Why I make things by hand

If I had a dollar for every time a person said “I didn’t know people still did that?,” in reaction to finding out what I do for a living, I could probably buy a few rounds of drinks at the pub. It happens a lot; and people are genuinely surprised to find I draw and carve gravestones by hand. “Do you make a living doing that?,” is usually the follow-up question. (Yes, for the record, I do. It’s obviously not my writing skills that are putting bread on the table.)

The frequency and strength of this reaction has really made me think about my place in the world as a traditional craftsperson: more specifically, as a person who purposely chooses to make things with my hands, slowly, and imperfectly. Why do I do this (to myself)?

The answer is simple: I think it is important for people to make things with their hands. 

Now I’m not saying doing things by hand is always the answer. I think you have to choose your battles to some extent when talking about the handmade vs the mass-produced. Some things need to be mass-produced. Other things need to remain cheap and easily accessible for society to run correctly. Handmade things are essentially a luxury, and as someone who grew up in a large, working-class family, I very much understand that. I think the impractical aspects of the Arts and Crafts Movement are what ultimately rendered it feasible only for the idealistically wealthy. Still, I would agree with Morris & Co on many points, namely that there are some things that really should be made by hand.

Carving a slate memorial stone for a client’s garden

What are these things I’m referring to? They are varied and manifold (and too large in scope to cover adequately here), but I would broadly say that the things that are totemic in our lives; the things that bring richness and abstract value to our lives; the things we want to leave to the world when we are no longer here - these are the things that should, perhaps, be the product of human feeling, experience, and craft. Again, I need to qualify this statement - not everyone can afford such things, or even like such things - so I wouldn’t view this concept as a truism or statement of moral certainty, but I think it’s a very meaningful concept to be employed where possible.

So with that all said (and thank you if you’ve managed to hang on this long), I freely admit that drawing and carving stone can be a pain in the ass sometimes. It’s hard work, things take a long time to make, making mistakes is a terrifying idea in a material where the stakes are so high, and people often don’t want to pay the price that all that work and experience justifies. But the imperfect character of a handmade object can impart so much. It’s a tangible reminder of human progress and ingenuity and creativity; a reminder of that artist or craftsperson’s skill, sensibility, and place in history. With the advent and proliferication of things like AI, 3D printing, and other means of mass production, the human touch is more important than ever.

If I’m lucky, hundreds of years from now, someone may wander past a gravestone I’ve carved and be intrigued by it: wonder who the people memorialised were and what the world was like when that stone was made. I believe something like that adds value to the historical landscape, a nutritious density to the fabric of a place. In a world where so many tonnes of useless “stuff” is poured and piled up everywhere imaginable, I think that’s a pretty special thing.

Making things which may endure or be valued over decades - or potentially centuries - is really a big part of what makes my work important to me - it’s what I hopefully aspire to when I put a chisel to stone. Will what I’m carving resonate with someone hundreds of years from now? It’s an exciting and satisfying idea because it’s a part of my own legacy as an artist and a person, an attempt to make my own small, meaningful mark on the monument of humanity.