The humble, perhaps uneducated, craftsman is often closest to God. A particle of God reaches out to touch every true craftsman. And it is easy to recognise them; those that create with passion and concentration as against those who work on creating something just to get the job done.
The craftsman looks at the object he creates with the eyes of a mother awaiting the birth of her child. Through the process of crafting, he walks the tightrope of anticipation of the finished product and the knowledge that he may fall short of what he wishes to achieve. Whatever his calling, every aspect of his being is engaged in the object even before he begins. Even before it is made, he must see it in his mind’s eye; and even though it is something that does not ask for his creative imagination, he looks for ways to make it his own. Transcending his craft into the realm of art.
The perfection of a sari, a shawl or a carpet crafted with dedication shows up in its softness, its colours and design. Each thread placed in sync with the story created by the weaver’s mind. Divinity shines through the idol crafted out of rough stone; where the back and front are perfectly carved, each necklace bead in its place on both sides, regardless of whether its symmetry will ever be appreciated.
Therein lies the secret of the superlative creator. Engrossed in the material that is taking shape in his hands, even the humble potter making endless mud diyas finds enough joy in its shape to forgo recognition or applause. As does the silver or goldsmith working on the back of a bracelet or earring, carving delicate vines and flowers that may never be seen by anyone, and may indeed escape the notice of the wearer.
Coming as it does, passed down through generations, each craft has the same weight as a gharana in music. Each family of craftsmen holds the same status as a gurukul. Thus, with keenness of eye and instinctive understanding, norms of geometry or colour palettes, anatomy or physics are followed to create perfection. So what if it is an object that will be viewed with the supreme casualness the educated show towards the work of the unlettered?
The sculptor who, centuries ago, chipped away at stone to create a line of elephants to skirt a temple wall did not care that no one would know his name. He did not know it, but in the moment he placed chisel against stone and lifted his hammer, with the elephants already poised and ready in his mind’s eye, he had forged his link with immortality. Immersed in the act of creation, his mind meditative in concentration, he is in a space the rest of the world tries hard to find. So too the glass blower, using his breath to create a decanter or a fragile animal. They work in a sacred bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. It’s a rare blessing we can aspire to. If we bring the same passion to what we do.
Author & Consulting Editor, Penguin Random House
saran.sathya@gmail.com