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Handiwork
In this contemplative short narrative, artist and acclaimed writer Sara Baume charts the daily process of making and writing, exploring what it is to create and to live as an artist.
A short, elegant piece that encompasses images and is itself a significant artifact, handiwork will offer more of the beautiful prose and extraordinary versatility you’ve come to expect from Sara Baume.
‘This little book is a love-child of my art and writing practices, or a by-product of novels past and coming. It’s about the connection between handicraft and bird migration, as well as simply the account of a year spent making hundreds of small, painted objects in an isolated house. It will be my third book with Tramp Press, and I’m thrilled that they continue to support my endeavours.’ – Sara Baume
A short, elegant piece that encompasses images and is itself a significant artifact, handiwork will offer more of the beautiful prose and extraordinary versatility you’ve come to expect from Sara Baume.
‘This little book is a love-child of my art and writing practices, or a by-product of novels past and coming. It’s about the connection between handicraft and bird migration, as well as simply the account of a year spent making hundreds of small, painted objects in an isolated house. It will be my third book with Tramp Press, and I’m thrilled that they continue to support my endeavours.’ – Sara Baume
232 pages, Paperback
First published March 25, 2020
About the author
Sara Baume
12 books433 followersSara Baume is an Irish novelist.
Her father is of English descent while her mother is of Irish descent. As her parents travelled around in a caravan, Sara Baume was born "on the road to Wigan Pier". When she was 4, they moved to County Cork, Ireland. She studied fine art at Dun Laoghaire College of Art and Design and creative writing at Trinity College, Dublin from where she was awarded her MPhil. She has received a Literary Fellowship from the Lannan Foundation in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Her books are published by Tramp Press in Ireland and Heinemann in Britain.
In 2015, she participated in the International Writing Program's Fall Residency at the University of Iowa, in Iowa City, IA.
Her father is of English descent while her mother is of Irish descent. As her parents travelled around in a caravan, Sara Baume was born "on the road to Wigan Pier". When she was 4, they moved to County Cork, Ireland. She studied fine art at Dun Laoghaire College of Art and Design and creative writing at Trinity College, Dublin from where she was awarded her MPhil. She has received a Literary Fellowship from the Lannan Foundation in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Her books are published by Tramp Press in Ireland and Heinemann in Britain.
In 2015, she participated in the International Writing Program's Fall Residency at the University of Iowa, in Iowa City, IA.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 82 reviews
May 21, 2020
A beautiful miniature, this is a poignant personal reflection on the creative process, losing a parent, birds and the relative values of art and craft. Baume's first non-fiction book is just as impressive as A Line Made by Walking.
The book is a lot shorter than its page count would suggest, as there is a lot of white space. The chapters are divided by pictures of model birds that Baume created using painted plaster and wooden dowel rods. They explore her life and working environment as an artist who divides her time between writing and artistic projects, and how she may have been influenced by her father and paternal grandfather. This is interspersed with sections about various birds.
The book is a lot shorter than its page count would suggest, as there is a lot of white space. The chapters are divided by pictures of model birds that Baume created using painted plaster and wooden dowel rods. They explore her life and working environment as an artist who divides her time between writing and artistic projects, and how she may have been influenced by her father and paternal grandfather. This is interspersed with sections about various birds.
April 20, 2020
Quiet and lovely, a book I thoroughly admire. A life-affirming narrative about art, the creative process, loss, and daily practices. A reminder to notice; to observe your daily birds. Sara Baume is always worth reading and listening to. As always, her perception and interpretation of the world is exquisite. Thanks to Sara Baume and Tramp Press for yet another beautiful read.
April 16, 2022
Now longlisted for the Rathbone Folio Prize
I have always be felt caught between two languages, though I can only speak in one.
The one I can speak goes down on paper and into my laptop, in the hours before noon. The one I cannot speak goes down in small painted objects, in the hours after.
After the success of her wonderful novel A Line Made by Walking, Sara Baume (as she told the Irish Times) no longer felt compelled either to write or to continue to pursue the conventional career path of a writer. Things had been going well since I won a short story prize in 2014; I had been sustaining a certain momentum. By 2017, I was so tired of the dust-warped glow of my laptop screen, its crumb-jammed keys, the squeaky wheel of my office chair. Instead, I felt compelled to work with my hands – to cast off the desk and resurrect my tool box.
