Liz Seymour and the words

Attempting to define craft feels something like trying to hunt down an exceptionally speedy chameleon. Heave yourself heroically through the first paces of a crystallising thought and it is gone again, having taken on some new shade to one moment blend seamlessly with another distinct discipline, the next to stand out defiantly against the gamut of contmeporary art and design practice.

The impetus for an examination of contemporary craft was a long-standing personal puzzlement over its position within the wider context of visual arts practice: not merely “what is craft?”, but why are there so many seemingly disparate answers to that question? In brief, and hopefully in aid of enlightenment, the following is an overview of the elusive creature that is craft in 21st century visual culture.

Ask the average person to cough up five words to describe their idea of craft and such responses as “grandma” or “papier mâché” would probably figure with enough frequency to elicit an oft-heaved sigh from contemporary craft practitioners.

For many, childhood introductions to “craft” – the cobbling together of some frightful puppet out of fabric scraps in art class, or the sulky exploits of a rainy Saturday starring three egg cartons and a wooden spoon – congeal and stick long before its glamorous counterpart, “art”, has careened into the collective consciousness as an aesthetically rich and conceptually profound practice.

This first raises the issue of craft’s numerous facets. “Craft” can be the general class of objects resulting from manual work with some artistic or design elements; it can be a skill or discipline, for example glassblowing; it can designate the manual dexterity – or in fact craftsmanship – involved in the creation of craft objects; as a verb it is the act of shaping such objects. With so many definitions attached to a single word, it is unsurprising that after doilies and découpage tea trays it all gets a bit hazy.

It seems reasonably safe to posture that the connotations of the word “art”, while perhaps restricted in some minds to the media of painting and sculpture, are few and generally to be found loitering in the vast expanses of galleries. A possible explanation is that, while it is accepted that art requires the mastery of a craft in working with a given medium, it does not take on any more of craft’s qualities. If it were to do so, it may shift classification and become craft itself.

Craft in the sense of masterful execution is also an essential element of good design. However, design’s defining quality is functionality and while this is shared by much of craft’s output, it is not a core criterion.

The capacity of craft to straddle visual arts and design is born of a unique evolution from working-class and aristocratic handicrafts throughout Europe, to the British and American Arts and Crafts Movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In Australia these traditions are augmented by the indigenous craft model and influences stretching down from south-east Asia.

Joe Pascoe, CEO and Artistic Director of Craft Victoria, explains the bifurcation of traditional European craft practice and consequent permutations of the word’s meaning as being purely the result of need versus want.

“There are two main models in European tradition: one is the peasant model, the other is the aristocratic model. You’re either making your [object] for the table or for the mantelpiece; if it’s for the mantelpiece it’s ornamental, if it’s for the table it’s functional,” he says.

Surveying contemporary notions of craft, it would seem that the peasants fell in with the designers and the aristocrats with the gallery set, though the two meet genially at craft markets and on lace-bedecked formica tables in church halls across the nation. Could it be said that these manifestations of craft – neither wholly functional nor existing within the realms of “fine art” – come closest to encompassing all the many preconceptions brought to the term by centuries of manual creation for pleasure as well as use?

The reformist Arts and Crafts Movement was a reaction against large-scale industrialisation in the late 19th century. Largely inspired by the writer, artist and art critic John Ruskin’s works and the idealisation of the craftsman’s pride in his handiwork, it continued to hold sway as the dominant aesthetic movement until around 1910, after which time it continued to influence style such as Art Nouveau, the De Stijl group, the Vienna Secession and eventually the Bauhaus. Though the principle behind the Arts and Crafts Movement was the simplification of design and manufacture, with an emphasis on high quality craftsmanship, the movement eventually came to be seen an a forerunner of Modernism.

As the movement gained popularity, exponents such as William Morris were celebrated for the inherent skill of what might previously have been seen as a lesser form of artistry. This elevation of craftsman to the status not only of artisan but artist was a significant step in the elevation of craft itself. The very fact that Arts and Crafts now sat alongside one another in the name of a major aesthetic movement contributed to a gradual shift in craft’s place within the collective consciousness and led to the manifold incarnations of craft in contemporary arts practice.

Given this multiplicity of possible interpretations, where in relation to the wider world of contemporary visual culture do craft practitioners see themselves positioned – and how do they define this when required to do so? Are they artists, designers, craftspeople? It would seem that the former two are misleading, given popular notions of what each involves; whilst the latter can be so broadly construed as to clarify very little.

Pascoe points to a term now popular among Australian and in particular Melbourne-based craft practitioners: “The favourite term… has been “maker”. Maker is nice because you’re making objects and you’re making meanings,” he says. “A lot of people self-define as makers; it stops that stumble between craftspeople and visual artists. It’s clear without being sterile and still has a texture to it.”

This core of emotional investment by maker for viewer or user is, according to Pascoe, the essential ingredient of all craft. Whether it exists as an element of a larger work – ostensibly belonging to a related but distinct discipline – or stands alone as a piece recognised as craft in its most authentic possible form, it must connect the maker to the work to the viewer in a continuum of emotional experience. The visual arts have a far greater capacity for the aloof communication of purely cerebral concepts, whilst design does not generally seek to convey at all. Craft, however, is inescapably entwined with its human creator and thus the implicit investment of both emotional and intellectual intent, as well as refined skill. Not all those who pass through a gallery are able to consistently relate to modern art’s increasingly abstract renditions of emotion, much less detect the level of skill required to produce them. Craft brings the onlooker back to the comfort of concrete evidence of artistry in addition, often, to a message made all the more engaging for its tactility.

Speaking of design, Pascoe says: “Craft for me is the soul of design. If you think of any piece of design that you admire, the bit that draws you in emotionally or connects you is probably the craft element.

“It’s all about connection – about people needing or wanting something in their lives, and there’s no irony in it.”

So what of the craft fair and the community market, the knitted tea cosy or hand-carved spinning top? Happily it seems that just as craft accommodates many disciplines and many audiences, so too does it continue to find a place for its own variations, serving as they do the needs and wants of such a variety of makers and users.

Says Pascoe: “[I like] the notion of traditional craft; there’s no reason not to. It’s true that older ladies living in country towns do make baskets, and knitting… and jewellery. There’s no cliché about it.”

If ever there was a cliché, the tenacity of craft has turned it on its head within a century of the movement that spawned it. Around the country and over the internet, groups have sprung up celebrating crafts as much for their traditional qualities as for a newly sought kitsch factor. Groups of people you would more readily expect to see loitering outside a dingy pub for Grindcore Friday can now be found the night before at a cosy bar, armed with knitting needles smaller than their piercings and yards of black yarn.

Despite – or possibly because of – its ephemeral nature and the binding properties at its core, craft prevails as a creative pursuit open to makers, viewers and users at all levels and, happily, escapes definition.