Artisanship

I tend to overweight artisanship in my evaluation of just about any cultural object. Mass-produced works, however beautiful, have a different feel than those which have actually been done by a human hand. The magic of personal aura, if you will. 

I know it is kind of silly. Someone, after all, designed these machine-built bits of kistche. But whether it is a painting or a pot, I treasure the idea of a real individual touching and shaping it. And the older it is, the stronger the mystic connection. 

Probably that is no different from the joy everyone gets from a manual hobby, whether it is home remodeling, car care, or drawing. We value the time we put into effort, and we embed that invisible effort in our memory/view of the piece.

Now, naturally, that connection can be intellectual as well as tactile. But we do have a very strong connection to our hands, which are not only an extension but also a foundation of our intelligence and consciousness. 

No need to get crazy about it, of course, especially for the common utilitarian things. I’m glad my everyday dishes are not priceless treasures, so I don’t freak out if they break. I’m happy to be surrounded with mass produced comforts.

But if I am in an art mode contemplating the product of an artisan, I enjoy the feeling of direct connection to that other creative person.