Category Archives: Uncategorized

Craft of management redux

A recent Background Briefing was devoted to the culture of MBAs. It claimed that the arrogance fostered in business schools like Harvard encouraged the reckless financial speculation which triggered the current global crisis.

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The program featured the views of Will Hopper, an economist and author of The Puritan Gift: Triumph, Collapse and Revival of an American Dream. He contrasted the lateral mobility of the MBA with the previous model of manager who worked his (or sometimes her) way through the ranks. For Hopper, it’s an issue of ‘craft’.

Yes, this is a characteristic of what we call ‘the great engine companies’. The young man — and there were not many women in business going back to the 1950s and ’60s — but the young man would join the corporation from college, aged 21, 22, and he would work his way up to the top. And as he went, he learned two things. He learned the craft of management. Now I think this word ‘craft’ is extremely important. Management is something that you learn on the job under a master, just like an old-fashioned craft of carpentry for example. So the individual learned the craft of management as he worked his way to the top… And as the young man progressed up through the ranks towards the top, he would tend to move around all the departments, so he spent a little time in sales, a little time in accounting, a little time in manufacturing, and when he reached the top he would have acquired ‘domain knowledge’. He would know about the product, the suppliers, the customers, the method of production, the relation to regulatory authorities, movements in the market. He would be a master of the subject.
(ABC Radio National Background Briefing – 29 March 2009 – MBA: Mostly bloody awful)

It seems one of the great challenges of our time is to find ways of re-introducing the value of craft into how we manage our world. What survives of traditional crafts (pottery, weaving, metalsmithing, etc) provides a compelling theatre for these qualities. But that shouldn’t be seen as a kind of monastic order separated from worldly affairs. How can these values find their way into the way we heal bodies, manage our cities, grow our food and tell our stories?

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April’s issue of The Monthly features an article by Gideon Haigh on Damien Wright. It’s a many-sided account of a contemporary furniture maker’s world. He helps convey the way Wright’s practice is more than just the construction of wooden tables, but also engages with critical issues in Austarlian culture – specifically how non-Indigenous Australians (‘gubbas’ down here) can work within an Indigenous context.

On a personal note, I’m quoted by the author as making a statement about design and the Platonic hierarchy. This reference to Plato may seem a little untoward as a quote taken out of its conversational setting with the author. So please let me fill in that context.

My point was that, broadly speaking, Western culture tends to see materials as secondary to the ideas that shape them. This theory of Platonic forms provides a metaphysical framework that underpins religious and class hierarchies. This reached an extreme expression in our era. The millennium drive to ‘smart solutions’ that transcend the messy business of making things fuelled a seeming air-borne culture that has just recently come crashing to the ground.

Design featured in that story as the way information-based capital could replace the loss of manufacturing, particularly in regions like Victoria. But the kind of design that flourished in this environment seemed largely about the consumption of imported brands. As many have argued since, design became a form of cultural capital that circulated between urban elites and those wishing to buy membership. This resulted in a few elegant and worthy objects, but also a sea of hype which submerged the less glamorous craft side of the equation.

Don’t get be wrong. I think design plays a critical role. Good craft needs design if it is to find a place for itself in the lived world. It’s just that the relationship is two-way. Design also needs to be in partnership with the skills and labour necessary to realise its ideas in the materials available. The logic of outsourcing that dominated the ‘smart’ years too often took the ‘making’ side for granted. Hopefully, no more.

I’m fond of the line by Mikhail Bakhtin that ‘Expression is the cradle of experience’. So we could also say that craft is the cradle of good design.

Aid to the USA

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A recent email from David O’Conner of Aid to Artisans reflects some important challenges for world craft. He celebrates the distance learning program that has been established in the US Embassy in Baghdad for the purpose of training 100 artisans in the free market economy.

Most interesting was his response to the concerns that some have that local problems now outweigh humanitarian causes. His response is:

Some may question why we should support people in other countries when our own friends and neighbors are struggling in these economic times. We say to them that the products artisans make end up in your local gift shops, local museums, and retail stores. Without the support of these artisans, retailers in the U.S. will suffer even more. Assistance to the artisans ATA works with is assistance to everyone in the interconnected commerce chain.Some may question why we should support people in other countries when our own friends and neighbors are struggling in these economic times. We say to them that the products artisans make end up in your local gift shops, local museums, and retail stores. Without the support of these artisans, retailers in the U.S. will suffer even more. Assistance to the artisans ATA works with is assistance to everyone in the interconnected commerce chain.

O’Conner seems to assume that the work of Aid to Artisans is best justified now purely in its benefits to the American economy. This may well be the best strategy now, but we can still hope that the humanist values that previously underpinned world craft do survive this economic crisis.

