Few weeks back, I took delivery of what may be my favorite single tool – a forging hammer made for me by Seth Gould.
I have a true fascination with blacksmithing as an art form, and I’m going to try to explain why in a fairly short span here – but please bear with me because it relates to some notions I have of craft in general. This will be a compare and contrast.
First – here’s the hammer in question:
What I want to note initially is the prominence of the tool marks Gould has left on the piece. The filing he’s done to enhance the design was done rapidly, skillfully, and with zero attempt to hide the method or nature of the workmanship he put into the piece.
A lesser craftsman might have been inclined to further file with a finer tool, sandpaper, or buffer of some sort in an attempt to disguise his methods. But I think there is nothing finer than the witness of a master at work. This is craft in the highest sense of the word – a notion that encompasses a workmanlike approach to the work, a reverence for the work itself, and a high degree of innate skill.
As a contrast, here’s a hollow form I turned about a decade ago:
Now – don’t get me wrong, I like the way this piece turned out. But the truth is that I’m a fairly inept turner. What I did right here was to have a good enough eye to get a pleasing form – and that counts, for my money – but a good woodturner would look at the piece itself and see immediately just how mediocre I am. How would they know? It’s too ‘perfect’, it lacks some key witness marks, and – well, there are Im sure many other things; but to know what all the key points are, I’d have to BE a master woodturner.
In person it’s pretty obvious that someone spent a large amount of time with a huge range of sandpaper getting the surface perfectly smooth, regular, and – well, mechanical. A really good turner could have done this piece in 1/3 the time it took me, and would have instinctively known what required time to perfect, and when to leave some witness to their own operations. In my form, I’ve spent most of my time erasing my tracks, which were unskillful, and so needed to be eradicated for the piece to have any hope of ‘success’. The end result is a pleasing form, that shows off the wood to good effect – but it’s hardly a masterwork because there’s no master present in the work. It’s a fine piece, and might be ‘art’, but there’s precious little craft involved. And in the end, craft is probably the thing that interests me most. And I don’t think I’m alone.
Here’s another closeup of Gould’s work:
The ‘imperfect’ surfaces throughout the hammer are his tracks. He’s left a trail of his presence here, because it’s a trail worth following. Even someone with nowhere near his skill at the forge can appreciate the consistent inconsistency, and I think there’s something innately human about the beauty of the piece. It’s not a found object, or a natural one. It was obviously made by a person, and a skilled one at that – and as such, I think it invites scrutiny of the textures, patterns, surfaces – like a text, it invites closer scrutiny. And the better one can ‘read’ the genre, the more the piece will give back to them.
[pullquote]a museum filled with ideal forms and perfect objects isn’t a museum at all. It’s the Apple store.[/pullquote]And this, then, is the point for me. I think the highest art forms are those where we’re presented with a beauty that isn’t necessarily expected. We can see we’re in the presence of a skillful craftsman – be it a painter, writer, carver, furniture maker, or blacksmith – and we feel some subtle compulsion to keep looking, to understand more. We instinctively follow the trail the craftsman has left, wondering and speculating. It’s a trip that only a really skilled craftsman can lead. One can be an artist, a craftsman, or both – but I think it’s clear what the goal is for me, personally.
This is at the core of my personal theory of aesthetics: that the highest art/craft necessarily involves a certain type of imperfection, which is almost impossible to spell out but which has a power over us nonetheless. Because that imperfection is in essence the embodiment of someone who has something to ‘say’, and someone worth following for a while.
For me, perfection – sheer perfection -may be a worthwhile endeavor, but it’s not as high an art form. I like my machines, but I like people more. And again, I don’t think I’m alone.
My closing proof for this is simply that a museum filled with ideal forms and perfect objects isn’t a museum at all. It’s the Apple store.
Up next I swear I’ll go back to being goofy, but sometimes a little deep thought is good for the soul. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a huge pile of angry cat photos clogging my email.
amen, brother.
Your thoughts on this brings insight on something difficult to put into words. When I look at that hammer I see the marks of a craftsman, but also the imprint of a long line of artisans. Generation after generation toiling, experimenting, refining. Each one if they contribute anything, build on what was passed on to them. Thanks for sharing.
