Category Archives: Uncategorized

A tale of two crafts in one city

 
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Tonight was the opening of the Gallery Funaki International Jewellery Award 2008 Transformation. The award is testament to the international scene that Mari Funaki has been able to carve out of a lane in Melbourne. This award was given to the godfather of contemporary jewellery, Otto Künzli,  in a piece of reductive beauty in stainless steel, titled Spindle (seen on Mari to the left). 16 other finalists included five Germans, three Swiss and three Australians.
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And last week in the post-Industrial suburb of Brunswick, Northcote Pottery launched their new Pan Gallery to promote emerging ceramicists. Coordinator of ceramics at RMIT Chris Sanders spoke optimistically of the future ahead for clay.

From the sleek Euro-aesthetic of Funaki Gallery, to proletarian directness of Northcote Pottery, craft covers quite opposite worlds in Melbourne. Making is a secret language that unites them both, in theory.

Island designs from Mozambique

More from Amanda Youngleson’s design intervention on Ilha de Mozambique (Mozambique island). 
Ilha Fashion Shoot 027 (Small)

Ilha Fashion Shoot 027 (Small)

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Ilha Fashion Shoot 049 (Small)

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Ilha Fashion Shoot 066 (Small)

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Ilha Fashion Shoot 077 (Small)

 
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fashion ilha studio 014 (Small)

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Ilha Fashion Shoot 115 (Small)

 
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Ilha Fashion Shoot 108 (Small)

The pictures also show how this world heritage site is being left to decay, although there are some beautifully renovated buildings.  It was the original Portuguese capital of Mozambique, and before that an Arab trading station.

Tim Winton: a tradesman of the ordinary

Carmen Lawrence reviews Tim Winton’s new novel Breath for the Australian Literary Review. There are two points that seem worth noting. First, she describes Winton as a ‘tradesman’:

Winton has often said that he regards himself as a tradesman rather than an artist; in Breath he confirms his status as a consummate wordsmith who can take our breath away with the pungency of his portraits of the landscape.

The craft analogy in writing seems to bolster our confidence in reading Winton. We can feel sure that the illusions he creates on the page are well made and will not show cracks that threaten our suspension of disbelief.

The second point is about his celebration of the ‘ordinary’:

Winton has often said that he thinks the ordinary things in life are worthy of celebration and that he tries in his writing to have the commonplace "looked at anew". Whether it is the Lambs and the Pickles in Cloudstreet or the old recluse in An Open Swimmer, he writes sympathetically about "people who aren’t articulate, aren’t mobile and are often alienated and powerless". He strives to render the ordinary as transcendent; he once said that "ordinary life overflows with divine grace".

Its interesting to consider this perspective alongside the ‘poor craft’ that seems distinctive to Australia. Maybe it is a way of positioning artistic creativity in a deeply egalitarian culture.

Winton does not write about grand tours through Europe. He writes about surfing, sport and lonely adolescence. His focus on the immediate common world makes him a writer we can call our own, as Chileans identify with the poetry of Pablo Neruda.

‘When the rats ate the flour resist’ – working with craft in Mozambique

From the Western Cape Craft Newsletter comes this fascinating tale by Amanda Youngleson about working as a design consultant in Mozambique. It’s a sober account of the challenges involved, but testament to great dedication.

DESIGNING FOR DEVELOPMENT: THE CHALLENGE

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When product designing to assist development in the underdeveloped world, one works in a realm of limitations, of what is impossible, of what will not happen. It is a world of Making Do. To succeed, expect the unexpected and adapt accordingly. Amanda Youngleson was recently commissioned to train and product-develop at Mbeu, a project on Ilha de Mozambique. She shares her perspectives.

The design consultant’s brief is to bring about change for the better. Although not specified in the brief, it is to make changes, under trying conditions, for people with little education, often limited skills, whose vision is limited by what has been impossible in their daily lives. If the design consultancy has been successful the participants are left, not only with a new product range that they can make, but also with hope. They are inspired and empowered. They have seen for themselves that things CAN change for the better, and where the results of the consultancy are sustainable, they will have seen how they can change their lives.

Many interventions are inappropriate or unsustainable as they failed to understand the context of underdevelopment of the people whom they intended to help. However, understanding the context is not straightforward.