The Baci ceremony, with strings attached

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I was at the Selling Yarns market in the National Museum, chatting with Valerie Kirk, head of textiles at the Canberra School of Art. I noticed she had some string tied around her wrist. At first I thought it was some practical material related to a workshop she was assisting on the day. But when I inquired about it, she revealed a very different story.

Valerie had been given this string at a ceremony in Laos, where she had been visiting a silk farm. The ceremony is known as Baci, and consists of 32 pieces of string that are tied around the wrist. The purpose of the ceremony is to coax back the 32 spirits (kwan) that animate the body. These are wayward spirits who often need bribes of food, drink and chants to make their way back home.

The Baci ceremony is performed at times when a person is likely to be needing extra support, such as a woman who had recently given birth, or a young child going to a distant school. In Valerie’s case it was the mark of respect for a distinguished visitor.

In a way, it seems similar to the Brazilian braided friendship bracelet, which is usually fastened on the wrist as a mark of solidarity with someone else. In both cases, the bracelet is ideally worn until it falls naturally from the body. This finite time is appropriate to a relationship that cannot endure indefinitely without some further contact.

Jewellery like this tends to come to us from exotic places. It is often without cost, but we value it greatly for the tradition and warmth that it brings. It should make us wonder whether anything like this might emanate from a capitalist society like our own, when most public things tend to be commodified.

But perhaps things are changing. Maybe this is something we can look forward to.

From a hard to a soft place – national identity in metal and fibre

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It’s always enlivening when Damian Skinner comes to town. We gave at talk together at RMIT in the unusual setting of Hoyts Cinema 7 in Melbourne Central. It was disconcerting to see the students and jewellers lying back in their comfy seats as though waiting for a blockbuster.

Damian began with his reading of the ‘Provincial Problem’ – how antipodean jewellers reconcile their desire for recognition in Europe with their artistic drive for independent identity. Damian tries to turn this around by deconstructing the relationship of original and copy, claiming that the original needs the copy to assert its originality. It would be interesting to have a European response to Damian’s argument, or is the absence of north-south dialogue about this part of the very issue?

I chose to use Damian’s visit to consider what Australian jewellery is not. You would think if Australia followed the New Zealand path of Bone, Stone and Shell that it would have made much more of its national stone – the opal. Damian and I spent the rest of the day testing this out with the multitude of opal stores around town. We eventually found an underground jewellery scene (featuring Marcus Davidson and Dan Scurry) that had an entire project taking an Opal-Scope to Lightning Ridge. There’s always an underground if you dig deep enough!

I should reassure you that I didn’t just talk about the absence in Australian jewellery, but also spoke of jewellery with a social conscience as something marking our scene as distinct in the mid-1980s, and the issue of how national identity aligns with Melbourne’s Euro-centrism. But that’s to come in the book.

From a hard to a soft place, I spent the rest of the week in the Selling Yarns conference. This began with a burst of enthusiasm from Alison Page, who promoted the idea of a National Indigenous Design School. Her provocation provided the basis for many conversations to follow, as papers looked at community development and codes of practice. The participants included a strong mix of makers and shakers from all parts of Indigenous Australia. The mood on day one was extremely buoyant and affirming. On day two, that had turned towards potential threats, particularly from shady operators bringing in overseas fakes.

In a way, the conference seemed to offer two paths. One was to commercialise Indigenous craft and design so that it can compete directly with mainstream businesses. The other was to open up communities to cultural tourism – with much consultation.

Selling Yarns 2 managed to meet a great demand for discussion and support of Indigenous craft and design ventures. There was already talk of Selling Yarns 3. Why not? In a way, it seems to fill a space for fibre and textile arts which has lacked the regular conferences of ceramicists, glass artists and jewellers. Though a future challenge is to find a way of broadening the focus to include other media and opportunities for Indigenous men.

Reflecting back on the initial dialogue, it seems that in Australia the non-Indigenous response to Indigenous identity is largely bureaucratic, rather than creative. Perhaps we can think again about the staid image of bureaucracy and see it instead as an adventure in national identity.

Children can be the link between craft and design

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The Tradition for Modern Times was an intense workshop to complete the Selling Yarns conference. Participants brought a range of skills and experiences, particularly from Indigenous and artisan craft centres. In first considering the kinds of objects that have value in life, there was a great emphasis on some knowledge or connection to those who make them.

