Are you making things?
Everyday I am inundated with the content of making, evidence of work, a sort of proof-of-life demanded by the social media algorithms. Social media is an ephemeral symptom of Silicon Valley preying on our desires for connection and I hope that within the next decade, we’ll have largely moved off and reconnect in real space.
Social media is not inherently bad. Like any tool, its effect depends on its use. I met the love of my life through a community built almost exclusively on Instagram. Meanwhile, every feature on the app is designed to encourage people to spoon feed attention to the algorithm or play the lottery of trending audio with a combination of text and dance moves. I too have felt this pull for content and look to those who have successfully built an audience while retaining the value and integrity of their work. Dominique Ostuni for one has talked with me about radical honesty in the process of building a presence of this nature. Addie Best also has inspired me in her online attitude (we are not personally acquainted). Their work is as they are, truly authentic.
Authenticity is the antithesis of the social media façade. I am trying to come into a stasis relationship that balances the sunny process quilt pictures with honesty about the issues of material and waste in modern making. I aim to provide a space to sit in, at least for a little while. A newsletter broadens that space (a digital armchair if you will) so we’ll see how it goes!
The Void
I am delighted that there has been a large movement back towards learning fiber skills for Gen Z and millennials. From my angle of the algorithm, so many people are crocheting, knitting, quilting and more, all while offering tips and encouraging others to learn. This is overall good. What is concerning to me is how this new making movement maps onto a throw away, plastic consumerist culture that also exists purportedly outside of the confines of a social network. People are making things to sell, things for views, things that are trendy. I am nervous about Namebrand Fabric Store hauls and acrylic yarn. Without the consciousness of material and where things come from, we are replicating a crafty version of fast fashion that takes just a little longer to make.
I have seen the creation of countless objects that mean nothing beyond placement in an Etsy store. Objects created without intention or with the only intention of being sold have no spirit in them. Throughout history, the preindustrial making of things had meaning. Any dedication of time and resources created a certain depth in objects. Often these things existed in a community-based, domestic economy closer to a gift economy than anything else. There was no abundance, items were kept and cared for. How do we as post-industrial people swimming in an abundant world translate that communal care back into the things we make?
Swanson’s Fabrics has a great Instagram page and mission that promotes education in fiber origins. Kathryn, the owner, talks often about this time of fiber abundance that we live in (trash rich, as they call it) and gathers fiber to sell at thrift store prices. My own hometown Makerspace (where I teach hand sewing, quilting, and mending) has a similar model. These are avenues of information that are important for learning makers to encounter early on so their practice can be fully informed. Instead, this individualistic digital world offers Youtube channels in lieu of interpersonal learning.
I think the perfect demonstration of what I am talking about is the sewing machine/Namebrand Sewing Supply Store continuum. Someone who wants to begin sewing goes to the big Namebrand Store (because there are very few local stores anymore and even fewer places for this person to try out machines before buying one) and gets a brand new “beginner level” Singer Simple, let’s say. What many people are not aware of is that Singer went out of business in the 1980’s and the name was bought by a conglomerate that also makes Husqvarna Vikings etc. The Singer name is put on the cheapest machines that usually break within three months of use and cannot be fixed. A process that should beget beautiful learning processes instead creates more trash. Anytime any one asks me what sewing machine to get I tell them an old metal one. These machines are designed to be fixed and often work better than most machines made today (as with many things).
Then there’s the issue of fabric and thread. Most thread that is cheap is polyester which is plastic, of course, and I have found has a higher tendency to break in the machine. Also, most fabric in Namebrand Store has plastic in it (which is usually the reason I have an existential crisis every time I go in). The only fabric that I buy at this point is second hand or bleached 100% cotton muslin. It ranges from $2-6 a yard, depending on the width and weave. Still this is new fabric, cotton takes a lot of water to grow and I have no guaranteed that the textile mill that produced it (in Pakistan or Turkey often) doesn’t engage in horrible labor practices.
Agh! Obviously a lot to think about when learning to sew, not to mention a rabbit hole. This is why I teach, not to overwhelm but to guide beginners towards a sustainable and informed practice.
The Hand, The Thread
I start students with hand sewing and patchwork because we have a ton of cotton quilt cutoffs to play with and it’s a safe, accessible way to begin. After hand sewing, machine skills can speed up the piecing process. I also feel that when skills are directly passed, hand to hand, the physical work takes on a small historic element. This imbues the object with a power that goes beyond the present. When I make things, I am pulling on a long thread—blue I think—from my own familial history (the Matriline, as I call it). I am using not only a contemporary hand but a hand from antiquity. As I am learning to spin wool this week, I am training my muscles to do a task that countless women have done before me.
I have been thinking about the history of craft and how it is entwined with spiritualism and ritual. My art history background in combination with my recent exploration in the pop-up craft market/online shop world has primed me to undertake this study. I am interested in gendered material history, textile language, and the contemporary maker culture. I am hoping to inspire a deeper connection with the things we make as well as solidify my thoughts about craft beyond passionate comments over wool roving or cider.
My intention is to write weekly and post either on Sunday or Monday. This newsletter will be free and a personally useful tool as I organize my thoughts (into a larger writing process perhaps?). I would be remiss not to credit Marlee Grace for their inadvertent inspiration to get this thing started.
Thank you for reading! If you’re chewing on something, send this letter to a friend and have a discussion, on the house.
Happy making
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