To work with my hands had been my first choice. I studied sculpture in college, but in the years since, outside the support of an institution, it had proved a prohibitively costly and cumbersome practice, and so I had turned to writing. In comparison to making sculpture, the practice of writing is magnificently compact and easily dispersed. It allowed me to say precisely what I meant in a form understood by everybody. And yet, by the end of book two, I was so tired of my own voice and the things I had said and meant with it. I longed to silently make small objects that were concerned with form, feel and colour; that I could touch, hold and smell; that nobody else saw or cared about
Her latest book, Handiwork, published as her previous works by the wonderful Tramp Press, is in a way a translation between her two languages of the opening quote, a love-child of my art and writing practices, or a by-product of novels past and coming. In beautifully compact prose Baume attempts to explain to myself the insistence I have always felt to work with my hands, to determine its origins (leading to a tribute to her father and grandfather) as well as discussing the theory surrounding craftsmanship and amateurism, the value of labour and ritual.
The particular pieces of handiwork that she makes and then writes about were a series of painted plaster models of birds, and the text also includes a discussion of the marvels of migration, with Baume commenting more than once that she sometimes expands or speculates on what she knows scientifically, only to find that nature has even more surprises than she imagined.
A beautifully written work of art.
I have always be felt caught between two languages, though I can only speak in one.
The one I can speak goes down on paper and into my laptop, in the hours before noon. The one I cannot speak goes down in small painted objects, in the hours after.
After the success of her wonderful novel A Line Made by Walking, Sara Baume (as she told the Irish Times) no longer felt compelled either to write or to continue to pursue the conventional career path of a writer. Things had been going well since I won a short story prize in 2014; I had been sustaining a certain momentum. By 2017, I was so tired of the dust-warped glow of my laptop screen, its crumb-jammed keys, the squeaky wheel of my office chair. Instead, I felt compelled to work with my hands – to cast off the desk and resurrect my tool box.
To work with my hands had been my first choice. I studied sculpture in college, but in the years since, outside the support of an institution, it had proved a prohibitively costly and cumbersome practice, and so I had turned to writing. In comparison to making sculpture, the practice of writing is magnificently compact and easily dispersed. It allowed me to say precisely what I meant in a form understood by everybody. And yet, by the end of book two, I was so tired of my own voice and the things I had said and meant with it. I longed to silently make small objects that were concerned with form, feel and colour; that I could touch, hold and smell; that nobody else saw or cared about
Her latest book, Handiwork, published as her previous works by the wonderful Tramp Press, is in a way a translation between her two languages of the opening quote, a love-child of my art and writing practices, or a by-product of novels past and coming. In beautifully compact prose Baume attempts to explain to myself the insistence I have always felt to work with my hands, to determine its origins (leading to a tribute to her father and grandfather) as well as discussing the theory surrounding craftsmanship and amateurism, the value of labour and ritual.
The particular pieces of handiwork that she makes and then writes about were a series of painted plaster models of birds, and the text also includes a discussion of the marvels of migration, with Baume commenting more than once that she sometimes expands or speculates on what she knows scientifically, only to find that nature has even more surprises than she imagined.
A beautifully written work of art.
June 6, 2020
Almost three years ago, I was fortunate enough to be able to resign from my job in the HR department of a large IT company and instead focus (pun intended) on my real passion, photography. I know I am in an enviable position: I get to spend every day doing what I love whilst not needing that activity to make money.
What I most enjoy about this new way of life is the chance to be creative. Indeed, in the three years in which I have concentrated on my photography, I can easily look back and see how my image making has changed (I like to think of it as “progressed”, others may have a different word for it). And I often do take time to stop and look back over the images I have created because the process which leads from a basic image to something I can call my own work fascinates me. My image making concentrates on two areas: creative landscapes and British wildlife, most especially birds.
All this is a long-winded way of saying that handiwork is the perfect book for me. It is Sara Baume’s first non-fiction work and it is, in essence, a meditation on the creative process. In the wake of her father’s death, Baume set out on a project (I’m not sure the author would approve of that word, though) to create a collection of birds made out of carved and painted plaster. This book runs in parallel with that and documents the growth of a work of art. Along the way, it captures small details of domestic life, deals with grief over the death of a loved one and reflects on the lives of birds which, it turns out, give us a lot of poetic insight into the creative process.
