Interview
We are all makers, constantly using tangible and intangible tools to craft our reality. There is an intentionality around the life that Allan Jones has crafted for himself. The photographer, design enthusiast, and recreational beekeeper has an intimate relationship to his environment and activates the power of creativity to advance matters of justice. His work »
Art
“Research has revealed the names of more than 200 African American craftspeople working in stoneware manufacturing in the Edgefield District of South Carolina, a legacy spanning three generations.” I was raised with a keen awareness of the African American journey from slavery to freedom, inspired by stories from my late great-uncle, Rev. Albert E. Love, »
Interview
Drive through any town, anywhere, and among the essential food stores and gas stations there are repair shops. “There will always be a need for somebody to repair broken stuff,” said ceramics restorer Lenore Guston. “Because we’re humans, we’re breaking stuff all the time.” Over the last year and a half, with the support of »
Essay
“It is like alchemy to collect weeds, the plants that almost no one wants, and cook them up to create beautiful colors.” “If only you could see me in my natural habitat,” says Dede Styles. I know she’s right. Styles is a person so deeply connected to her place that something fundamental is lost as »
Essay
In today’s food and beverage world, the adjective craft often signifies more than technique or ingredients: it points to scale, agency, and audience, to small-batch creations just inventive enough to attract discriminating publics. Trace the word back, though, and its meanings broaden. As archaeologist and historian Alexander Langlands explains it, the Old English cræft referred »
Essay
On a September evening in 1934, Dr. J. Max Bond, the highest ranking African American official of the Tennessee Valley Authority, delivered an address to the Personnel Division Conference of the TVA. The federally owned TVA had launched the previous year, promising to bring social planning and electricity to the many rural and impoverished residents »
Essay
“For over six decades, craft has pulled me into a troubled and complicated American South where objects offer hints of meaning and voices of long-ago makers visible in stitches and thumbprints.” In this ruptured time in our nation and around the world, as we witness the rapidly diminishing window of opportunity for climate-related action, the »
Essay
My grandmother keeps texting me poorly lit pictures of cake pans from her kitchen in North Texas. She’s decluttering, an undiagnosed symptom of late-age grief for a life that didn’t quite turn out as she hoped. Her cake baking tools are the first to go. My grandmother was a professional cake baker and, while it »
Essay
In January of 2019, I began a “listening tour” across North Carolina as editor of Edible North Carolina, work that started in my food studies teaching at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. The vision for this book was to create a portrait of North Carolina’s vibrant contemporary food landscape. I chose twenty »
Essay
Letter from Jesse on March 10, 2019: Ana, What shall we plant next? Well . . . I will say I love the pansies year-round—momma used to grow squash & peppers in these pots next to our door at these apartments where we once lived. I’ve been thinking about greens a lot—I love honeysuckle & »
Photo Essay
The city of Baytown, Texas, home to the sprawling ExxonMobil refinery and across the ship channel from the San Jacinto Monument, sits on a peninsula jutting southwest into the upper reaches of Galveston Bay. It once housed the picturesque Brownwood subdivision, where, beginning in the 1950s, executives of Humble Oil lived midcentury dreams of postwar »
Poetry
In an interview with NPR, Brenda Graham recounts her experience after her brother was accused in the 1958 “Kissing Case” in Monroe, North Carolina. Yes; right there in the front yard where daddylonglegs skipped across blades of grass, dripping in white mob sweat from the night before; right there in the front yard whereChrist’s wooden frame was »