It was some years ago when an employee came into my office with very bad news. Our shop vac appeared seriously damaged and was no longer working. When I asked about the nature of the damage, I was told that there appeared to be a problem with the wire connection near the plug. This was laughable, and I responded that I would just pick up a new plug for a couple dollars and rewire it. To which my employee was so impressed, he commented, “Wow, I have to see that.” I asked where he had grown up – the suburbs of Miami. I joked how he was a sad man, that he would be stupefied with such a simple repair. He watched, fascinated, as I replaced the plug in just a few minutes’ time.
The whole affair was indicative of how many Americans are estranged from even the most basic repairs. With such a strong emphasis on white-collar work and getting a college education (both laudable goals) and such a lack of dignity for blue-collar work, fewer and fewer people use their hands. My high school was very well equipped in the industrial arts, but, being tracked for college, I never set foot in the school’s tech wing. A disappointment to me now – I would have enjoyed a few classes in machining.
The situation in New York City is much worse. Without space for storage of tools and workspace to use them, most urbanites have limited ability to do their own repairs. Most handiwork in apartment buildings is done by superintendents who wear many hats and do repairs in a variety of trades, none of which they are qualified to do. Most of the work ranges from mediocre to horrific. This is sad to me for so many reasons. There is a real shortage of labor doing quality work and great difficulty in finding someone to do small jobs. On the flip side, there are pluses to the do-it-yourself approach – a cost savings and satisfaction of working with your own hands.
At one time, I ran into a number of fudge shops in shopping malls that made fudge on the premises. The process of pouring, cooling, cutting, and serving was such a big attraction to shoppers that the shops turned the making into theater. Just before pouring, employees would run through the mall ringing a bell and announcing, “Fudge time!” Shoppers would run and flock, much like sheep, to witness the remarkable event – someone pouring hot fudge into a tray. They remained entranced, as if witnessing the height of artisanship.
Certainly there is value in seeing quality demonstrations of skilled craft, and there seems to be no dearth of fascination with the watching of things made. However, the audiences are often undiscriminating, watching virtually anything, regardless of how unskilled or inane. People will stand fixated as if watching the miraculous.
On the streets of New York City, you will from time to time find individuals spray painting works using objects as stencils and tools. I have waited some years to photograph one for this website. On Easter Sunday, returning from the parade, I had the good fortune to run across the spray paint artist in today’s photo. He was surrounded by a flock of tourists, admiring his command of schlock art. Watching, I could almost hear a bell and the cry of “Fudge Time” 🙂
Like most street marketing isn’t it mostly likely the skilled presentation as sheer entertainment that does most of the selling?
Hey, didn’t you like paintings on velvet way back in college? ;-))
Actually my first reaction to your top photo was yikes, wear some protective breathing gear…that’s cancer in the making!
Oh gosh, yes just yesterday I had to pass through times square to get to a theatre and passed so many of these guys spraying away. Between the cigarettes and the spraying I surely felt like I was walking through a toxic wasteland. It is a far cry from art, but they do seem to sell well. And I’m afraid I remember once being in a mall and squeezing into a store to see that fudge being made! I guess I’m very lucky to be married to a man who is a true artist and also an individual who can fix most anything. I always say that if we lived in a small village he would be the person all the children would bring their broken toys to fix. When he fixes something it turns out better then when it was new. I’ve learned to really admire the skilled craftsman that he is. I grew up in a home where my dad couldn’t fix anything – he would always call someone in or buy a new whatever. Now I live in a home where everything has an afterlife.
My father could fix anything, and taught me a lot. He bought us kids a bow and the materials and instructions to make the bowstrings ourselves.
We did home renovations – thus I can install a wall switch for an overhead light, wallpaper a staircase and hallway, plaster and paint, install a faucet in a sink and change a washer.
Later he taught even his daughters basic car maintenance. I could tune the dual carburetors on my Sunbeam (yes, it is a car.)
My husand is mechanically challenged, which can make things difficult. His life skills are a whole different set.