Introduction
WHY THIS BOOK?
Maybe it’s time to speak your truth and get your hands dirty. I don’t just mean that metaphorically. Maybe you want to become politically active and need a place to start. Maybe you want to do more than click “like” on social media. The good news? You don’t have to be voting age, you don’t have to stand up in front of a big crowd and give a speech. Honestly, you don’t even need to leave your house. You can make a difference by crafting things with your hands. This book is about people who do just that. I find them inspiring, and I hope you do, too.
MY CRAFTING BACKSTORY
I’m a longtime crafter. My grandmother taught me how to knit and crochet when I was maybe seven years old. Whenever my grandma sat on the couch, she’d pick up her project—an afghan, a sweater vest, a crochet purse I’d asked for—and start stitching. Barely looking at her hands. This, to her, was resting. I have squirrelly hands, too. My grandmother died a few years ago, at age ninety-eight. The scarves and potholders she made me are still in heavy rotation in my household. My grandma expressed love through crafting. And I still feel her love even though she is gone. There is nothing more old-school, traditional craft-y than wrapping myself in a grandma-made blanket or shawl. It’s like a hug.
A shawl my grandma crocheted for me. I wear it with summer dresses.
While my grandma taught me the yarn arts, I taught myself embroidery, quilting, and hand sewing. This was pre-internet, so I learned from books and experiments—and failures. When I was about ten, I wanted to make my own Halloween costume. I thought I could be a cool octopus if I sewed extra arms onto my black turtleneck. So I stuffed a bunch of black knee socks to form tubes and stitched four of these sock-arms across my back. I put two more sock-arms front and center on my chest, which looked like a pair of long, dangly boobs. The teenage trick-or-treaters (Why were they trick-or-treating at that age?) got a biiiiiiig laugh out of my costume. But, hey, I still got candy. After that, I spent more time thinking through my designs, often drawing them first. I learned to work a sewing machine in my eighth-grade home economics class. In my suburban public school, home ec (cooking and sewing) and shop class (woodworking and tool use) were electives. But almost all the girls took home ec, while the boys took shop. I didn’t question the sexism back then. But years later, I did learn to operate a band saw. So … ha! Take that, patriarchy!
These days, I’m into hand stitching of all kinds. I sew during car rides with my family, or while watching TV. I find the repetition of stitches soothing, like touching prayer beads. I love the sound and feel of thread pulling through fabric. I always have about three needlework projects piled up next to my couch (like my grandmother did). Mending, embroidery, quilting, maybe even a little knitting. My seven-year-old daughter asked me to knit a blanket for her stuffed mouse. I’m not great at playing pretend with my kids, but I can knit a mouse blanket. So I guess crafting is my love language, too. Just like it was for my grandma. Notice how none of this is political? I’m getting there.
A CRAFTIVIST (ME) IS BORN
By day, I’m a journalist and TV producer. I direct comedy sketches and mini-documentary bits for a late-night talk show. I like to think that I help people process the day’s stories, what’s going on in politics and culture. I’ve been working in TV news and comedy for more than twenty years. To me, it’s a form of activism to make fun of people in power who deserve it, to point out the ridiculous, to praise unlikely heroes. I love my country, so this is kind of a love language, too.
Years ago, when George W. Bush was president, I had an idea that made me laugh. A visual joke I wanted to sew: the Department of Homeland Security Blanket (it will not protect you in an emergency). I made a quilt with the colors and text from the actual threat level chart put out by our government’s Homeland Security Advisory System. It was the first time I combined handicrafts and political humor. Two different parts of my brain working together. It was so much fun to make. Extremely satisfying.
Department of Homeland Security Blanket: It will not protect you in an emergency.
Quilts are normally cozy and comforting, like my grandma’s blankets, right? But not this one. The sweetness of a quilt bumping up against the scariness of a military warning creates tension. I love that tension. It’s energizing. My craft-y take on a “security blanket” appeared in a political magazine in 2007 and—ta-da—I officially became a craftivist. Hopefully, my Department of Homeland Security Blanket prompted some questions like, “Hey, is this whole rainbow-striped chart a real thing in our government? If so, who decides the threat level? And how is that helpful?” In 2011, the US government got rid of the color-coded Homeland Security Advisory System. Coincidence? Probably. But I did use art to shine a light on something that wasn’t working.
WHAT IS CRAFTIVISM?
In 2003, maker and writer Betsy Greer put the term “craftivism” (“craft” + “activism”) on the map with her craftivism.com website, and later with her inspiring book Craftivism. I love the term “craftivism” for its accessible grassroots feel. But even before “craftivism” was a word, regular people have been making stuff for a cause. There’s the AIDS Memorial Quilt, which started in the 1980s and is still growing. There were citizens (mostly women) who knit socks and bandages for soldiers in WWI and WWII. (Actually you can still knit for soldiers.) People have silkscreened T-shirts, photocopied zines, made nature sculptures, slapped posters onto walls, and recycled garbage into art. That’s all craftivism, of a kind.
Embroidered graffiti with a message, spotted in Emeryville, CA
HELLO, LET ME BE YOUR GUIDE
For years, I’ve been on the lookout for other activists getting their craft on. I’ve been scrolling and scanning and getting inspired every day. Sometimes I see craftivism while just walking around, like a handmade statement on the back of a jean jacket. Or the graffiti of artist SacSix on the walls and lampposts of my East Village NYC neighborhood. Now he’s profiled in this book.
Somebody posted their embroidered statement onto a telephone pole in Emeryville, California. Once you start noticing, you can’t stop noticing.
I want to share that feeling of noticing and discovery with you. I want to be your guide, your on-ramp, your introduction to craftivism. When I was in college, I made mixtapes of my favorite songs for friends. This book is my mixtape for you. A sampler I want to share. I’ve selected some of the greatest hits and some deeper cuts. All gorgeous examples of political crafting in America, past and present. The list is not complete. My choices are subjective. But this is a good place to start if you are interested in art, crafts, politics, and the people who weave them together. I interviewed over a dozen makers and scholars. I found out how they got started. How they came to connect art and American politics. What do they want to change? How can crafts make a difference? How can others—whose hands and hearts are ready—pitch in?
HOW TO USE THIS BOOK
This book is a craftivism starter kit. Hop around the different chapters and read what’s interesting to you. Treat it more like a cookbook or a travel guide than a history book—though there are bits of history here, too. You can focus on the issues that move you most, or get to know the different art-activists. See how they think and operate. Cara Levine hosts workshops where people sculpt clay iPhones, hairbrushes, wrenches, and other objects that have been mistaken for guns. Michael Reynolds fights climate change by building zero-waste homes that look like spaceships. Shannon Downey hosts stitch-alongs where she embroiders political messages that are as sharp as her needles. Guillermo Galindo collects objects migrants have abandoned along the US-Mexico border and turns them into sonic devices that make heart-breaking music. Politics can connect to handicraft in ways that use more of your senses—sight, sound, touch. Ways that go deeper than reading a newspaper.
Text copyright © 2022 by Jessica Vitkus. All rights reserved.