I loved some of the descriptions of domestic life. I have been married (to the same woman) for almost 37 years, and I could completely relate to this:
At intervals, as we drift between stations, we pause to speak to one another, not really saying anything of consequence but making simple flight calls - like geese gently honking to the fellow members of their group as they flap - reassuring the others that they are still nearby and still, to some extent, on course.
Maybe it’s the fact that we are both keen bird watchers that makes this image so appropriate.
When it comes to the making of a piece of art, I then completely relate to this:
I have always felt caught between two languages, although I can only speak in one.
The one I can speak goes down on paper and into my laptop, in the hours before noon. The one I cannot speak goes down in small painted objects, in the hours after.
The more I need to explain, the longer the documents becomes, the larger the assemblages.
My favourite quote about photography is “Don’t shoot what it looks like. Shoot what it feels like.” (David Alan Harvey) and this is what has driven the development of my photographic technique over the last few years. How can I use the “language of image making” to say what it feels like when I look at what I am photographing.
And I’ve already said that I am a keen birdwatcher, so the fact that Baume uses birds (there are pictures of 14 of her small sculptures dotted through the book) to draw out poetic parallels is the icing on the cake for this reader. There is a lovely moment when she comes across a wheatear and they have what can only be referred to as a staring contest. Not long later a friend reminds her that she may well have been the first human being that bird had seen and she is surprised at the thought of their mutual curiosity about one another.
It’s a beautiful moment in a book filled with beautiful moments and fascinating insights.
What I most enjoy about this new way of life is the chance to be creative. Indeed, in the three years in which I have concentrated on my photography, I can easily look back and see how my image making has changed (I like to think of it as “progressed”, others may have a different word for it). And I often do take time to stop and look back over the images I have created because the process which leads from a basic image to something I can call my own work fascinates me. My image making concentrates on two areas: creative landscapes and British wildlife, most especially birds.
All this is a long-winded way of saying that handiwork is the perfect book for me. It is Sara Baume’s first non-fiction work and it is, in essence, a meditation on the creative process. In the wake of her father’s death, Baume set out on a project (I’m not sure the author would approve of that word, though) to create a collection of birds made out of carved and painted plaster. This book runs in parallel with that and documents the growth of a work of art. Along the way, it captures small details of domestic life, deals with grief over the death of a loved one and reflects on the lives of birds which, it turns out, give us a lot of poetic insight into the creative process.
I loved some of the descriptions of domestic life. I have been married (to the same woman) for almost 37 years, and I could completely relate to this:
At intervals, as we drift between stations, we pause to speak to one another, not really saying anything of consequence but making simple flight calls - like geese gently honking to the fellow members of their group as they flap - reassuring the others that they are still nearby and still, to some extent, on course.
Maybe it’s the fact that we are both keen bird watchers that makes this image so appropriate.
When it comes to the making of a piece of art, I then completely relate to this:
I have always felt caught between two languages, although I can only speak in one.
The one I can speak goes down on paper and into my laptop, in the hours before noon. The one I cannot speak goes down in small painted objects, in the hours after.
The more I need to explain, the longer the documents becomes, the larger the assemblages.
My favourite quote about photography is “Don’t shoot what it looks like. Shoot what it feels like.” (David Alan Harvey) and this is what has driven the development of my photographic technique over the last few years. How can I use the “language of image making” to say what it feels like when I look at what I am photographing.
And I’ve already said that I am a keen birdwatcher, so the fact that Baume uses birds (there are pictures of 14 of her small sculptures dotted through the book) to draw out poetic parallels is the icing on the cake for this reader. There is a lovely moment when she comes across a wheatear and they have what can only be referred to as a staring contest. Not long later a friend reminds her that she may well have been the first human being that bird had seen and she is surprised at the thought of their mutual curiosity about one another.
It’s a beautiful moment in a book filled with beautiful moments and fascinating insights.
November 18, 2020
My first read of Sara Baume, having decided to read this work of creative nonfiction before trying her fiction. I stumbled across this after reading the excellent A Ghost In The Throat published by the same Tramp Press, so I bought it hoping for a similar experience.
Handiwork is a pure joy to read, it's a small book, with often only a paragraph on a page, it had a beautifully thought out structure, referencing a number of different texts that the author, who is an artist, a craftswoman clearly holds dear. Overall, it is an exploration of her process and influences, charting a daily practice, working with hands, expressing her creativity.
