E SSA Y BY
Akiko Busch
IL L U S T R A T IO N BY
Damien Correll
We live in a world in which we increasingly
rely on how complex, difficult Wings
can be made to seem simple, he it We toolbar
on a laptop or We controls o f a car.
Recently I bought a new car. The Subaru
Impreza is a basic model with a simplicity
that reminded me of the Volkswagen
Beetle I drove in college, which had on its
dashboard a fuel gauge, a speedometer,
a tachometer, an odometer, a little blue light
that came on when you had the brights on,
and little else. The dash of the no-frills
Subaru seemed similarly straightforward,
though it quickly became clear that a com-
prehensive library of icons was concealed
there—vehicle dynamics control, battery,
check engine indicator, oil pressure warn-
ing, door open, seatbelt warning light,
to name a few, are all illuminated, but only
when needed.
This, no doubt, is as it should be. Auto-
motive technology has become infinitely
more complex—and efficient—in the inter-
vening 30 years, and there are infinitely
more things that can go wrong in my Subaru
than there ever were in the Beetle. But what
strikes me eveiy time I drive my car today
is how simple its dashboard
seems.
And this
difference between simplicity and pre-
sumed simplicity, between
being
simple and
appearing
simple, I realize, is something that
is played out increasingly elsewhere as well.
Because it does seem as though we are in
the throes of a mania for the simple life. For
10 years
Real Simple
magazine has advocated
paring down our belongings and parsing out
time more carefully, but more recently
the cult of simplicity has reached a new pitch.
A new magazine,
A Simple Life,
fetishizes
the idea of a simpler past through such arti-
facts as milking stools, dried gourds and
tinware.
Simplicity Parenting,
a recent book,
advocates “using the extraordinary power
of less to raise calmer, happier and more
secure kids.” And a recent ad for the Van-
guard Group features a paper clip and
intones that “the most elegant and effective
designs are often the least complicated.”
There’s nothing wrong with the impulse
to simplify. We live in a world in which
we increasingly rely on how complex things
can be made to seem simple, be it the tool-
bar on a laptop or the controls of a car. And
whether it’s raising kids or managing mon-
ey, we all want the things that challenge
our lives to be more manageable. But, more
than a book, Simplicity Parenting is, appar-
ently, a matter of workshops, videos and
life coaches, and small wonder. Raising kids
is a matter of counterintuitive responses,
facing the unexpected and questioning your
own assumptions on a daily basis. Van-
guard’s directive for a balanced portfolio
requires a firm grasp of nuanced economic
realities. There’s nothing simple about
any of it.
All of which makes me wonder about
the apparent divide between what
is
simple
and what
seems
simple. This is a subtle dis-
tinction and one that contemporary craft
is uniquely positioned to demonstrate.
Craft objects have long been viewed as em-
blems of the simple life; the hand-thrown
bowl or carved spoon suggest a basic object
meeting a basic need. But making things has
never really been simple. The craft process
has always been a complex matter involving
need, desire, advanced skill, time, historical
knowledge and myriad other considerations.
Today, when you might include concerns
about consumerism, a global economy and
the depletion of natural resources, it’s clear
that contemporary crafts are as layered and
challenging an enterprise as any.
It’s human nature to try to reduce what
is complicated to something we can under-
stand and live with. But it would be a mis-
take to believe that complex things really
are simple. Just as there is a difference
between making something efficient, clear
and operable and just dumbing it down.
Observing complexity, acknowledging
it, respecting it and then finding a way to
manage it generally leads to the more desir-
able outcome. And I wonder if this may
be why Steve Jobs leans to the furniture
of George Nakashima; the founder and
continuing innovator of Apple knows that
the master woodworker had a knack for
making difficult cuts, labor-intensive join-
ery and unobtrusive finishes look like the
most natural thing in the world.
At a time when the cult of simplicity is
ever tantalizing, it is increasingly possible
for those outside the field to romanticize
the handmade object as an icon of the sim-
ple life. But craft tradition has always been
more about appearing simple than being
simple: DiYers who go into crafts for its
anticonsumer message find that making one
of something can have the same complexity
as making many; studio craftspeople often
find themselves working at an intricate in-
tersection of conceptual content, material
skill and an appreciation for ambiguity.
Which is why this seems to be the time for
those engaged with craft to show how their
work is, in fact, a process of facing, rather
than avoiding, complexity.
Making things
seem
simple rather than
demanding they
be
simple. I think of that
challenge every time I get in my car. The
designers o f my Subaru knew it would be
pointless and distracting for all those icons
to be continuously visible. And when I look
at the dashboard—though I’m not 18 and
at the wheel of a Beetle—I still know we’re
going places.*
Akiko Busch is the author o f
Nine Ways to
Cross a River
and
The Uncommon Life
of Common Objects.
junc/julyio american craft 063
www.WorldMags.net & www.Journal-Plaza.net
