Abstracting Craft
The undergrad philosophy major in me thoroughly enjoyed our class discussion about Malcolm McCullough's Abstracting Craft. Though many architecture students (at UO) seem to get bored quickly with discussions about theory (at least from what I can tell), I could yammer away all day with someone about subjective versus “objective” reality, the cultural foundations of “rationality,” scientific research and that which our society recognizes as empirical truth, or the gendering of psychological “disorders.”
[Sigh]
In a university program that (despite its abundant and sundry bibliographical resumé) likens the theoretical domain with Cockapoos and Schnoodles—“designer dogs” with no real purpose other than as fashion accessories for the Hoity-Toity, i.e. overly-hyped mongrels—I am a bit of a fish out of water. The architecture program at UO (and Pacific Northwest architecture in general) is like a 
Chocolate Lab: even-tempered, friendly, flexible, and eager to please—a true sporting companion (the Chocolate's profile is raised above the common Yellows and Blacks—no big boxes or housing subdivisions—but she doesn’t alienate laypeople as would a Poodle, or Thom Mayne).
Maybe I’m getting off track. And cynical. There’s nothing wrong with Schnoodles.
So McCullough…
We touched on many more topics during our discussion than we had time to explore in-depth, though I’m sure these ideas have each been explored by theorists, philosophers, and designers in more books than even I would care to read. Highlights (with my own thoughts interjected):
- When does technology stop serving humans and the inverse begin to occur (as in The Matrix)?
- What is craft? Does Joe Blow appreciate Aalto’s leather doorhandles or Scarpa’s rosewood ones? Does it take a craftsperson to appreciate craft? If not, are there different qualities of craft appreciated by different factions (much like a clever animated film that provides multiple layers of humor for kids and adults both)?
- [industrial design ≈ architecture]? What if we found a perfect way of building a school? Would all schools be identical?
Likely, yes, with a few variations for budget and climate [zones]. The first thing that came to mind is the residential high-rise in Hong Kong. In "Homes for China" (Architectural Design, vol. 74 no. 1, 81-87), the authors discuss “ideal” residential tower forms, mass-produced. This article, by the same authors, touches on similar themes:
“These new design concepts for residential tower blocks have rendered the conventional role of the architect redundant.” (p. 36)
- iPods. Why does everyone want one? They’re supposedly well-designed, but they all look the same (mass production). One person thought that the reason everyone wants one is because everyone has one: people want to fit in. Another person said that it’s because they’re simply the best mp3 players sold.
Empirical Understanding
It was suggested (both on Wednesday and Monday) that our knowledge of how something (e.g. a building or an iPod) works—how it functions, how it’s assembled, its organization, etc.—contributes to whether we deem it well-designed. (On Monday someone said that his inability to visually digest Gehry’s 
EMP building in Seattle was an indication that its design was lacking.) The iPod looks and feels simple, and it’s simple to operate. Though most users don’t actually have an understanding of how it works—how it’s built, how it’s programmed, etc.—they THINK they do because the device seems so simple.
The apparent simplicity of the iPod empowers its users—the object itself endows them with a sense of mastery or control (hence intelligence and power), and because the object is well-designed (functional and beautiful), its users feel sexy. Imagine: an object that's beautiful, brings me pleasure, is costly (read: coveted), and over which I have complete control. The marketing is brilliant.
With regard to the argument that, by virtue of its mass production, the iPod lacks craft: its commercial and cultural success speaks for itself. If people didn’t think it were well-crafted, its popularity would have waned long ago. Virtually every tool, piece of furniture, appliance, paper clip, stereo, book, cat box, etc. is mass-produced. Mass production, like hand production, comes in many flavors. The toilet brush I buy at the dollar store does not possess the same level of craft as the one I buy at Restoration Hardware. (I don’t buy things from Restoration Hardware because I’m broke and cheap, but I’m just proving a point. This also raises the question: is “craft” inherent in the object, or does it solely exist within “that which crafts”? Both? Neither? Who cares?)
Most would agree that the iPod is a relatively well-crafted object. It doesn’t matter how it’s made; what matters is that it’s made: its craft lies in its design.
On Wednesday I said that its craft lies in its design, not its production, but I’m re-thinking that now. Craft involves all the phases of an object’s (or a building’s) coming-into-being (Existenzeingekommen?). Ultimately, what matters is the product. How you get there only matters insomuch as it affects the final outcome. (You will not likely produce a well-crafted widget if you do not put at least some thought into how it should look, how it should be constructed, and how it should function. 
This is not the same for art—l’art pour l’art—one wouldn’t say “what a well-crafted painting,” because painting is not a craft. A talented artist could easily create a beautiful product without pontificating the process of its creation. In fact, that which produces fine craft may actually detract from fine art, as most truly great art will contain elements of unadulterated serendipity. An architect would not [one would hope] sling some Copics at a drafting board and call the resulting splotches a design.) An object’s production is also part of its craft-worthiness: a beautiful design, poorly executed, is not a well-crafted one.