Designers have probably been trained in, and live in the First World; development happens in the context of the Third World. One expects most components of one’s known world to be present there, and one expects the people you will be working with, to think, to some extent, as you do. What a mistake!

Working outside South Africa (where First and Third Worlds, developed and underdeveloped, rub shoulders) I found the Island of Mozambique to be particularly isolated – worlds and chasms apart from the marketplace they would be targeting.

Before leaving on a design consultancy one tries to gather as much information as possible about the context that one will be working in. However, as the people on the other end find nothing unfamiliar or strange about their context, they assume that you need a lot less information than you do. They are not clear about the skills levels of the crafters you will train, the existing products, the availability of materials or equipment, or their expectations. They do not inform you about the context of their world. You are thrown in the deep end.

Adapt or Die, could be the title for Designing for Development – involving thinking on your feet and learning about their world, minute by minute, on your arrival. If you can’t adapt, you are going to be very frustrated and fail! Time is limited and besides designing, the groups need to be trained. Your design concepts and ideas may not be achievable and you may need to re-conceptualise on-the-hop.

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Nothing could prepare me for the poor skills levels of the people from the project Mbeu, 25 km outside Maputo. They were independent farmers, had had no schooling and had not developed fine motor skills. I had designed a range for them prior to my departure, but their skills levels were too poor to manage it. Fabric-painting, as they did it, involved drawing on a flour-resist paste and then painting the cloth when dry. But they were unable to draw a diagonal line without it winding along chaotically. I had to redesign the range so that it only involved drawing horizontal or vertical lines. They were unable to make measurements so we folded the cloth to make lines. Rats ate the flour-resist and sand blew through the windows. They would start painting the fabric happily with the flour-resist design half eaten away, and sand covering the table. Their scissors were so blunt that a woman with the strongest hands was reserved for the job of cutting. The concept of tablemats meant nothing to them, as they had no use for them in their own lives, and could not imagine the market they were making them for. A previous agency had started the tablemat project but it highlights an inappropriate intervention where the agency did not understand their context.

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A lack of materials can restrict the type of products one can create. In Mozambique there is no pattern making cardboard and nothing I found could be used as a substitute. I had to bring some along on my second visit (and pay overweight) and the shortage of cardboard limited my being able to create new patterns, or alter others. Another problem with materials is that there is no guarantee of continuity of supply for most fabrics; when sampling one cannot count on the fabric being available for future production. Weights or composition of fabric are seldom given, so it is difficult to identify fabrics or choose fabrics that are pure cotton. In designing the fashion range for Ilha de Mozambique I used the local traditional cloth as it was readily available and would appeal to locals and tourists.

And then there is the problem of calculating production costs. Trying to determine an hourly rate for labour, in order to cost the products, was quite impossible. On Ilha de Mozambique (the island of Mozambique), the producers would agree on a time that it would take to make a product but would be adamant that one could not extrapolate from that the number of units one could make in the day, as they had no concept of working a seven-hour day. A work-day for them meant doing some work, in between looking after the children and doing chores. A pair of pants might take an hour to make but that did not mean seven pairs could be made in a day. They believed that they could only manage to make three a day, all considering. No one had ever paid them to work so they could not give a value to an hour’s labour.

Furthermore, the co-operative in Mozambique treated everybody equally and all profits were divided amongst the group regardless of their skill and contribution. No person would have been given less, and so all the labour input had to be costed the same.

Working in Mozambique would not have been possible without a translator, but as there are no trained translators, someone who seems to speak reasonable English is employed. One quickly realises that there is an art to translating. The translator should be the mouthpiece of the designer, and resist adding his/her opinions or embellishing the translation. My translator increasingly saw himself as an extension of the designer and on occasion took liberties in translating, giving extra instruction and even admonishing the producers. My Portuguese was fortunately growing daily and I was able to check him when I sensed he was not just translating. He had a lovely sense of humour and an irrepressible energy and being confined to translating without communicating his ideas was, for him, well nigh impossible.

Working without electricity was frustrating. The iron was heated by putting burning charcoal in the inner chamber but tended to be hot when we didn’t need it, and cold when we did. The pedal sewing machines gave problems in keeping the tension constant. Rusty pins made holes in the fabric, and rusty scissors carved a jagged and frayed line. I had to bring scissors and stainless steel pins from Cape Town, which were treated like treasures. The pedal sewing machines had no zigzag stitch to finish the seams so I had to introduce French seams.

