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Craft,
Creativity and Critical Practice
Sue Rowley
Modernism: creativity and the conservatism of craft
In recent years, a number of writers have pointed out that modernist
thought and art positioned craft as the ‘other’ of art. From
the early twentieth century, craft was assumed to be dependent on tradition,
and modern art was deeply concerned to break away from the shackles of
tradition. Artists of the avant garde movements fervently sought to ‘make-it-new’.
Craft represented the past. Hand production was understood not only to
have been left behind—or rather, swept aside—by industrialisation,
but skilled craft makers were seen as resistant to change, and this resistance
was seen to underscore an essential conservatism in craft culture.
Particularly in the first half of this century, as both Andreas Huyssen
and Raymond Williams have argued, the avant garde movements were fired
by a utopian vision and a radical politics underpinned by a belief in
progress and, to use Huyssen’s phrase, a technological imagination.
Artists believed that, through their work, they could transform everyday
life. For many artists, the imagination was fired by the culture of technology,
which they found dynamic and compelling. Visual languages associated with
modernism utilised fragmentation, assemblage, spontaneity, chance and
gesture. There seemed to be no need for the staid materiality of objects
that testified to laboriously acquired skill and the ‘there-ness’
of the past.
As the utopian vision of art as a transformative practice faded after
the Second World War, the autonomy of the artwork and its separation from
everyday life were emphasised. The disinterestedness of the artist was
mirrored by the detachment of the art object from the business of living.
Apprehending the significance of the art object was understood to be an
intellectual–aesthetic act, typically a contemplation of the object
in an architectural context which ‘whites-out’ the noise of
the world. Increasingly, the ‘embeddeness’ of craft objects
in everyday life, as useful things, gifts, memoirs, came to connote a
lack of detachment. Useful things, it seemed, could not communicate important
insights into the human condition. The busy craft object, passing from
hand to hand, acquired a patination of use rather than a provenance of
value.
Whether we speak of the making, the makers or the objects, within modernist
discourse the term ‘craft’ has carried connotations of conservatism
and resistance to change. In comparison with art, craft appears not only
conservative, but craft practice seems to lack creativity.
Postmodernism: critical practice
Compared to modernist thought and art, postmodernism is predicated on
weaker notions of creativity. There are no originals in postmodernism:
images are re-cycled and re-presented; repetition, copying and appropriation
become hallmarks of postmodern practice. Richard Kearney writes:
Right across the spectrum of structuralist, post-structuralist and deconstructionist
thinking, one notes a common concern to dismantle the very notion of imagination.
Where it is spoken of at all, it is subjected to suspicion or denigrated
an an outdated humanist illusion.
Even so, postmodernism has its own language of creativity, evident in
such phrases as ‘experimental art’, or ‘the cutting
edge’ of contemporary practice. Kearney himself proposes a theoretical
re-inscription of a postmodern ethical, critical, poetic imagination.
In principal, postmodernism nurtures more positive attitudes than those
of modernism towards craft. This, I would argue, is borne out also in
more diverse and integrated art–world opportunties for contemporary
craft practice. However, to the extent that postmodern notions of creativity
emphasise representation over object, and bricolage over skill, these
notions do not recuperate craft practice. Breaking down the opposition
of high art and popular culture similarly opens up space for craft but,
in fact, it is the culture of mass media, mass production and mass consumption
that is the focus here. Artisan traditions and hand–technologies
remain peripheral to the focal concerns of postmodern theory and practice.
Significantly, the legacy of modernism’s radical utopianism is
evident in the contemporary idea of art as critical practice. No longer
confident in the capacity of art to transform life, many artists and critics
retain a deep commitment to politically–engaged practice. Contemporary
art is intended to offer interpretive and revelatory comment on social
life.
Difference: postcolonial creativity and craft
The notion of difference, derived from the work of Jacques Derrida, refuses
to conceive of the world as coherent and singular, insisting instead on
multiplicity and irreconcilable, irreducible differences in human experience
and culture. It is this concept that has given much of the bite to postcolonialism.
‘Difference’ underscores the belated recognition that Euro-American
modernity has not laid down the template for the experience of modernity
by other peoples and in other lands. All modernisms are not essentially
derivative of Euro-American modernism which, by the same token, can no
longer be seen as a coherent, historically unilinear ‘trajectory’.
