama, literature, art and architecture, they are, ultimately, the core and sometimes the fossils of civilizations. We particularly value those achievements which outlast a single life, and instinctively feel poorer when they are taken from us.  Without disregarding the deeply depressing current human catastrophe of the Middle East, the destruction of ancient archaeological sites in Syria and our reaction to the devastation points to an enduring notion of how we value our ancestors' ability to speak to us through the things they made.

Physically, too, we have evolved to make things. Our marvellous opposable thumb is served by an amazing brain that enables us to realise our ideas through our hands. Our distant ancestors made things all the time; skill to explore and exploit materials was essential to survival, and then became a way to express and record our interventions and sense of world order. Although social structures seem to have divided makers into the most lowly and the most revered people, in different times and places, expertise in making has always had value.  

In fact, it's not just our distant forebears who were familiar with tools and materials in an everyday sense. Some of our parents and grandparents made shelves, clothes, garden swings; mended cars, agricultural machinery and made preserves, often from necessity rather than to fill free time.  I was mildy shocked to hear recently that only a small minority these days knows how to wire a plug.  

As advancing and cheaper technology takes the making of things further from individuals, it takes away some sense of everyday purpose, and maybe connectedness with our physical world.  The virtual world swims around our heads. Shopping from a keyboard is, it turns out, not really a substitute for holding an object with a known, perhaps personal, history.  Dad's toolbox, Granny's pincushion: bought stuff often just doesn't carry the same emotional charge.  Similarly, pinging off emails can only go so far.  What's to show for it at the end of the day?

Perhaps the nostalgia laden interiors of ye olde country pubs are just that: a rose tinted view.  Life was undeniably harder for great grandad, but those folksy ornaments do illustrate the way we yearn for the days when expert making skills were seen daily in plain view, and understood.

The Beeb's Bake Off, of course, feeds off our yearning to get our hands dirty again, to make stuff, and the Pottery Throwdown too.  Like many involved in pottery in a serious way, I have mixed feelings about a telly programme which often trivialises and even misrepresents our craft at the service of arbitrarily imposed timescales and 'entertainment' value.  Still, it has struck a chord with many who feel the need to reconnect hand, eye and brain, and to experience firsthand the satisfaction of making, and on balance a second series is a Good Thing.

Any creative activity is rewarding; the immediacy of forming responsive clay particularly so.  As I suggested earlier, our hands and brains have evolved to support our long-ago urge to find out what materials can do.  The ability to use a material well remains psychologically supremely satisfying. A child exploring the possibilities of mud is engrossed, and rediscovering that fascination as an adult is a magical experience. 

Clay is better than mud; its potential far greater: it holds its shape; it records impressions; it hardens, can become permanent. I bet I'm not the only potter who still finds that sensation of wet clay in my hands the most compelling, intoxicating, addictive thing.  Seeing a potter's thumbprint left on an ancient shard shrinks time to nothing.  We are still connected. 

 

 

 Tell Halaf pottery jar, Syria, 5th millennium BC

Tell Halaf pottery jar, Syria, 5th millennium BC