A lack of skills meant that I could not use zips or buttons on the clothing. I had to use ties. They had no pattern-making skills, or ability to grade patterns into sizes so most patterns had to be `fit one, fit all’. They had no idea of quality and would sew when the tension was obviously slack or loopy. When I encouraged them redo it, they thought I was making a mountain out of a molehill. They found the concept of laying up patterns on the straight grain hard to grasp, and recognising what pattern pieces were, was difficult for them.

Despite all the frustrations of a lack of materials, poor skills, poor equipment, no electricity, and sometimes work venues with no walls, the work in Mozambique was amazingly enjoyable. The people on Ilha de Mozambique with their warmth and community-spirit are totally lovable. Their excitement at being in the workshop and creating the range was infectious. Their horizons had opened and they were optimistic for the future. They had seen what was possible.

Amanda Youngleson

Making a meal of ceramics

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Vipoo Srivilasa is one of the most successful ceramicists in Australia. His amazingly productive exhibition work never ceases to surprise. In Sydney he is now trying something different. At Gallery 4A he is introducing to his work the wonderful world of Thai cuisine. The project Roop – Rote – Ruang (Taste – Touch – Tell). Here’s an explanation:

The gallery exhibition will focus on environmental issues such as coral reef damage. This will include a series of blue and white, intricately decorated ceramic hands. Visitors will also participate in the creation process by building their own pieces of coral from clay provided in the gallery. Those coral pieces will gradually come together to form a coral reef, growing larger as more people participate in the project.

At the dinner parties, Srivilasa will present a new ceramic dinner set over a four-course meal. The work will unfold as
the meal is consumed. Images will gradually be exposed on bowls or plates and the full narrative will reveal itself as the
dinner comes to its conclusion.

This is an interesting move for Srivilasa into the area of relational aesthetics. The Argentinean-born Thai artist Rikrit Tiravanija forged a practice of making meals for visitors to the gallery, as an early example of relational art.

I had always thought that relational art was essential antithetical to skill-based art forms like ceramics, which can appear elitist in their difficulty. But let’s see what happens with Vipoo in Sydney.

Campana Brothers on the power of nature

From a recent exhibition at the Cooper Hewitt museum, the Brazilian designers reflect on their romantic ideals. In particular, they celebrate the artisanship, individual expression, the presence of nature in urban life, recycling and dreams. The time seems ripe for the Campana Brothers. Its in this broader context that we might view the turn to the European forest in Australian craft. What will we find when we emerge from the forest?

Rich jewellery, a little closer to the source

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37-pendant

The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has just acquired a work by the Italian goldsmith Andrea Cagnetti. Like Australia’s Robert Baines, the 40 year-old Cagnetti has specialised in the ancient technique of granulation as practiced by Etruscan artisans. Unlike the speculative Baines, Cagnetti employs his craft reverentially. The work above is thus described:

The 22-karat gold pendant, named "Chort", takes the form of an eight-arm cross with a central medallion featuring an image of the Lamb of God (Agnus Dei). Using a technique developed by the ancient Etruscans (7th-6th  century B.C.), the image is made of tiny gold balls (granulation) set against a starry background which is also made of small balls. Twisted wires radiate from the medallion while the eight arms of the cross are made of gold sheet with a surface decorated with wires and granulation. Two borings in the arms next to the central vertical element have sheet metal bails and are points of attachment for a chain or ribbon. On the right bail, there are the marks 900 [22kt] within a cartouche and 72 VT [artist’s registry number] within a cartouche.

Cagnetti is currently working on a book that considers the social context that lent itself to the development of sophisticated metal techniques in ancient cultures. It makes us wonder what kind of context then leads someone like Robert Baines to exercise these skills in the production of such authentic fictions.

The past re-stitched

Towards the end of the Spanish Civil War, the Chilean poet and communist Pablo Neruda organised a boat to enable endangered by the political to the right in Spain to find exile in Chile. Among the refugees in the Winnipeg was Madrid artist Roser Bru. She became actively involved in the Allende period and was commissioned to produce a large textile work for the UNCTAD building, constructed in 1971 for the Third United Nations Conference on Trade and Development.

