Craft, with its emphasis on the physical act of making, offers a unique form of therapy for artists navigating difficult emotions. Unlike other art forms like film, where the process can feel more abstract or detached, craft often involves a direct and tactile engagement with materials. The act of shaping clay, weaving fibres, or working with wood can be deeply grounding and therapeutic, allowing the artist to channel their emotions and anxieties into a tangible form. This hands-on process can be a powerful way to process trauma, grief, or other difficult experiences, allowing the artist to find solace and healing through the act of creation itself.
In preparing for our talk, I have been reminded of other influential examples where craft has been employed to tell overlooked stories. One that stands out is the response to the AIDS crisis in the 1980s and 1990s. Groups like Gran Fury, an AIDS activist art collective formed within ACT UP (the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power), utilised letterpress, mural work, graphic design, photography, and public interventions to raise awareness about the epidemic, challenge government inaction, and demand better treatment for people living with AIDS. Their iconic slogans and provocative imagery, such as the "Silence = Death" symbol, became powerful emblems of the movement and galvanised public opinion.
From the quilts made to memorialise those lost to HIV and AIDS, to the grassroots printing of protest posters that gave voice to those silenced, Gran Fury showcased the power of craft in raising awareness globally, even in a pre-internet world.
The accessibility of craft is something that makes it so exciting; the use of found or discarded objects can be an easy way to start. Multidisciplinary artist, Liaqat Rasul, who I worked with last year for his first solo institutional exhibition at Ty Pawb, started making art using receipts left by customers he served at the pub where he worked, transforming them into collages, sculptures, and his signature mobile faces. Following the closure of his fashion label, Ghulam Sakina, Rasul found himself without work and instead of giving up on his creativity, he used his spare time to visit free exhibitions and using whatever he could find to create his often autobiographical work, which details his experiences of being gay, Welsh, and Pakistani, as well as the importance of discussing mental health. The artist cites art as having saved him through the difficult period of his life, and with such a pertinent message, who cares what your canvas is?