After travelling Europe, she returns to her parents home and is greeted in her old room by a cacophony of objects she had assembled from other things, re-conceptualised out of available fragments from her material environment.
Now she lives in a house with Mark and structures her day, between the mundane repetitive actions of living, mornings of writing and afternoons of making.
She considers herself a disciple of William Morris, artist, designer, writer, activist, socialist, who:
This text is a place of reflection, aided by quotes from the various authors she refers to, which then form part of her own experience or insight and by the memory of her father and grandfather, one who worked with wood and the other with metal.
Her medium for the duration of the book is plaster, she is making, carving, painting and mounting birds. And reading about bird migration. And trying to entice the songbirds she sculpts to a feeder in the garden.
It is like a songbird itself, a small book that sings its tribute to those who craft and create and follow that intuitive inclination to fashion one thing out of another.
Handiwork is a pure joy to read, it's a small book, with often only a paragraph on a page, it had a beautifully thought out structure, referencing a number of different texts that the author, who is an artist, a craftswoman clearly holds dear. Overall, it is an exploration of her process and influences, charting a daily practice, working with hands, expressing her creativity.
In the Craftsman, Sennett is a little grumpy about the prospect of confronting the question 'What is art?' Instead, he sets out his inquiry as: 'We are trying to figure out what autonomy means - autonomy as a drive from within that impels us to work in an expressive way, by ourselves.'
After travelling Europe, she returns to her parents home and is greeted in her old room by a cacophony of objects she had assembled from other things, re-conceptualised out of available fragments from her material environment.
a practice that Charles Jencks in the early 1970's designated 'adhocism' - a method of creation relying particularly on resources which are already at hand.
Now she lives in a house with Mark and structures her day, between the mundane repetitive actions of living, mornings of writing and afternoons of making.
She considers herself a disciple of William Morris, artist, designer, writer, activist, socialist, who:
agreed that hands know what they must do without instruction, that the objects shaped by their ancestor's phalanxes and phalanges and metacarpals for thousands of years remain in the memory compartment of their tiny brains, in the same way as birds know which way to fly without being guided or following a plotted course, without a book that provides detailed drawings and plans with parts and kits to accompany it.
This text is a place of reflection, aided by quotes from the various authors she refers to, which then form part of her own experience or insight and by the memory of her father and grandfather, one who worked with wood and the other with metal.
From my Dad I inherited a propensity for handiwork, but also the terrible responsibility, the killing insistence.
Her medium for the duration of the book is plaster, she is making, carving, painting and mounting birds. And reading about bird migration. And trying to entice the songbirds she sculpts to a feeder in the garden.
It is like a songbird itself, a small book that sings its tribute to those who craft and create and follow that intuitive inclination to fashion one thing out of another.
We must begin, William Morris said in his lecture 'Useful Work v. Useful Toil' to the Hampstead Liberal Club in 1884, ' to build up the ornamental part of life'
November 25, 2023
Oef! Na de afknapper die haar roman Weken maanden jaren me bezorgde, maakte Sara Baume het met dit boek weer goed. Er mag dan enige link zijn met die roman, nl. de gedetailleerde opsommingen en beschrijvingen van voorwerpen en handelingen, hier klopt het allemaal; ongetwijfeld omdat het veel organischer ontstaan is, vanuit Sara Baumes eigen leven en ervaring als beeldend kunstenaar, auteur, partner en dochter.
Er schuilt een zekere naïviteit in dit boek. Die was ook aanwezig in bovengenoemde roman, maar in plaats van ronduit vervelend daar, werkte ze hier verkwikkend en juist gedoseerd, precies omdat Sara Baume alles zo verfijnd, nauwgezet en poëtisch heeft gecomponeerd; net zo meticuleus als ze de gipsvogels modelleert waar het in 'Handwerk' om draait. Onbevangenheid is daarom misschien een betere, positievere term om haar uitgangspunt te omschrijven.
Veel boeiends gelezen over vakmanschap en ambacht, over flow en over vogelgedrag, over weldoordachte, niet zelden ecologische keuzes van en omgang met materialen en over het kunstenaarschap. De vogels, zowel de echte als hun handgemaakte gipsen modellen, mogen dan de rode draad zijn, die draad raakt langzaam maar zeker vervlochten met het leven en werk van Sara Baumes overleden vader. Zeker naar het einde toe wordt dit meer uitgesproken (ook) een vaderboek dat me weleens deed denken aan De H is van havik.