The work was lost after the coup which saw Pinochet come to power. However, it has been recently discovered by an art collector Eduardo Artino, who has paid for its restoration. In the photo above you see the artist (in her 90s), with restorers Paola Moreno and Anna-Maria Rojas.

It was an historic moment as the artist could look on her work after 36 years, and see it being carefully restored to its original condition. Here’s a very concrete form of reconciliation, using the strong craft skills surviving in Chile to repair the link with a past that was so violently torn apart.

What to do with guanacos?

The adventure for craft in the University of Valparaiso continues in 2008. Last year, I witnessed the design students attempt to develop product out of a remote stony Chilean village at the end of the road called Pedernal. This year, their enterprising teacher Patty Gunther takes them to La Ligua, a centre for handmade textiles.

The students are working on a project managed by Claudia Cajtak called Wanaku. The project emerges indirectly from one of the main industries in the area, turkey farming. The company Sopraval has sponsored the project to make something of the small stock of Guanacos, which produce a fur excellent for spinning and weaving.

La Ligua is famous for a number of unique features. As a textile centre, it specialises in handmade jumpers, which you can see hanging from the front of houses. All the weavers are male. The women specialise in sweets, and a characteristic feature of the town is the palomita (little dove), a woman dressed in a white apron waving a white flag advertising the tooth-shattering confections.

The visit to La Ligua was carefully choreographed. We started by meeting the source of project at the Guanaca farm. Along with us was a local spinner Ondina de Carmen. Despite working with the fibre all her life, she had never actually seen a guanaca in reality. She brought her three

daughters along and the family seemed thrilled with the

experience. Ondina then demonstrated how to spin the fibre, using a very crude spindle weighted with a steel nut and rotating on a broken ceramic plate. The students seemed completely fascinated by this exercise in craft magic, though only one young girl was brave enough to try it out herself.

We then visited the home of one of the weavers. The man’s looms were located in his backyard under a crude shelter with lumpy mud floors. They looked crudely constructed, but appeared to work very well. Elsewhere in the garden, the fig tree was in full fruit attracting swarms of bees. The scene was echoed by us city-dwellers, with our little silver boxes, swarming over the rich material scene, gathering up raw substance for our cameras. The scene offered an unmediated world that seemed totally innocent of design. So what might design make of this?

Talking with the manager, Claudia Cajtak, it is clear that Wanaku is not a simple exercise. Though the local participants seem very keen and excited to be part of it, it may not be so easy to convince the rest of the population, which is fraught with small town rivalries.

So what should the students offer as a way of developing the rich potential of this area? What kind of compromise will be necessary to help preserve and strengthen the local culture? Time will tell, but it moves slowly in La Ligua.

Their ‘artesanía’ is our ‘folk-art’

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The in-flight magazine for LanChile identifies the position of craft in Latin America. It uses the Spanish work ‘artesanías’, which is usually translated as ‘craft’. However, in in the bi-lingual magazine, it is translated instead as ‘folk-art’.

Why use this term? The writer María José Villanueva positions artsesanía as a counterbalance to globalisation. It responds to questions about who we are and where we are coming from:

Folk art, now updated with a node to contemporary design, continues to provide answers to these existential questions, but with a twist: ‘folk chic’ or folk-art is emerging as a commercial niche that stands in stark contrast to mass-produced homogeneity.

These are noble sentiments which position craft as an alternative to dominant trends in modernity. But why ‘folk-art’? What has happened in the process of ‘updating’?

‘Craft’ has more of an emphasis on skill. It most often represents a body of techniques that are preserved and reproduced by a group of skilled practitioners. As such, it can be elitist and exclusive.

‘Folk-art’ is more democratic. It responds to a humanist sentiment and celebrates expression and the handmade.

While ‘folk-art’ seems more appropriate to our times, it does come at a cost. The demands a much lower level of skill than traditional craft. Ironically, it is a much more urban phenomenon, as harried city-dwellers seek the imaginary sanctuary of the handmade object.

The same could be said for the ‘neo-folk’ scene in Melbourne. What’s curious here is that the term ‘artesanía’ contains both traditional and modern concepts. It is only in the English word of ‘folk’ that the urban concerns are expression. I hope to find out more about the way this term operates, particularly in Chilean universities where craft is still taught.