The multiplicities of differentiated historical experience and agency
become important in the context of a heightened awareness of the current
global re-configuration.
Postcolonialism is built on a much more robust conceptualisation of creative
practice. Its roots in literary practice and theory should not be overlooked.
Postcolonialism is centred on the use of the language of colonial powers
by colonised people to express their own local and specific experience.
Language itself is transformed in the articulation of ‘foreign’
experiences and reflections. The notion of difference becomes a key, but
this time authorship is strengthened: writers and artists can be understood
as making meaningful objects, not simply objects from which meaning may
be inferred by insightful readers and critics.
In its attention to local histories and cultures, postcolonial practice
frequently invokes traditions, especially those related to creative and
symbolic practices such as storytelling, popular culture and craft. In
spite of, or perhaps because of the centrality of language, resistance
to the imposition of colonial culture and the re-forging of identity has
emerged as a central theme of postcolonialism. So postcolonial artworks
might invoke craft and might incorporate craft practices or objects as
a means of delineating that which is indigenous, local and specific.
It is one thing to invoke the craft and artisan cultural practices and
traditions; it is quite another to over-write Euro-American traditions
of delineating craft as ‘not-art’. Craft can be used to signify
non-western and resistant modes of creative practice without actually
being recognised as contemporary art, or as critical practice, on its
own terms. Indeed, critically engaged, signifying practices within contemporary
craft are, in a sense, both superfluous to the requirements of contemporary
art, and redundant because the trajectory of traditional modernist art
practices leaves no space for their inclusion.
The notion of difference has acted as a fulcrum in postcolonial critical
cultural practice. But in the context of a globalising political economy,
difference is not secured for critique. This point is made forcefully
in a recent essay by Lawrence Grossberg. In the past, capitalism refused
differences which restricted productivity; today it works by the production
of difference itself. But it is the form, not the content, of this ubiquitous
difference that is produced: ‘difference has been commodified’.
Noting that capitalism produces difference ‘at the level of expression’,
Grossberg comments that this ‘obviously makes the current faith
in difference as the site of agency and resistance problematic’.
In recognising that difference is produced—and indeed, is produced
within the institutions and conventions of international art—we
acknowledge that this may signify both a creative activity and a curtailing
of creativity.
Notwithstanding the ambivalence of the concept, difference lies at the
heart of notions of creativity, imagination and innovation as they emerge
in writing on cultural displacement and cultural contact. Much of the
recent writing on diaspora, exile and travel, on cross-cultural contact,
colonisation and exchange, and on translation and misreading is suggestive
of a renewed confidence in a human capacity for creative as well as critical
agency.
Tradition
If creativity is implicitly theorised in terms of the dynamism of modernity
or the frisson of difference, how is creativity in traditional cultures
to be understood? In their influential essay on the ‘invention of
tradition’, Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger posit ‘invariance’
as the defining characteristic of tradition. They contrast tradition with
custom which, they say, ‘does not preclude innovation and chance
up to a point, though the requirement that it must appear compatible or
even identical with precedent imposes substantial limitations on it’.
Though custom gives any desired change (or resistance to innovation) the
sanction of precedent, social continuity and natural law as expressed
in history, it ‘cannot afford to be invariant because even in ‘traditional’
society, life is not so’.
In The Invention of Tradition Hobsbawm and Ranger present a series of
case studies of ‘invented traditions’ of nineteenth and twentieth
century Britain. They define invented traditions as including those which
are actually invented, constructed and formally instituted and ‘those
emerging in a less easily traceable manner within a brief and dateable
period and establishing themselves with great rapidity’. These invented
traditions attempt to structure social life as unchanging and invariant
by establishing apparent continuity with a suitable past, frequently by
the use of repetition. The context of these studies is modernity: invented
traditions arise because ‘new or dramatically transformed social
groups, environments and social contexts called for new devices to ensure
or express social cohesion and identity and to structure social relations’
or because traditional forms of ruling ‘grew more difficult or impracticable,
requiring new methods of ruling or establishing bonds of loyalty’.