'Handwerk' mag dan een heel persoonlijk boek zijn, een zelfonderzoek waarin woord en vorm, kunst en ambacht, leven en dood, mens en dier onder de loep genomen en/of gespiegeld worden, het schenkt je als lezer ook veel moois om bij stil te staan en tot bezinning uitnodigt. Zonder verplichting, met een poëtische ondertoon en een weldoordachte bladspiegel die veel witruimte biedt om zelf in te vullen.
Er schuilt een zekere naïviteit in dit boek. Die was ook aanwezig in bovengenoemde roman, maar in plaats van ronduit vervelend daar, werkte ze hier verkwikkend en juist gedoseerd, precies omdat Sara Baume alles zo verfijnd, nauwgezet en poëtisch heeft gecomponeerd; net zo meticuleus als ze de gipsvogels modelleert waar het in 'Handwerk' om draait. Onbevangenheid is daarom misschien een betere, positievere term om haar uitgangspunt te omschrijven.
Veel boeiends gelezen over vakmanschap en ambacht, over flow en over vogelgedrag, over weldoordachte, niet zelden ecologische keuzes van en omgang met materialen en over het kunstenaarschap. De vogels, zowel de echte als hun handgemaakte gipsen modellen, mogen dan de rode draad zijn, die draad raakt langzaam maar zeker vervlochten met het leven en werk van Sara Baumes overleden vader. Zeker naar het einde toe wordt dit meer uitgesproken (ook) een vaderboek dat me weleens deed denken aan De H is van havik.
'Handwerk' mag dan een heel persoonlijk boek zijn, een zelfonderzoek waarin woord en vorm, kunst en ambacht, leven en dood, mens en dier onder de loep genomen en/of gespiegeld worden, het schenkt je als lezer ook veel moois om bij stil te staan en tot bezinning uitnodigt. Zonder verplichting, met een poëtische ondertoon en een weldoordachte bladspiegel die veel witruimte biedt om zelf in te vullen.
May 14, 2020
A quiet, beautiful work of non-fiction, I will return to passages of this book over and over again. So many beautiful images and thoughts, all of which are very relevant in this time of quiet, of noticing the "daily birds" and of grief. This is the first of Sara Baume's books i've read, but I'm looking forward to reading her fiction now. The photos within the book of her artwork are beautiful as well, and fit in perfectly. She referred to it at the Cuirt festival this year as "barely a book" but I would disagree!
April 9, 2020
Handiwork by Sara Baume is a beautiful piece of writing about the habit of art, of noticing. Perfectly-weighted sentences, flawlessly punctuated. She just knows what's interesting. This a book I'll read a hundred times in the years ahead. A collection of short reflections - if that's the right word for writing so alive and spontaneous - about the domesticity of art; its making; its setting; its independence.
May 4, 2024
Sara Baume can do no wrong, and this piece of non fiction she has probably created her most heartfelt work yet.
Through a series of vignettes Sara Baume combines the crafts she used for a bird based exhibition with the actual life of birds, memories of her father and various little facts about Audubon and outsider artist Van Genk.
The theme of art representing life dominates the book but it also doubles as touching portrait of a father/daughter bond.
August 20, 2021
Poetic and beautiful. Although it can easily be read in a single sitting, I did my best to stretch it out and make it last. The soft susurration of Baume's writing is poignant and calming. The book contains several pictures of the model birds she was making at the time she wrote these reflections. The birds are lovely, but I was more affected by the image of her hands in these photographs.
As a side note, my copy of this book contains a short inscription and signature from the author, apparently overlooked by the used bookseller. A pleasing find for me.
As a side note, my copy of this book contains a short inscription and signature from the author, apparently overlooked by the used bookseller. A pleasing find for me.
July 7, 2023
Wat een mooi kleinood. Over vogels, het creatieve proces, de fragiliteit van handwerk, geduld, het tikken van de tijd en melancholie, veel melancholie.
March 23, 2021
Baume is a visual artist as well as an author and put together this gently illuminating book over the course of 2018, at the same time as she was working on several sculptural installations. In short sections of a paragraph or two, or sometimes no more than a line, she describes her daily routines in her home workspaces: in the morning she listens to barely audible talk radio as she writes, while the afternoons are for carving and painting.