The scenario proved very lively. An Australian Indigenous Design Company was attempting to develop a ‘world craft’ product with traditional Aymara weavers based in the Andes. This was to be sold through a local gift shop to an Australian family. It all began well when a poncho design was developed that featured a hood which appeared very fashionable. But when this failed to sell in the shop, the artisans realised that they had forgotten to ensure payment. Trust broke down between artisans and designers and a stand-off ensued. In the end, it was the consumers who managed to regain trust by developing a ‘sister school’ relationship with the Andean village. This then paved the way for a cultural exchange between the designers and artisans. On the basis of this restored confidence, they were able to develop a more fitted product that was eventually successful.

The workshop revealed many dimensions to the business of cross-cultural product development. In particular, it showed that consumer participation can often be very productive in strengthening these cultural ties.

This exploration has many more possibilities to explore, but these exercises seem wonderful opportunities to share expertise and forge new methodologies. We are certainly entering a phase of ‘world craft’ when new possibilities are critical for its future.

From a hard to a soft place – national identity in metal and fibre

It’s always enlivening when Damian Skinner comes to town. We gave at talk together at RMIT in the unusual setting of Hoyts Cinema 7 in Melbourne Central. It was disconcerting to see the students and jewellers lying back in their comfy seats as though waiting for a blockbuster.

Damian began with his reading of the ‘Provincial Problem’ – how antipodean jewellers reconcile their desire for recognition in Europe with their artistic drive for independent identity. Damian tries to turn this around by deconstructing the relationship of original and copy, claiming that the original needs the copy to assert its originality. It would be interesting to have a European response to Damian’s argument, or is the absence of north-south dialogue about this part of the very issue?

I chose to use Damian’s visit to consider what Australian jewellery is not. You would think if Australia followed the New Zealand path of Bone, Stone and Shell that it would have made much more of its national stone – the opal. Damian and I spent the rest of the day testing this out with the multitude of opal stores around town. We eventually found an underground jewellery scene (featuring Marcus Davidson and Dan Scurry) that had an entire project taking an Opal-Scope to Lightning Ridge. There’s always an underground if you dig deep enough!

I should reassure you that I didn’t just talk about the absence in Australian jewellery, but also spoke of jewellery with a social conscience as something marking our scene as distinct in the mid-1980s, and the issue of how national identity aligns with Melbourne’s Euro-centrism. But that’s to come in the book.

From a hard to a soft place, I spent the rest of the week in the Selling Yarns conference. This began with a burst of enthusiasm from Alison Page, who promoted the idea of a National Indigenous Design School. Her provocation provided the basis for many conversations to follow, as papers looked at community development and codes of practice. The participants included a strong mix of makers and shakers from all parts of Indigenous Australia. The mood on day one was extremely buoyant and affirming. On day two, that had turned towards potential threats, particularly from shady operators bringing in overseas fakes.

In a way, the conference seemed to offer two paths. One was to commercialise Indigenous craft and design so that it can compete directly with mainstream businesses. The other was to open up communities to cultural tourism – with much consultation.

Selling Yarns 2 managed to meet a great demand for discussion and support of Indigenous craft and design ventures. There was already talk of Selling Yarns 3. Why not? In a way, it seems to fill a space for fibre and textile arts which has lacked the regular conferences of ceramicists, glass artists and jewellers. Though a future challenge is to find a way of broadening the focus to include other media and opportunities for Indigenous men.

Reflecting back on the initial dialogue, it seems that in Australia the non-Indigenous response to Indigenous identity is largely bureaucratic, rather than creative. Perhaps we can think again about the staid image of bureaucracy and see it instead as an adventure in national identity.

Kraf Tidak Berikat – Craft Unbound in Malaysia

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Kuala Lumpur’s Craft Complex promises to be a ‘one-stop craft centre’. It’s quite an extensive series of buildings, including museum, shops, design workshop, café and artist colony. The museum features an exhibition of quite sumptuous gold embroidery. The shop promotes elaborate filigree work as desirable corporate gifts. The textile outlet has a functioning loom, but it is only demonstrated for official functions. And the artist colony consists of mostly painters, though there is a ceramicist and batik workshop.

The overall impression from these buildings is of ‘rich craft’ – craft that celebrates nobility and distinction. The traditional dagger, or keri, features prominently as a traditional symbol of status.

The banners outside the building proclaim ‘kraft ke persada dunia’, which loosely translates as ‘taking craft to the world’. This seems to fit well with KL’s ambition to be a centre for world trade.

There are glimpses of quite striking textile designs, particularly from Sarawak. But the tourist is likely to need to travel to these places themselves in order to get a real taste of Malaysian craft. In the end, craft needs craftspersons.

