I expanded on the theme of a ‘misfitting’ between craft and the art world, as well as craft and scholarship, by talking to Namita Wiggers and reading the latter half of Elissa Auther’s String, Felt, Thread. What stood out to me from the book was the pattern of artists trying to force craft into a mold that did not accept not only its materials and values, but, more importantly, its artists. This is obviously unfortunate, and speaks to a limited view of art controlled by a limited group of people. But it is also negligent to assume that the anonymous craft maker is languishing in obscurity. For many craft artists, making their work within the boundaries of their homes, communities, and cultures is far preferable to being swept up in the glamour and hierarchies of the art world. It was interesting, and a little amusing, to hear about how Judy Chicago was rebuked by fine china painters who found her highly judgemental, which seems to be true from how flabbergasted she was that they preferred to remain within their particular social sphere. For the china painters in particular, it’s not even that their circle was small; they held huge events devoted to the craft, events that shared technique and fostered camaraderie among groups of women. I think this is an exquisite example of the space that can be opened up by a love of making. Namita Wiggers brought up the idea of the craft fair in our conversation, which exists somewhat in opposition to museums and galleries, but has been co-opted by art institutions in recent years. The purely community-based, insular model of the craft fair is not translatable to the world of ‘fine art’ because there are no set hierarchies, and very little monetary payoff. Personally, I respect Judy Chicago’s choice to learn china painting alongside experts, but I think she would have gotten more out of the experience had she not looked at the china painters from such an anthropological lens. It seemed like she assumed they would never be able to understand each other, which seems blatantly false to me because they were united by the exploration of a craft. This is a good opportunity to bring up a concept that has followed me throughout this study; the idea of a universal experience of making that still accommodates for difference. Though Judy Chicago and one of the china painters she worked alongside may have had different ideas on the implications of their practice, they still wanted to do something very similar, which was to perfect their craft and make what they wanted to make. This seems like a childish connection to make, but I think it precludes artists and makers from incorporating a sense of obligation into their dialogues with one another. Judy Chicago’s single-minded, second-wave feminist values were steadfast, and lend to the strong themes of her work, but they are also quite limited, and caused her to fall short in a myriad of ways when it came to creating The Dinner Party. Throughout Auther’s book, she has a shrewd perception of the privilege of craft artists; often they had somehow won a place in the art world that legitimized their emerging craft practice. Once they were in the club, it became difficult to imagine who would not want to ascend to this higher state of being; no longer conceptualizing materials as themselves, but as vehicles for thought. However, I argue that no artist ever completely loses track of materiality, lest they shut down their senses completely when making their work. On the flip side of that, as Auther mentions, there is no reason to assume craftspeople by trade aren’t conceptualizing their work at a philosophical or spiritual level. In my opinion, when somebody creates an artwork, whether it comes from a pattern or from a richly layered concept, they are communicating from their own perspective. That art object, no matter how ordinary, rote, or simple it may seem, carries with it a culture, history, and personality. Just because a story is not communicated to the world, or not expressed a certain way, does not deny its existence or its validity.