This past summer, I was frequently alone for long stretches of time in Ann Arbor. Eat, work, sleep and repeat, day after day. The bright summer felt dull, and I was desperate for something else — anything that wasn’t eating, working or sleeping. I saw one TikTok of someone making a card with paint and stencils, and it looked doable enough. I decided I’d give it a go without much thought beyond registering the itch in my hands to create. I looked to craft stores like JOANN and Michaels and made small purchases to begin experimenting. I painted over stencils with sponges and makeup brushes, pasted stickers, flower appliqués and free-handed simple paintings of fruit. There were birthdays and graduations to be celebrated and “Thank you’s” to be said. I sealed my creations in envelopes and hoped they would be well received.
Around August, when I finally reached a lull in occasions for card giving, I began scrapbooking as an alternative. I’ve long saved pictures, birthday cards and clippings that I have no use for but are too sentimental to toss. With scrapbooking, I could use the same materials I’d collected for card making and have a little keepsake just for me. Those paper memories slowly trickled into an empty book that I found in my basement, finding a home and purpose. I started by making spreads of family trips to Boyne City, Mich., and Sanibel Island, Fla. When I finished, I sent pictures to my family, and they showed an affinity that filled me with a sense of pride I hadn’t experienced before.
When my roommates and friends returned at the end of the summer, I sheepishly told them how I was spending my time, nervous they’d be judgmental of my new hobby. But as it turned out, many of them were also trying to strengthen their artistic muscles, using mediums like knitting and crochet to make clothes and blankets. Despite our commonalities, I felt as though we all were a bit embarrassed, unsure if our projects were frivolous distractions in comparison to our other responsibilities. We had become crafters, reluctant to use the word “art.” I certainly didn’t feel like my scrapbook pages were worthy of such a label. But could they be?
In the United States, craft has historically been treated not as a subset of art but as a category almost entirely separate. The label of “arts and crafts” itself constructs a fundamental difference between the two. According to the Oxford Dictionary, art in its most popular usage is “the expression or application of creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting, drawing, or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.” Compare this to the definition of craft, as “any activity involving making things by hand or by means of traditional techniques … (such as knitting, quilting, jewelry-making, etc.) carried out on a small-scale basis or as a hobby or pastime and often producing practical or decorative items for use in the home.”
Upon locating these two definitions, questions percolated: Why is each category married to specific mediums? Why is there no mention of creativity or imagination within craft? Craft is not an offensive term, but when separated from art as a concept, it’s connoted as a lesser form, unworthy of the respect and prestige of fine art. These small, if not superfluous, differences between the two don’t just exist in the pages of dictionaries, but rather reflect biases within the art world that may limit our expressions today.
According to the Brooklyn Museum, “the age-old aesthetic hierarchy that privileges certain forms of art over others based on gender associations has historically devalued ‘women’s work’ specifically because it was associated with the domestic and the ‘feminine.’ ” There is privilege in making art solely for the purpose of being appreciated. Throughout the history of the United States, we see women of different backgrounds incorporate skill, creativity and aesthetic into domestic responsibilities. Native American women in North America Appalachia “expressed their artistry through weaving textiles which served their own families and those of others.” Quilting originates from pre-Civil War, when “enslaved women began to quilt in order to supplement the sparse and inadequate bedding provided for them — when, on rare occasions, bedding was in fact provided.” Scrapbooking became a popular way for women in the 1900s to create meaningful work outside of their house chores and to bond with one another at “scrapbooking parties.” While it originated in the Middle East, knitting was a staple of women’s education and work in the colonial United States. Crafts are thus, obviously, a female version of art. And a seemingly lesser one, too.
Arts and crafts are not steadfast categories, but social constructs that are dependent on place and time. Look to other nations, and we see celebrated folk arts, such as Huichol Beading in Mexico, kites in China and pysanky eggs in the Ukraine. Other art forms, such as tattooing, are honored within Polynesian and Indian cultures but are arguably invisible in the United States’s schema of “art.” With such considerations, the story of craft in our country does not begin and end with women, particularly women of Color, not being afforded the same opportunities to make traditional fine art. Instead, we see the passion and enjoyment found in these mediums, not as second-rate alternatives, but reflections of family, culture and the self.
The history and beauty of craft arts has not gone without recognition in modern-art spaces. It wouldn’t be strange to see mediums such as ceramics and textiles in museums today, such as those included in the University of Michigan Museum of Art’s latest addition, Hear Me Now: The Black Potters of Old Edgefield, South Carolina. Supporting exhibits like this one, art activism organizations such as the Guerilla Girls continue to advocate for the equality and variety of work produced by female artists and artists of Color.
Considering all of this information, I come back to the same philosophical question: What is art? This question is not only pertinent to traditionally artistic spaces such as educational programs and museums, but it’s relevant in our day-to-day lives when we choose how to spend our time. Is it worth it for me to continue scrapbooking if it’s just a silly craft and not a respected art? Why do I want my work to be considered art? There is vanity in wanting to be seen as an artist, and I shouldn’t rely on such approval to continue crafting. But when art represents the upper echelons of what is respected in creative spaces, it is hard for me to resist its appeal.
Perhaps I’m grappling with another difference in connotation between art and craft: the quality. Fine art implies excellence and mastery, whereas craft is more achievable and common. Anyone can make a craft, but only a genius can produce art. I struggle with this internal battle between the enjoyment of using my hands to create and the ever looming possibility of wasting time and money on a project that may be trashed at completion.
Within the education system, we are learned perfectionists, taught first to color inside the lines. Our classes, extracurriculars and achievements are all poised at a greater goal, summed up in a transcript or resume. As Statement Columnist Ananya Gera pointed out in her article, In my grandma era: Trapping my worries between stitches, within universities exists “the huge pressure of hustle culture, in which an environment ‘places an intense focus on productivity, ambition, and success.’ ” Even if crafts are culturally accepted not as a sister to art but as art itself, it’s difficult to take on the activity simply for enjoyment, when it serves no purpose toward our future like a School of Art & Design project might.
There are, of course, many strong reasons to make art as a non-artist. Art therapy programs such as Paintings in Hospitals hinge on the notions that art helps to stimulate our brains, relieves stress and anxiety and boosts our self-esteem. I turned to art in isolation and to make gifts for people because I care about them. But must we always need a virtuous reason to create? One based on mental health or on giving?
In a discussion section on the first week of school, my fun fact was that I love making art. I felt mortified the moment I stopped talking. Why did I say that? As if I was some great artist. But then, I reminded myself: I never said I was great.
It is a tough mental exercise to separate ourselves from hierarchical notions of art and connect with art forms we enjoy. Moreover, it can be difficult to contend with the fact that our art may be “bad,” and that happiness can exist alongside imperfection. Crafts originated not from greats but from normal people making something special, sometimes in the most horrific circumstances. I think we need to appreciate that work and refine, or better yet, expand, what art (and craft) means to us. For me, right now, they both mean making cards and scrapbooking. I’m currently compiling stickers and polaroids for two game day spreads — one with family and one with friends. I hope they like them and appreciate my work. Regardless, I know I will.
Statement Columnist Elizabeth Wolfe can be reached at eliwolfe@umich.edu.