But is ‘invariance’ the defining characteristic of tradition?
In fact, Hobsbawm and Ranger are inconsistent on this. Their use of the
term implies a useful anthropological definition of tradition as ‘a
set of practices, normally governed by overtly or tacitly accepted rules
and of a ritual or symbolic nature, which symbolise social cohesion, legitimate
social institutions and inculcate certain values and norms of behaviour
through reference to the authority of the past’. They acknowledge
that ‘even traditional topoi of genuine antiquity may have breaks
in continuity’ and that ‘the strength and adaptability of
genuine traditions is not to be confused with the invention of traditions.
Where old ways are alive, traditions need neither to be revived nor invented’.
The distinction between tradition and custom, then, seems not so clear-cut.
As with custom, we could conclude that tradition is not invariant because
life is not so.
Peter Osborne in The Politics of Time: Modernity and Avant-Garde describes
as ‘a form of temporalisation…distinguished by its apparent
priorization of the past over both present and future’. Consequently,
‘the present presents itself as the site for the transmission of
the past into the future’ and ‘the future is envisaged in
the image of the past’. Osborne writes of tradition as a ‘quasi-natural
form’ which is dependent on the physical proximity of the members
of a community, and kinship as a model of social power.
Tradition shadows the biological continuity of generations at the level
of social form. Anchoring ethics and politics to nature, it connects the
idea of history to the life of the species. (p. 127)
For this reason, he concludes, that primary medium of tradition is not
self-consciousness, but ‘the pregiven, unreflected and binding existence
of social forms’. Thus, the idea of tradition, as a self-recognising
practice, does not arise within those ‘original’ communities
in which its presence is deeply naturalised. Rather, tradition, as an
idea, is produced within modernity, and as its inescapable dialectical
other:
…as a periodising concept, modernity marks out the time of the
dialectics of modernity and tradition as competing, yet intertwined forms
of historical consciousness, rather than that of a single temporal form,
however abstract.(p. 114)
What is perceived as ‘tradition’ from the vantage of point
of modernity is experienced as part of the natural order in those original
communities which are positioned implicitly as ‘outside history’.
Anthropologists Smadar Lavie, Kirin Narayan and Renato Rosaldo incorporate
invention into the transmission of tradition, arguing that the ‘healthy
perpetuation of cultural traditions requires invention as well as rote
repetition’. Creativity is ‘always emergent’ for two
reasons: firstly, because younger generations always select from, elaborate
upon, and transform the traditions they inherit, and secondly, because
decisions to alter nothing received from the past will usually be thwarted
because changing circumstances transform the meaning and consequences
of dutifully repeated traditional actions. Thus, creativity ‘often
dissolves, or perhaps more precisely redraws the boundaries of social
institutions and cultural patterns’.
Taken together, then, creativity and critique may operate within tradition.
In theorising innovation and tradition, temporality emerges as a central
issue.
Temporalities
A further complication here is that there is no singular structure of
temporality. We are accustomed to thinking of postmodernity (and now ‘globalisation’)
in terms of multiple structures of temporality. Contemporary global experience
is characterised by disjunctures in the structures and organisation of
time. The Euro-American perception of historical time as unilinear and
progressive is an artefact of Western modernity, and the apparent universality
of this temporality has been challenged by the critique of progress, by
global interpenetration of diverse cultural constructs of time, and by
the impact of new technologies of communication and information cyber-space.
As Andreas Huyssen comments in Twilight Memories,
…we have accumulated so many non-synchronicities in our present
that a very hybrid structure of temporality seems to be emerging, one
that has clearly moved beyond the parameters of two and more centuries
of European-American modernity.
Within these temporal multiplicities, space is opened up for creative
practice. Homi Bhabha and Andreas Huyssen have both drawn attention to
this dynamic. For Huyssen, it is in the representational act that re-constitutes
the remembered past in the present that is the basis of creativity. 'The
fissure that opens up between experiencing an event and remembering it,’
he writes, ‘is a powerful stimulant for cultural and artistic creativity.’