Working with her hands is a family tradition passed down from her grandfather and father, who died in the recent past – of lung cancer from particles he was exposed to at the sandstone quarry where he worked. Baume has a sense of responsibility for how she spends her time and materials. Concern about waste is at odds with a drive for perfection: she discarded her first 100 plaster birds before she was happy with the series used to illustrate this volume. Snippets of craft theory, family memories, and trivia about bird migration and behaviour are interspersed with musings on what she makes. The joy of holding a physical object in the hand somehow outweighs that of having committed virtual words to a hard drive.
Despite the occasional lovely line, this scattered set of reflections doesn’t hang together. The bird facts, in particular, feel shoehorned in for symbolism, as in Colum McCann’s Apeirogon. It’s a shame, as from the blurb I thought this book couldn’t be better suited to my tastes. Ultimately, Baume’s prose doesn’t spark much for me.
Favorite lines:
“Most of the time spent making is spent, in fact, in the approach.”
“I must stop once the boredom becomes intolerable, knowing that if I plunge on past this point I will risk arriving at resentment”
“What we all shared – me, my dad, his dad – was a suspicion of modern life, a loathing of fashion, a disappointment with the new technologies and a preference for the ad hoc contraptions of the past”
“The glorious, crushing, ridiculous repetition of life.”
(Read as part of the Rathbones Folio Prize shortlist.)
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
Working with her hands is a family tradition passed down from her grandfather and father, who died in the recent past – of lung cancer from particles he was exposed to at the sandstone quarry where he worked. Baume has a sense of responsibility for how she spends her time and materials. Concern about waste is at odds with a drive for perfection: she discarded her first 100 plaster birds before she was happy with the series used to illustrate this volume. Snippets of craft theory, family memories, and trivia about bird migration and behaviour are interspersed with musings on what she makes. The joy of holding a physical object in the hand somehow outweighs that of having committed virtual words to a hard drive.
Despite the occasional lovely line, this scattered set of reflections doesn’t hang together. The bird facts, in particular, feel shoehorned in for symbolism, as in Colum McCann’s Apeirogon. It’s a shame, as from the blurb I thought this book couldn’t be better suited to my tastes. Ultimately, Baume’s prose doesn’t spark much for me.
Favorite lines:
“Most of the time spent making is spent, in fact, in the approach.”
“I must stop once the boredom becomes intolerable, knowing that if I plunge on past this point I will risk arriving at resentment”
“What we all shared – me, my dad, his dad – was a suspicion of modern life, a loathing of fashion, a disappointment with the new technologies and a preference for the ad hoc contraptions of the past”
“The glorious, crushing, ridiculous repetition of life.”
(Read as part of the Rathbones Folio Prize shortlist.)
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
November 1, 2021
An expansive book about creating, art, and what it means to make something. The book describes Baume's creation of hundreds of ceramic birds, which were part of an art installation at her first solo show. Using the white space of the page, Baume organises her thoughts in brief snapshots, and divides the sections with photographs of the birds she made. It's a book about work and life and how the two connect: how her hands are constantly busy and her mind is always thinking about the next thing she needs to make. It's also about the skills and processes involved in making something and making something well, from Baume's birds to her father's work on building sites and in construction, and her grandfather's wood-work. The book is written against a backdrop of grief: Baume has recently lost her father to cancer, and is also exploring the much earlier loss of her grandfather. The text also considers birds themselves, what it means to look at birds, to recognise them, and how birds migrate, and how many die in the process of migration. It's also a look at materialism and climate collapse. All these threads are held together effortlessly in this small book, each element followed with care. Baume is also wonderful at crafting prose and this is a balanced, complex and engaging essay, with an insightful focus on the particular. It's a fantastic look at writing, on why we make things, and what it means to exist at this moment in time. Highly recommended to anyone interested in any kind of creative work.
April 18, 2020
‘Handiwork’ is Sara Baume’s first non-fiction work. In this book, she reflects on her daily work as an artist, on time and on nature and on her home. She contemplates habit, and the daily flow of life, of both the author herself and other people close to her. The style of ‘Handiwork’ reminded me of her novel ‘A line made by walking’ which felt reflective of life and habit in the same manner. I loved how this book invites the reader to reflect on the text in the way it is presented on the pages, with many open spaces. While this book is highly personal for the author, it also expresses something universal about how we all fill our time with our daily processes. This book offers a thoughtful and nuanced account
of life and art both within the limited daily space in which the artist works, as well as the broader world In which her work finds its place.
of life and art both within the limited daily space in which the artist works, as well as the broader world In which her work finds its place.