George Walker
Great post. Have you read David Pye’s “The Nature and Art of Craftsmanship”? Don’t bother, it’s not very well written, though the photos of his work are fantastic. Though obtuse, he draws a distinction between the goal of manufacturing (which is to eliminate risk in the production process) and craftsmanship (which embraces and tries to overcome risk). Either process can produce something beautiful…a Ducati motorcycle and your forging hammer would be two examples. But manufacturing heretofore has not been able to achieve what a craftsman can, which is the ability to turn out individual items which, though alike, each have their own unique personality or soul, if you will. For every Ducati, there are many others exactly alike. But no other hammer exists that is exactly the same as yours. That makes it inherently more human, even though it is no less an inanimate object than the Ducati. It’s also at least partly why Barbie isn’t (and never could be) as attractive as Scarlett Johansson. Unfortunately, I think many craftsman get lost trying to make their products look manufactured. Seth Gould clearly doesn’t have that problem.
Hey John — Yup, I’ve read Pye a couple of times over the years. I quite liked the thinking, though I agree he’s a little dry. What I’ve always found interesting is that it seems like everyone latched onto his idea of workmanship of certainty vs. risk, but to me that notion was ancillary at best.
What I took as central was what you’re pointing at here – that there is design (which is utterly critical) but there is exectution as well. And the execution of high workmanship has innately human qualities that, at their best, hugely impact the effectiveness of the design.
What we’ve done over the past century, though, is essentially turn craftsmanship over to machines. And I think we’re suffering, aesthetically, for it. Baseline shift has meant that every successive generation is less and less aware of just how plug-and-play and inhuman the surfaces surrounding them are, but I don’t think they’re any less intrigued when they find themselves in a more human-crafted environment.
I’ve never seen anyone NOT experience a sense of intrigue when looking at a hewn beam as opposed to a 2×4. There’s an innate sense that someone was here, that there’s a history and a ‘narrative’ , for want of a better term. And that counts for a lot.
This is exactly the sort of discussion I didn’t quite realize I was trying to have sitting in design school. I was constantly trying to be the craftsman, bringing my love of process and making to what they were teaching, about how to design things for a person or a problem.
I couldn’t quite get to this sort of statement, and I don’t think if I had it would have helped, but this would have helped me change directions had I found it close to a decade ago. It’s a very interesting topic. Another book high on my list to start is “Why We Make Things And Why It Matters” by Peter Korn.
Great post. Have you read David Pye’s “The Nature and Art of Craftsmanship”? Don’t bother, it’s not very well written, though the photos of his work are fantastic. Though obtuse, he draws a distinction between the goal of manufacturing (which is to eliminate risk in the production process) and craftsmanship (which embraces and tries to overcome risk). Either process can produce something beautiful…a Ducati motorcycle and your forging hammer would be two examples. But manufacturing heretofore has not been able to achieve what a craftsman can, which is the ability to turn out individual items which, though alike, each have their own unique personality or soul, if you will. For every Ducati, there are many others exactly alike. But no other hammer exists that is exactly the same as yours. That makes it inherently more human, even though it is no less an inanimate object than the Ducati. It’s also at least partly why Barbie isn’t (and never could be) as attractive as Scarlett Johansson. Unfortunately, I think many craftsman get lost trying to make their products look manufactured. Seth Gould clearly doesn’t have that problem.
Hey John — Yup, I’ve read Pye a couple of times over the years. I quite liked the thinking, though I agree he’s a little dry. What I’ve always found interesting is that it seems like everyone latched onto his idea of workmanship of certainty vs. risk, but to me that notion was ancillary at best.
What I took as central was what you’re pointing at here – that there is design (which is utterly critical) but there is exectution as well. And the execution of high workmanship has innately human qualities that, at their best, hugely impact the effectiveness of the design.
What we’ve done over the past century, though, is essentially turn craftsmanship over to machines. And I think we’re suffering, aesthetically, for it. Baseline shift has meant that every successive generation is less and less aware of just how plug-and-play and inhuman the surfaces surrounding them are, but I don’t think they’re any less intrigued when they find themselves in a more human-crafted environment.
I’ve never seen anyone NOT experience a sense of intrigue when looking at a hewn beam as opposed to a 2×4. There’s an innate sense that someone was here, that there’s a history and a ‘narrative’ , for want of a better term. And that counts for a lot.
This is exactly the sort of discussion I didn’t quite realize I was trying to have sitting in design school. I was constantly trying to be the craftsman, bringing my love of process and making to what they were teaching, about how to design things for a person or a problem.