Homi Bhabha’s essay ‘How newness enters the world’
explores directly the questions of creativity and tradition. His ideas
on the ‘in-between’ spaces have acquired a currency in contemporary
writing but the emphasis he places on creativity is worth re-iterating
here. Bhabha writes of the impetus for creativity that is formed in 'a
new international space of discontinuous historical realities' and ‘the
interstitial passages and processes of cultural difference’. For
Bhabha, cultural difference is the prime mover in the production of creativity,
but difference is theorised in relation to temporal orders. His theorisation
of difference invokes the notion of tradition. Tradition, consigned to
the past within modern thought, is retrieved for the present: the past
is 'restaged', and 'incommensurable cultural temporalities [are introduced]
into the invention of tradition'. Thus, he writes that the ‘borderline
engagements of cultural difference… may confound our definitions
of tradition and modernity’.
Thus the apparent dichotomy of tradition and innovation, so significant
in defining modernity, but of little use in defining tradition, is undermined.
Craft temporalities and mortal lives
It is useful to think of craft in terms of multiple temporalities. This
idea informs the theoretical discussion of the relationship between craft
practice and ‘living’ tradition, on the one hand, and between
the making of objects and their subsequent careers as objects of symbolic
and practical use, on the other. Craft’s temporalities are the time-spans
involved in making and using objects embedded in ceremonial, symbolic
and everyday practices. Thinking about craft in terms of temporality enables
certain suggestive, recurring threads to be drawn between the objects
and human (which is to say, mortal and social) lives.
Let us begin with Norman Bryson’s observation that the forms of
the tableware figured in still life painting belong to a long cultural
span that goes back to pre-antiquity: ‘The bowls, jugs, pitchers
and vases with which the modern viewer is familiar are all direct lineal
descendants of series which were already old in Pompeii.’ By contrast,
Bryson writes, the culture of the table ‘displays a rapid, volatile
receptivity to its surrounding culture in the mode of inflecting its fundamental
forms’. Thus, Bryson distinguishes two rates of change:
rapid—there is constant inflection of the objects under the influences
of the fast-moving changes that occur in the spheres of ideology, economics,
and technology; and slow—there is little actual innovation as a
result of this influence.
Bryson conceives of the culture of the table as ‘an authentically
self-determining level of material life’, arguing that this ‘slowest,
most entropic level of material existence’ is inescapable because
it is formed by ‘the conditions of creaturality’. In relation
to textiles, a similar argument might be made for clothing and ‘coverings’
(rugs, wall hangings, curtains, bedding, etc.). For Bryson, human creaturality
necessitates eating and drinking, and the objects used for these inescapable
activities are shaped around needs, functions and capabilities of the
human body. From shards of objects whose forms are familiar and accessible,
archaeologists infer cultures and histories of past worlds.
Like enduring forms of vessels and clothing shaped to the human body,
the acquisition of skill takes time. It was precisely this investment
of time in acquiring skill—and the economic power that skilled workers
could exercise by virtue of that investment—that the nineteenth
and twentieth century industrialists sought to undercut through re-organisation
of production and the use of technologies. The long duration associated
with acquiring craft skills could not easily be assimilated into the rhetoric
of modern art, with its insistence on newness, spontaneity and ever-faster
turn-around of ideas and their visual articulation. Unlike eating and
drinking, the acquisition of skills is not an ‘inescapable condition
of creaturality’: humans have a capacity for skill which may never
be realised. And increasingly, it appears that skills in making things
take too much time to acquire through practice.
There are other durations and rhythms associated with the making and
the using of objects. These, too, are evocative of human activities and
bodies, sociability, and ultimately, mortality. The rhythms of making,
which Walter Benjamin sees the formative context for story-telling, are
the heart–beats of human sociability. Is it romantic to suggest
that the temporalities of craft are somehow bound up with those of the
human body and social life? Possibly. But the suggestion itself quietly,
insistently intrudes itself into shared perceptions of craft through literature,
and theoretical and speculative writing. ‘Craftsmanship is a sign
that expresses society… as shared physical life,’ writes Octavio
Paz; ‘it transforms a utensil into a sign of participation.’