September 19, 2021
I feel like this review is perhaps a bit harsh since this was required university reading. I wouldn't have picked this book for myself so I was curious to observe my thoughts.
Handiwork is specialist. I don't know lots about birds, woodwork, or art in general. Some of the odd facts included were interesting; this slight interest just wasn't enough to happily carry me through.
I appreciated the honest self-reflection that other writers may avoid in non-fiction. I was impressed with Baume's ability to weave the 'handiwork' with thoughts on grief, existentialism and love.
I doubt I was the target audience but I'm happy to hear that others enjoyed this.
2 stars
Handiwork is specialist. I don't know lots about birds, woodwork, or art in general. Some of the odd facts included were interesting; this slight interest just wasn't enough to happily carry me through.
I appreciated the honest self-reflection that other writers may avoid in non-fiction. I was impressed with Baume's ability to weave the 'handiwork' with thoughts on grief, existentialism and love.
I doubt I was the target audience but I'm happy to hear that others enjoyed this.
2 stars
May 1, 2020
She's done it again! This book is an exquisite addition to Sara Baume's already impressive written accomplishments, a nonfiction gift to all of us out here who make things and wonder about our drive to do so. Her first book-length work of nonfiction, it applies to the artistic process her knack for acute observations that open with expansive implications. Such a present this book is for her fellow artists. I imagine it's the sort of read that would prove beneficial for those who don't create, as well, because Baume has a way of writing precisely about acts and compulsions that are not easily described. The way she ties together the making of art, birds and birding, and her father's death offers a genuine, sincere expression of the complex, emotional, biological rhythms that guide and perpetuate handiwork. Creators will meet in this book a sibling in the arts who understands why making things is not a hobby for them but a need that evokes the very essence of their lives. I cannot thank her enough for writing it.
May 9, 2021
****(*)
August 9, 2020
een dromerig en poëtisch boek over kunstenaarschap en het huis waarin dat plaatsvindt
December 29, 2020
This is a book about making. Making in the sense of creating, and in the sense of the Arts and Crafts Movement of the 19th century. Baume's father and grandfather were makers. Her father worked in a quarry and built machinery to do his job. Her grandfather built elaborate railroad displays.
Baume is fascinated by birds, and their migrations. This is also a topic that I am intrigued by. The tiny arctic tern migrates the distance of half the globe twice a year. She creates small wooden sculptures of a number of uncommon and in some cases, threatened, birds.
This is a short, elegant book. It is a story of Baume's creative process. It tells of her grief at her father's death. She considers her genetic disposition towards creating, based on her father's and grandfather's endeavors. It is a wonderful study of an artist and a creator.
Baume is fascinated by birds, and their migrations. This is also a topic that I am intrigued by. The tiny arctic tern migrates the distance of half the globe twice a year. She creates small wooden sculptures of a number of uncommon and in some cases, threatened, birds.
This is a short, elegant book. It is a story of Baume's creative process. It tells of her grief at her father's death. She considers her genetic disposition towards creating, based on her father's and grandfather's endeavors. It is a wonderful study of an artist and a creator.
November 21, 2022
Since I grew up in one house of industry as well, this book deeply resonated with me, with our daily craft taking over a house space with each season or a new project, transforming rooms into stations where work and life overlap daily. This beautifully written piece and its quiet atmosphere made me miss our family house and appreciate the time I could still spend working with my dad, regardless of our different sensibilities and purposes behind our handiwork.
April 6, 2020
Part reflections on making and creating, part grief, part songbirds—all subtle and tender and poignantly beautiful. Sara Baume is one of my favorite writers working today.
January 5, 2021
And with that, I have completed my 2021 reading challenge.
This was exactly what I hoped it would be: a lovely meditation on the creative process, encompassing its rituals, its preparations, its dissolution of time, its setbacks, its flow. But it was also more than that, touching on how Sara's loss and grief, and fascination with migratory birds, intertwined with the art project she was writing about.
