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A lament about why has craft become such a bad word
As a serious craftsperson and a designer who takes minimalism and modernism to heart, I am confounded by how negative the connotation of craft has become among so many of my customers and colleagues. Indeed, in New York City, so prevalent is the association of "craft" with poor design and weak thinking that the American Craft Museum felt forced to change its name to the Museum of Arts and Design, a name which in my opinion utterly fails to distinguish it from the many other museums in town. To many big city art collectors, architects, and design aficionados a "craftsperson" is a rural dolt who should never be trusted with decisions beyond the purely technical.
The reasons for the demise of "craft" are complex. One is undoubtedly the boom of the role of the "craft show" in our culture, which has become known for being more about materials and handiwork and short on thoughtful design. Another is the manner in which so many design professionals are educated, which generally deemphasizes materials and technique in favor of image. Another is our stark geographic and social separation from the creation of the things we consume in our culture, which only further dehumanizes their makers in our eyes.
The result is a rabidly consuming society that is mostly incapable of recognizing or valuing when something is exceptionally well made with exceptional materials. Indeed, many of our dominant standards of "good quality" in things grew from cheap mechanized production processes that arose in the 1950s. It never ceases to amaze me how many of these are still in place today.
From jewelry to architecture, fashion to furniture, the line between fine craft and good design is far from clear. How can one happen without the other? The way something is made can deemphasize its making, but still be excellent craftsmanship. We need only look at the pioneering work of Mies van der Rohe, Carlo Scarpa, and Louis Kahn to see this clearly. In turn, the hand of the maker can be strongly present in something, and it can be great design. Much of the work of Frank Gehry and Finn Juhl are good examples. Craftspeople and designers that disdain one another would each be better off by learning from one another. Our material culture and manufacturing economy would each be richer for it.
On Design Rigor
From architecture to fashion to furniture, whimsy still seems the order of the day. The urge to be "inventive" and flamboyant dominates many edgy design practices. Many feel that the language of modernism has lost its novelty, and are in search of more grandiose forms of expression. The results include complicated and exotic palettes of materials and "unrestrained" shapes that are very challenging to make.
Though I am far from alone, I still feel that how we design something should be rooted in the materials and processes with which it is made. Beauty should appear as much in the materials and details, as in the overall forms. These should be in harmony, with a balance or economy of material richness, detail, and line.
In so much contemporary design, potent gestures are wasted on a stunned observer that cannot sort out the complexity of a thing or space. If there is to be a mysterious relationship between how something looks and how it is made, that mystery should be solvable as part of the experience of it.
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