Paz compares the duration of the craft object to the ‘air-conditioned
eternity’ of the art object and the ‘trash-bin’ transience
of the industrial object. Whilst the artwork is not usually (literally)
worn out by our observation of it, we invest meaning in everyday objects
through the deepening familiarity of use: they wear out as we get to know
them. In Biographical Objects, Janet Hoskins draws on a similar distinction
made Violette Morin between public commodities and ‘biographical
objects’. She comments that ‘the biographical object grows
old, and may become worn and tattered along with the life span of its
owner, while the public commodity is eternally youthful and not used up
but replaced’:
…the biographical object limits the concrete space of its owner
and sinks its roots deeply into the soil. It anchors the owner to a particular
time and place…it ‘imposes itself as the witness of the functional
unity of its user, his or her everyday experience made in to a thing’.
As Paz observes, ‘the work of craftsmanship is the pulse of human
time’:
Craftwork teaches us to die, and by doing so teaches us to live.
From a very different starting point, Andreas Huyssen picks up a related
theme to argue that we are living through a transformation of the structure
of temporality in which the relationship of past, present and future is
being transformed. Huyssen’s argument in relation to the current
obsession with memory could be extended to the conceptualisation of craft.
He suggests that ‘the memory boom’ is
…a reaction formation of mortal bodies that want to hold on to
their temporality against a media world spinning a cocoon of timeless
claustrophobia and nightmarish phantasms and simulations.
If there is a thread connecting craft to human time-spans, rhythms and
mortality, then the making and using of material objects is also an expression
of ‘the basic human need to live in extended structures of temporality,
however they may be organised’. Further, the conceptualisation of
craft in terms of temporalities has reinforced the social embeddedness
of craft. The table for Bryson, the story-telling for Benjamin, the fiesta
for Paz: not only are the objects and their making inherently social,
but they appear to constitute the social world.
This is why the connection between craft and tradition has been so tenacious.
Like tradition, craft is deeply naturalised as an articulation of human
mortality and sociability. Osborne’s comment that tradition ‘connects
the idea of history to the life of the species’ could apply to equally
well to the concept of craft.
Creating meaning
Many artists, including installation artists and textile artists, invoke
craft precisely to reflect critically on the questions of social formation
and temporal experience in the emerging context of a global political
economy formed in conjunction with the new information technologies. Craft
is employed as a sign of alternative possibilities for social identity
and community, usually grounded in a sense of historical depth, but without
acceding to the authority of history to shape the present. In this sense,
craft functions as a sign of an alternative, community-based creativity,
resistant to the modernist notion of the heroic genius.
In her anthropological study of ‘biographical objects’, Janet
Hoskins suggests that possessions to which value and significance is attached
can act as ‘surrogate selves’, endowed with the personal characteristics
of their owners and used to ‘reify characteristics of personhood
that must then be narratively organised into an identity’. Thus,
an object can become ‘a way of knowing oneself through things’.
The imagination works on objects to turn commodities, gifts, or ordinary
utilitarian tools into sometimes very significant possessions, which draw
their power from biographical experiences and the stories told about these.
Hoskins summarises differences between Kodi exchange objects and modern
consumer objects in terms of their investment in form and in work, value
placed on age rather than novelty and their exchange histories. She notes,
too, that in modern industrial societies, objects imbued with particular
personal significance tend to be more directly representational. The way
in which Hoskins handles the relationship between self and object resonates
strongly with the perception of many craft-makers that objects may validly
act as vehicles by which identity and memory may be organised and expressed.
Thus, objects are imbued with meaning through use and, in turn, they
enable personal and cultural experiences to be constituted as meaningful.
This does suggest a conceptualisation of creativity different to that
of the critical tradition of art, with its strong emphasis on representation
and reflection. Lavie, Narayan and Rosaldo define creativity as ‘human
activities that transform existing cultural practices in a manner that
a community or certain of its members find of value’. Thus, ‘activities
that induce creativity at times are…set apart in special spheres’,
but they are also at times ‘integrated into the mundane arenas of
everyday life’. Significantly creativity inheres in both individuals
and social situations. Always emergent, erupting at unpredictable times
and on unexpected occasions, this definition does not require that we
dismantle the ‘special sphere’—art—in order that
other creativities, in other arenas of social life, might be conceivable.
The contemporary conjunction of creativity and critical practice are retained
while the possibility, and limitations of transformative practice, are
asserted.
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