Maybe it’s the time of year, with its abundance of reviews, news quizzes, personal highlight reels, learnings, and impending resolutions but I’m feeling reflective. Not so much in appraisal of the actualities of ‘my year in review’, with its unexpected wins, inevitable failings, and silver linings, but more in thoughtful musing on the means of achieving those accomplishments. Whether they be deemed successes or failures is less important, so too is the final product. Although the outcome is of value and significance, after all it is why we do the thing in the first place, I think it’s a catalyst rather than the sole purpose. It tends to be the end goals that get the glory. Celebrating the result has its place of course, but sometimes (for me anyway) the process taken to get there can get lost in the pursuit of the destination. For it is the route to the end, rather than the conclusion itself that preoccupies most of our time, energy, and resources. Sometimes when time is tight, deadlines shortened and launch dates brought forward, it can feel as though the process is merely a necessary evil to the outcome. I’m trying hard to turn this on its head, to deliberately lean into the method, the slowness of doing something in the best way it can be done, of not rushing only to the finish line and risking compromise as a consequence. A published design, a printed book, a finished garment are all worthy and enticing things, but they are rarely the things that I am most proud of, on reflection.
It tends to be those things that we don’t shout about, the small decisions taken, the support network established, the challenges overcome, the ripping back and starting again that no one else knows about, but that enable and enhance the final product, that are the most rewarding bits for me. Choosing to finish a seam by hand, to source a traceable yarn, to put a project on hold to wait for just the right team of people to be available, preferring to make something in the first place when the shop bought version really is just as good! Not stopping at utility, when function would absolutely suffice, but embellishing, opting to make things the more difficult way, seeking out a new skill for the purpose of doing something just a little bit better.
For me a design rarely feels like the end of the process. Perhaps its why I find myself returning to the same designs again and again throughout the years in different guises and iterations. I find it hard to file things away, to relinquish them to the archive, when there are improvements that could be made. I guess its similar to a painter revisiting the same viewpoint, or a sculptor reproducing the same form over and over. It isn’t in pursuit of perfection, which in fact only usually leads to crippling frustration, but a satisfaction in the process itself, and in doing it well.
Why then are we somewhat reluctant to talk about these processes? Or to sing their praises? Before starting this regular (ish) newsletter I realised that there was so much of what I do, in my work as a creative, that just never gets mentioned. I am usually so focused on delivering the product, that all the detail, the heartache, the joy and the work to get there is forgotten about. A finished product is usually edited, polished and simplified (as it should be). But the sketchy, annotated, half-done versions, the studio samples, and the abandoned projects can reveal so much more. It’s probably why most of us are so fascinated by visiting other peoples studios or workshops or seeing behind the scenes. That peeking behind the curtain doesn’t ruin the illusion. To my mind, it only deepens our understanding and appreciation for the real time and complex effort that goes into creating just about everything. Perhaps it’s a quest for authenticity. When most of our content is flat and glossy, feeling fibre, touching a well-worn workbench or holding a lump of clay is synaesthetic, a sensory portal into the maker’s process.
Crafting something by hand can only really be about the process, can’t it? Yes the finished product might be useful, beautiful, and hopefully both, but going over the edges and around the houses to make, to knit, to sew, to embroider is, I would argue, never really driven by any need, accolade, or external approval. I often pick up napkins, linens and antimacassars in charity stores and junk shops, in awe of the skill, passion and dedication that it has taken to choose to embellish something so mundane and in spite of more pressing domestic chores, potentially difficult circumstances and poor light! I am reminded of a book entitled, ‘Anonymous She Was a Woman’ and I suppose my musings on the idea that “most women do it for the love of their craft”. For it can only be for the personal sense of satisfaction and achievement in the process that one would go that extra, difficult mile. Yes it might make you feel warm and fuzzy when someone asks “did you make that?” and is impressed that you have, but the gratification of wearing, or using something for which you know the process was not easy is far superior, and on reflection worth mentioning.