It's definitely not for everyone - some may even find it boring - but I have come to realise that some of my favourite writing is that which reflects the everyday. And this does that in abundance :)
This was exactly what I hoped it would be: a lovely meditation on the creative process, encompassing its rituals, its preparations, its dissolution of time, its setbacks, its flow. But it was also more than that, touching on how Sara's loss and grief, and fascination with migratory birds, intertwined with the art project she was writing about.
It's definitely not for everyone - some may even find it boring - but I have come to realise that some of my favourite writing is that which reflects the everyday. And this does that in abundance :)
September 30, 2021
3.4/5
I enjoyed this little book much more than I expected to and a lot of it has to do with how much I related to the author. My father is also a builder, and my grandfather once was as well, just like hers. I also love the kind of art that builds upon itself: cutting and sticking and weaving and knitting. Painting is quite fine as well, but the other kind is where I find real pleasure.
I have been in a little lack-of-creativity hole and this book reminded me of the simple happiness of creation and I am glad for it.
I had always wondered why some people are obsessed with birds, and the number of metaphors and facts in this book about birds explained it to an extent. It was a sweet little dip into an obsession I do not have, and it was fun.
I enjoyed this little book much more than I expected to and a lot of it has to do with how much I related to the author. My father is also a builder, and my grandfather once was as well, just like hers. I also love the kind of art that builds upon itself: cutting and sticking and weaving and knitting. Painting is quite fine as well, but the other kind is where I find real pleasure.
I have been in a little lack-of-creativity hole and this book reminded me of the simple happiness of creation and I am glad for it.
I had always wondered why some people are obsessed with birds, and the number of metaphors and facts in this book about birds explained it to an extent. It was a sweet little dip into an obsession I do not have, and it was fun.
October 1, 2022
I found this little book delightful. As a bird watcher I especially enjoyed the amazing stories of bird migration and Sarah’s process of her creation of a series of painted plaster birds. I highly recommend Handiwork.
September 21, 2021
bird-lore galore - enjoyed the natural textures (feathers, dust, wood, earth) throughout - made me want to go to the sea shore, collect stones, christen them with names of Celtic priestesses and live a quiet life.
May 22, 2020
This is a hard book to describe but one that I felt immersed in. Led blindly into Sara Baume's world, this is a deep dive into creative process; into a creative mind.
However, it is more than that. Stitched throughout by her musings on grief, her daily procesess and birds, it slowly reveals some of what drives her and why this book exists. The journey throughout is exquisitely carved and revealed. With small chapters interspersed with images of her art this is a gorgeous book.
A beautiful meditation on an artist, writer and all her work. It is a book I will return to again and one I can highly recommend.
However, it is more than that. Stitched throughout by her musings on grief, her daily procesess and birds, it slowly reveals some of what drives her and why this book exists. The journey throughout is exquisitely carved and revealed. With small chapters interspersed with images of her art this is a gorgeous book.
A beautiful meditation on an artist, writer and all her work. It is a book I will return to again and one I can highly recommend.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 26, 2020
In between psychological thrillers and sagas, historical fiction and romance, a book like Sara Baume's 'handiwork' is a balm to the soul. A gentle flowing short narrative mix about life and art, creation and creating. Down to the brass tacks of it, making things from scratch, the idea, the vision, the project, and then living amidst it all, every day, finding beauty in each fabric, raw material; finding meaning in each tiny finished piece. I loved this book, its meanderings, its freedom, its natural being.
May 28, 2020
I'm in love with Sara Baume's writing.
September 24, 2021
Handiwork by Sara Baume is undeniably specialist fiction. As someone with no prior knowledge of woodwork, birds and very minimal knowledge of art, this book didn't appeal as much as it did to others.
Despite saying that, I was particularly fond of how Baume weaves facts with essence of everyday life as she recounts memory-like snippets to the reader. We see as she does. Baume description has depth, especially about things that would usually be overlooked (but not to Baume, and no longer to the reader).
Baume leaves no stone un-turned, no detail left out in her nonfiction debut. I was not the target audience for this yet I still learnt from Baume's writing. I will take these lessons and apply them to my own writing.
Despite saying that, I was particularly fond of how Baume weaves facts with essence of everyday life as she recounts memory-like snippets to the reader. We see as she does. Baume description has depth, especially about things that would usually be overlooked (but not to Baume, and no longer to the reader).
Baume leaves no stone un-turned, no detail left out in her nonfiction debut. I was not the target audience for this yet I still learnt from Baume's writing. I will take these lessons and apply them to my own writing.
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