I couldn’t quite get to this sort of statement, and I don’t think if I had it would have helped, but this would have helped me change directions had I found it close to a decade ago. It’s a very interesting topic. Another book high on my list to start is “Why We Make Things And Why It Matters” by Peter Korn.
Further thought: I think it is worth noting that the qualities you celebrate in the hammer could never be precisely dictated by a designer, but instead are entirely dependent on the maker.
Further thought: I think it is worth noting that the qualities you celebrate in the hammer could never be precisely dictated by a designer, but instead are entirely dependent on the maker.
I wouldn’t give up on future generations just yet. The rise of digital manufacturing may very well lead to new, more-sophisticated forms of machine-assisted craftsmanship that will express greater individual variance, customization, and even humanity. It could be that the machines themselves just haven’t been good enough to date.
I wouldn’t give up on future generations just yet. The rise of digital manufacturing may very well lead to new, more-sophisticated forms of machine-assisted craftsmanship that will express greater individual variance, customization, and even humanity. It could be that the machines themselves just haven’t been good enough to date.
AND….Maybe we should join them instead of fighting them: develop a robot that could use hand planes as well any skilled craftsman.
I have been thinking about the title to this blog post. I don’t know what it means.
Hey John –
Like the majority of my posts, it’s a quote from a song. In this case, “Take Our Test” by the Minutemen.
The rest of the quote is “And when reality appears digital, and the big hankering cometh, I’ll vote YES for life in the big choice bowl. I’ll be glad I did.”
The song is from the mid-80s, and I take this quote (out of context) to be a parody of the progression of ‘culture’ into ever more advertising-based territory. Coincident with this, necessarily there’s a devaluing of nuance and specificity. Who on earth would vote anything BUT yes for ‘Life’?
It’s interesting to me that this was written in the era when CDs were just a glimmer on the horizon, and computers in the home were fairly rare. What did they mean by reality appearing digital? Not certain, but I think it’s a general move in the direction of LESS choice, less complexity, and more uniform shared reality.
It was snark before the internet age.
Out of its context, though, I thought it evoked a similar aesthetic to the one I was trying to point to> that as our ‘world’ gets more and more populated by the digital, the oversimplified, the discrete, there is a coincident generation of desire – a great hankering – coming. For me, the hankering has led me more and more toward the relics of others’ hands. For some, it may simply lead to a greater opt-in to internet culture, or organic gardening, or a simple tendency to vote YES.
Not a fully flushed out thought, this title – but more a flashbulb image that I thought fit the topic.
Plus it sounds cool, and the minutemen were badass. So there’s that.
“Speaking as a child of the 70’s”… Thank you for combining deep thought, goofiness, and badass cultural reference. That’s poetry, man!
I have been thinking about the title to this blog post. I don’t know what it means.
Hey John –
Like the majority of my posts, it’s a quote from a song. In this case, “Take Our Test” by the Minutemen.
The rest of the quote is “And when reality appears digital, and the big hankering cometh, I’ll vote YES for life in the big choice bowl. I’ll be glad I did.”
The song is from the mid-80s, and I take this quote (out of context) to be a parody of the progression of ‘culture’ into ever more advertising-based territory. Coincident with this, necessarily there’s a devaluing of nuance and specificity. Who on earth would vote anything BUT yes for ‘Life’?
It’s interesting to me that this was written in the era when CDs were just a glimmer on the horizon, and computers in the home were fairly rare. What did they mean by reality appearing digital? Not certain, but I think it’s a general move in the direction of LESS choice, less complexity, and more uniform shared reality.
It was snark before the internet age.
Out of its context, though, I thought it evoked a similar aesthetic to the one I was trying to point to> that as our ‘world’ gets more and more populated by the digital, the oversimplified, the discrete, there is a coincident generation of desire – a great hankering – coming. For me, the hankering has led me more and more toward the relics of others’ hands. For some, it may simply lead to a greater opt-in to internet culture, or organic gardening, or a simple tendency to vote YES.
Not a fully flushed out thought, this title – but more a flashbulb image that I thought fit the topic.
Plus it sounds cool, and the minutemen were badass. So there’s that.
“Speaking as a child of the 70’s”… Thank you for combining deep thought, goofiness, and badass cultural reference. That’s poetry, man!