Rebecca Graham is a natural materials artist and teacher based in Vancouver, British Columbia.
 
I saw some amazing slippers made of birch bark at the UBC Museum of Anthropology awhile back when I took my kids.
Here is a link to a pair on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/vakuoli/974463955/
These ones aren't as clever as the ones in MoA, which were fitted to the instep of the foot, but a good starting point for replication I hope...
 
 
Here's that little model skep that spurred so much of the 'practical/relevant' conversation for me... I made it as a gift for a person whom I consider to be both muse and patron to me. (Note: artists with patrons can afford to sidestep most of these conversations, can they not?)
I harvested the broom for this basket about two weeks ago before the leaves had come out, and worked with it while it was green. It was solid as rock at first; and though it became looser, it was still structurally sound. 
I love the dark green and the brown so much; I wonder if it will retain its colour?
The leaves and even some of the first yellow flowers are starting to come out on the broom bushes now. I've harvested a bit more, and I'm letting it cure to see how it is to work with it after it has been dried and soaked.
 
 
Two potent words. 
I was thinking about my plans for a vessel (a skep, actually) made of coiled scotch broom while I was out on my run this morning. And I was thinking about what to use for binding the coils. Sharon Kallis had suggested ivy, or blackberry, probably because the focus of the Urban Weavers Project is on using the extent of the local materials.  But I was planning to use waxed linen... and why? because I like things to be easier than annoyingly short strands of ivy that are difficult to poke through and pull tight; and because I want it to be strong and... practical.

But what is this 'practical' concept I keep dredging up? 

I realized that it's important to me that I take these objects seriously. Baskets are so mortal, so flesh-and-bone; handmade of simple, natural materials, with a human lifespan and  their connection to sustenance, ceremony, necessity. I want them to be 'practical' in the sense that I could use them in real life. And since my life tends to be a bit rough and careless, these baskets need to be vigorous and strong. I think it's appropriate for me to make a concession to the purity of the materials, in order to fulfill the purpose of the object.

Ultimately, the purpose of almost all the objects that I make is to challenge my fear of living without modern materials, such as plastics, nylon, rare earths for wireless technology, the soap that washes my hair and the dams that produce the electricity to heat the hot water for my precious showers. To me, these materials make it possible for me to live in denial of my mortality; and I am as attached to them as I am

 
 
hi Rebecca,
You know, I've just been thinking about this work "practical" a bit. Maybe you're familiar with the idea that we don't simply use language to articulate our thoughts or beliefs, but that the language we have to use informs our thoughts and beliefs. To take an obvious example, it's so hard for people to wrap their heads around the idea of a person who feels they are nearly a man or a woman, because we only have two possible, binary, pronouns for gender. The idea doesn't really exist in our language ("trans" is the word of the day, but still feels inadequate for many), so it doesn't make sense.

This is a little different, but maybe you need to strike "practical" from your vocabulary. Why is this even a question? Why is this a description for any object? What is so "practical" about a wolf carved and painted on the handle of a bowl? What is so 'practical' about a mass produced bowl from China, say, that has little or no value beyond the initial cost, that has no meaning or significance to its owner, which, as a mass produced bowl, only reinforces a devaluation of all objects and the consequent mass consumption and wastefulness of these same objects? Wouldn't a more expensive, hand made, emotionally significant, carved bowl be cared for better, for longer, passed down to one's children, connecting them to their past, and the stories the bowl holds in its carvings, and in the people who used it? 

The bowl is the thing needed to hold food, but people in every culture around the world through out time have needed to make objects their own - not simply beautiful, I don't think - but personal. Things that reflect their beliefs, values, curiosities, their cultures, memorialise people, mark significant days, honour animals, the moon, a particular tree. We're myth-makers, don't you think? and maybe it's just an industrial, consumer-culture thing to focus solely on the end result, to simply look at the object and assess it. What has developed my appreciation for basketry and the work that you do is what I've learned about the practice of doing it, that hands have made this laundry basket in my room even though it probably came from a chain store such as Home Sense. I think you are on the right track with doing workshops and making these beautiful objects, simply and not so simple. At Easter, a time when people just buy more crap, you offer a course on handwork, an opportunity to engage people in this basket-making - a new way to mark a transition, whether one is thinking about Jesus or just that spring is finally here. it's an occasion. 

Okay, I'm rambling. Now I'm thinking about narrative, story-making, and how irrelevant the word 'practical' is to story-making. "Valuable": that is the word. I'm going to go away now and think about how making objects is motivated by similar impulses as the making of stories. Myth makers, trying to see ourselves, trying to know ourselves, trying to be grateful, trying to be critical, trying to make symbols out of objects, meaning out of the banal.

later,
andrea

Andrea Routley is a writer, singer/songwriter and musician living in Victoria, BC.
 

rebecca graham