Thoughts On Perfection in Craftsmanship

By Chris Black

Years ago when I worked as a carpenter in the historic districts of the Washington D.C. area,

our foreman Ralph reminded us daily to take pride in our work. Later, when I opened my own

woodworking shop, I noticed the form contracts always listed the phrase, all work to be

performed in a workmanlike manor. We all probably understand what these concepts generally

mean: code compliance, tight molding joints, uniform door reveals and plumb, level and square

everything. On the surface we somehow know what’s good acceptable work and what won’t

pass. But if you dig a little deeper and ask yourself who decided on these somewhat subjective

standards, then you begin to see how various influences affect our concept of quality and

ultimately the notion of perfection in craftsmanship.

Imagine we could create a machine; say an advanced type of 3D printer that could produce an

object in form, function and material that matched our every intent perfectly. We might even

program into the process a seemingly random action that could mimic the traits of human

handwork. Our theoretical machine might model hand planed surfaces or the texture of a spoon

gouge. The question quickly arises is this craftwork and what is the nature of craft that it can be

completely replaced by automation and still be called craftwork?

David Pye in his book, Nature and the Art of Workmanship, asks is anything really hand made

and why does it matter? He argues that classifying something as handmade or machine made

is meaningless and that what we really want to know is whether or not there was a degree of

human risk involved in the result. Sure the machine could carve an exact Platonic form of a

nativity scene in gopher wood, but what we desire is something that was, at least partially, done

by a craftsperson with the potential of ruining the object somewhere along the way. Pye calls

this the craftsmanship of risk. The automated machine gives us the craftsmanship of certainty

with no risk of not achieving our intent. So why do we desire one method over another assuming

we do? What factors influence this choice? Are the factors cultural? Yes, and perhaps it’s

something deeper in our human nature that crosses cultural differences and affects our concept

of perfection in craftsmanship.

Soetsu Yanagi in his book, The Unknown Craftsman, a Japanese Insight into Beauty, confronts

my dualistic western mind by challenging my ideas about art, beauty and my notion of what

constitutes perfection in craft. He sets forth the idea that perfection is the combination of the

arts, craft and patterns occurring in nature including the human mind, which he does not

separate from nature. These constituents should not be considered different elements but one

culmination resulting in a whole. To Soetsu Yanagi perfection lies in beauty. Beauty is born of

use not necessarily out of pure function. People use these art/crafts in daily life whether it be

looking at a painting or serving a salad in a turned bowl. So is perfection in craft somehow tied

in with physical activity by humans not just the intent of the maker’s endeavor? Also according

to Yanagi a craft/art artifact may function for its intended use, but unless it emotionally pleases

the user, it is somehow less useful. On some level human emotion comes into play just as much

as form, function and material.

What is it about craft made objects that bring us so much joy? Why do we seek out worn

antiques, save our grandparents kitchen utensils and desire something more than the latest,

sleek, homogenized electronic gadget? There seems to be something in our collective, human

psyche that craves objects that have a certain degree of surface diversity.

As we approach any craft made object, we start to discern certain surface qualities by sight and

touch. Because of our limited senses, we can only perceive to a finite depth and texture. Is the

thing uniformly smooth like plate glass or is the surface more diverse like a glazed clay

amphora? Something in the texture tells us a story about the maker and appeals to us in other

ways. In his book The Cabinetmaker’s Notebook, James Krenov calls this the fingerprints of the

craftsman. It’s a similar phenomenon that musicians employ to make the same piece of music

uniquely their own. We recognize the tune or the form, but different human hands leave their

own fingerprints on the performance. We may prefer one version to the other usually in an

emotional way.

Environment can also play a part on the qualities of surface diversity. Aside from the monetary

and historic value, why is a new, exact reproduction of a Queen Anne highboy less attractive

than the surviving original? It could have something to do with the process known as the

ecophenotypic effect. Christopher Williams defines ecophenotypic effect in his book, Origins of

Form, as the effect of time and environment on an object. Could it be that perfection can only be

achieved or understood over time with human use? Is the diverse surface quality of an old

object what makes it so desirable? Is the same way a crafts person uses skill to interpret a

made object and lend their fingerprints to the surface of that object linked to this in some way?

Perfection in craft is often attached to the notion of skill. David Pye defines skill as care,

judgment and dexterity using any technique or tools as the craftsperson executes the process of

creating an object. Now care is somewhat a given. We want to do a good job whatever that

means to us. We also want the end user or recipient to be pleased and even delighted. As for

judgment we make informed decisions about tools, techniques and procedures along the way.

We base these decisions on experience, something we’ve read or a method learned in a class.

Dexterity on the other hand only comes by doing. The more we practice a task, the more likely

we are to become proficient at it. Perhaps it’s something like the proverbial 10,000 hour rule.

The question still remains, what part does skill play in perfection?

In my own work I’ve tried to balance what the client wants and needs with my unique designs

while remaining aware that partially what they want is my fingerprints on the finished piece. Sure

the cabinet must fit in a given space with the TV on top all the while matching the existing décor.

Yes, a mass produced item might potentially serve. So why pay a craftsperson substantially

more for a one off piece that has what some would call human imperfections?

The answer may be in the following. I, some years ago, gave a how-to lecture at a local

woodworking club where several members at the beginning of the meeting got up to discuss

and show their current projects. My favorite show and tell was a wooden dump truck made by a

gentleman for his grandson’s birthday. Some might have noticed the less than well executed

details, but the response from his grandson said it all. Grandpa, it’s PERFECT!


This originally appeared in Jim McConnell’s blog thedailyskep.wordpress.com on June 20, 2016.