Approaching Blindness Through Craft.
There’s a simple principle - try something out yourself and you’re likely to understand it better. Anyone who’s worn a blindfold can’t help but imagine, if this sudden switch or realities was permanent what critical difference it would make to their life - the number of things they would have to relearn or give up, the independence and freedom they once had, gone. The feeling of helplessness we feel ourselves in that moment is only natural to project onto those without sight, imagining them to feel minute by minute the same darkness and impotence which is to us bewildering and unfamiliar. But this is not how we should think about blindness.
As part of a studio project at the RCA I approached an old friend for help and he agreed. From birth Sam has been partially sighted with no vision at all in one eye and limited vision in the other. He’s a keen cook and accomplished guitar and piano player. It was my desire to do a project to which I felt a strong personal connection and here was a good opportunity.
My background is in furniture design and woodwork. Central to my feelings about craft is its capacity to enrich one’s life. That’s certainly my relationship with it and so inevitably I saw a design opportunity in bringing greater accessibility to Sam and others like him. One could expect the potential for crafts to be of benefit to blind people in a number of ways - an increased feeling of control over the world around them they might feel has been diminished, the sense of pride after completing a project that they (or indeed society) had never expected of them, the sheer enjoyment and satisfaction from moment to moment a maker experiences being in their element: all the benefits usually associated with craft - but on steroids.
Sam has taken a big interest in my previous work and we’ve often sent each other YouTube videos of people cutting timber joints and building this and that. I suggested to him that I’d like to teach him woodwork and so, using a marking gauge, sliding bevel, ruler, square, saw, mallet, chisel and pencil, we set to work marking and cutting dovetail joints.
I’d approached the project with the expectant possibility that I’d respond by designing jigs - ones that would allow Sam to locate the correct position for each cut and guide the saw to as close to a perfect cut as possible. Yet it soon became obvious that this wouldn’t be the right approach. It dawned on me that one of the most important aspects of craft is the risk of getting things wrong and with it the capacity and satisfaction to improve with practice. My designing jigs to measure and cut could kill off that important pleasure and challenge.
When objects are made by hand, no matter how many hours have been spent practicing the moves there is never 100% chance of a perfect cut. But in the pursuit of mastery flow can be achieved. The sense of enjoyment in craft is increased when you learn from your mistakes, go back time and time again and find yourself becoming better at it. In the case of Sam and others like him it’s striking to observe, on a task such as marking up and cutting a dovetail joint, just how developed his sense of touch is. He soon learns how to make the marks and relocate them when the time comes to make a cut; only occasionally putting his working eye up close to the job as a means of double checking progress.
Another anticipated approach was to ‘blindproof’ everything, ie cutting down or attempting to eliminate opportunities for injury. But one of the most interesting things that struck me was his natural approach to picking up and examining each tool. He familiarised himself with the saw, chisel, square, gently touching the edge of the blade and gauging the weight of each tool as a way of assessing what the dangers of each one could be to him. It’s obvious that Sam has developed his own ways of protecting himself from mishap and so we should be careful not to assume helplessness where in fact there is much capability and foresight.
Sam tells me, “I think touch is vital to me and it made me examine that quite a lot doing the carpentry stuff. Trusting your touch more than your eyes and also trusting that your touch wouldn't harm you. Like getting your fingernail in a mark to let your hand be a guide for a saw which ultimately could look quite dangerous. But ultimately you can probably trust your touch on some things more than your eyes.”
In a way, this is what all of us do. As I learn an unfamiliar technique for the first time a more intense state of concentration comes over me, where my mind is wide open to the unfamiliar experiences and feedback I get from every move and touch I make. More specifically I’ve recently had the opportunity to learn wood turning where I’m forced to confront a power unfamiliar to me: the speed and spin of a piece of wood. And to quickly establish a new physical approach to dealing with it, for example how and where to hold the gouge and how best to introduce it to the spinning timber in a way that’s effective and feels safe. There’s an obvious sense of trepidation when approaching a spinning piece of wood with no expectation or experience of how it or your tools are going to behave when they meet. Sight alone will do little to ease this. It’s experiencing the vibrations, sounds and feel of the wood kicking back against the nervously gripped gouge that ultimately gives you the information to develop a level of comfort and control.
As well as a celebration of craft this experience altered my assumptions about what blind people can - and can’t do - as well as Sam’s own anxieties - well aware of what for him could be deemed ‘too visual’.
Sam explains, “I have myself an anxiety as part of my makeup of helplessness which is due to my vision or lack of vision. So I would like to see what I can do with this sort of stuff to combat that feeling. So you might be satisfied making a nice little box. I reckon I'm going to be really satisfied making a little box, or whatever we make. Because there's a certain thing with my eyesight, - 'can you do that?.. Really?’. Where does ‘this is too visual for you’ start and end?”
Hearing Sam talk in this way reminds us that blind people are well aware of the assumptions and prejudices that sighted people have about them. Craft is now a tricky term to define with connotations of tradition, skill, time and high precision. But I hate the idea that these expectations might get in the way of blind people - or anyone else for that matter - having a go, for its own sake. Because it’s fun. And because it makes you feel good. Whether you are a good blind carpenter or a bad blind carpenter, there is still much value to be had in doing it anyway.
On reflection Sam told me, “One of the first things I thought was, why doesn't everyone try this? People should always make something. A lot of people do don't they? They've got your shed and you go and do that. I found it, from the word go, tremendously exciting and therapeutic.”
In working alongside Sam I was able to understand his reality in a way I hadn’t before. It showed me that looking at something familiar through a different microscope can be a much better way of exploring and understanding someone’s reality than wearing a blindfold - a momentary simulation followed by a swift escape. It also unexpectedly reframed and revealed another way to think about craft in general.
I have little doubt that Sam, with his well developed sense of method, touch and haptic understanding, would be as well placed as anyone with enough practice, to become an accomplished woodworker. It’s an important reminder of the ever present danger we have as designers of designing solutions for problems that aren’t really there.