Let the beads do the talking

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Hlengiwe Dube is not only one of South Africa’s most accomplished bead artists, she is also responsible for much of the vibrant craft that emerges from KwaZulu-Natal, thanks to her work with the African Craft Centre. Finally, she has been able to distil her considerable knowledge of beadwork with this new publication. Zulu Beadwork: Talk with Beads promises not only to contain images of great work, but also decode the complex language of beads themselves. Here’s a blurb from the publisher:

Most of the studies of African art available in this country have been written by outsiders. And, while these accounts can be informative, there is a level of understanding that only an insider can provide. For this reason, Africa Direct is proud to present Zulu Beadwork: Talk with Beads. Its author, Hlengiwe Dube, is a Zulu woman raised in a traditional family. She has been director of the African Art Centre in Durban, South Africa, for many years. Her relationship with Zulu beadwork is direct and personal, much of it drawn from her own experience or stories passed down by her mother and grandmother. In Zulu Beadwork: Talk with Beads, she makes her expertise available to readers everywhere. In an engaging, conversational style, she talks about the “unspoken words” of traditional beadwork designs. Each color of bead, and each combination of colors, creates a different message. From the white beads that assure a lover, “Whenever I see you my heart goes white as the milk of cattle when they are milked in the morning,” to the green beads that proclaim, “I am going to wait for my husband as he works in Johannesburg,” Hlengiwe Dube leads us through the fascinating complexities of beadwork messages. Illustrated throughout with beautiful color photographs and including chapters on historical and regional trends, Zulu Beadwork: Talk with Beads is a must-read for anyone interested in learning about African art from the people who create it.

Creative destruction in West Timor

West Timor textile

West Timor textile

Tais Marobos Raroti Ceremonial Tubular Skirt (2005)

Ruth Hadlow gave a very interesting talk about West Timorese textiles at the Victorian Tapestry Workshop last Wednesday night. The images of textiles that she presented were absolutely stunning, with extraordinary melodies of colour, intricate handiwork and animated designs.

Ruth talked about how integral textiles were to life in West Timor. She mentioned that it was practice in the Indonesian civil service every Thursday to wear clothes that were handmade locally.

One significant demand on textiles was funerals, where they are buried with deceased of importance. At first, it seems a tragic waste to bury thousands of textiles at the recent funeral of an aristocrat. But Ruth observed that this was actually quite a boon for weavers, who then had a lack to fill. That’s quite a different reading to the convention of conservation. To destroy is to sustain.

Despite the integral nature of textiles, Ruth said that there were real problems of sustainability. The average age of weavers was increasing as younger women were drawn more to the cities. The attraction of the city is understandable, with opportunities for better health and education. Ruth felt that the solution was to professionalise weaving so that is seen as a legitimate career. But this was difficult with the lack of sales for expensive items.

Here perhaps is a role for Australia. Even though West Timor does not share the East Timor story of liberation at Australian hands, maybe there’s room for partnership in the future.

When there’s no one left to make things

Perucci

Perucci

Perucci factory closing down

For many years, I’d been intrigued by the factory located on my route to Brunswick Station. The claim to be ‘Actual Makers of Craftsman Tailored Shirts in the European Tradition’ seemed almost medieval in a contemporary retail culture of brands.

So I was quite sad to discover that it was closing down. Why? Today I went it to find out the reason this venerable business was coming to an end. Inside I was met by the ebullient owner, Bill Perucci. Bill was more than happy to take me through the epic story of Perucci Shirts to its current demise.

It appears that he acquired the shirt business from his Jewish father-in-law, an Epstein who escaped from Radom in Poland just before the Second World War. Epstein had been running a fruit business and was looking for something different. A friend approached him to be partner in his shirt business, offering to teach him all that he needed to know. After the partner’s marriage breakup, the wife’s new husband became the business partner.  Neither he nor Epstein knew anything about shirts. It was left up to one of the workers to teach them the business.

Bill Perucci

Bill Perucci

Bill Perucci with the first shirt made in the factory and the photo of his parents in law

Eventually they relocated the business from Lygon Street Carlton to its present Brunswick premises. Epstein eventually passed the business down to his educated son-in-law. They invented a new brand, Perucci – a mixture of letters of Epstein and his original name Russeck. Bill then changed his name to his brand as that would be easy for business.

And the business flourished, with the assistance of skilled labour coming from Italy, Greece and Vietnam.

So why are they closing? Is this part of the economic downturn? Do people no longer care for ‘craftsman’ made shirts?

Far from it. According to Bill, demand has never been stronger. The problem is that all their skilled staff have all eventually retired, leaving them without anyone who can make shirts. ‘We’ve been sacked by our workers!’ Bill exclaims.

Now that unemployment is rising, and globalisation is fraying at the edges, the closure of Perucci sends an important message. Perhaps it’s not only outside pressures that are affecting economies like Australia’s. There may well be inside forces eating away at our capacity as well.