THE ART OF CRAFT - XI
Posted by Mariana Scaravilli on Jul 27, 2017

XI

 
If we aspire to craftsmanship, we will seek a craftsman to introduce us to their craft. In their presence we will be in the presence of the craft. If we are fortunate enough to find a craftsman who will undertake our instruction, we continue a process which leads to apprenticeship. When the apprenticeship has been served, the centre of gravity of the former apprentice’s life is at the level of craftsman. In time, a craftsman is generally called upon to teach. The wise craftsman will say no. Often they will have given some informal instruction to occasional individuals, and if this has served any end, it is in showing the craftsman the tenuous nature of their responsibility. Those wishing for a comfortable life, or in their right mind will say no; but the acceptance of teaching, of giving instruction, is not a rational decision. Those that have the folly, presumption, or recognise the necessity begin an apprenticeship to mastery.


The craftsman teaches by what they do.
The master teaches by who they are. 

The first thing a teacher learns is the impossibility of teaching. So, the teacher is immediately a student, their own apprentice. Except, in learning a craft, they have learnt the laws of learning, and these they can apply to themselves in the craft of teaching a craft. The craftsman knows that, in a sense, they are their craft: they are the embodiment of the particular forces and qualities which make the craft recognizable. A craft brings together two incompatible worlds; the life of the craftsman reconciles the impossibility. If they move themselves out of the way of the craft, perhaps the craft can speak directly to the apprentice. So, the role of the teacher is one of acceptance. The aspiring apprentice embodies the quality of affirmation: I seek music, help me. The craft itself is the agent of reconciliation. The teacher is mother to the craft, and its emergence in the world; the apprentice, perhaps strangely, is father. Each play a role so that a pattern may unfold, and this unfolding pattern is part of a creative act; teacher and student are parents to their craft. The child is a craftsmanship which gives body to the craft itself. The craftsman learns that this is a child which has chosen its parents.

In the craft of guitar playing, the guitar is not about playing the guitar—it is about playing the guitarist. But, who is playing the guitarist? Making music is not about making music—it is about making the musician; when a musician is made, so also is music. Nevertheless, music is never absent.

At this point, the teacher will be dealing with the erroneous notions of the apprentice. The apprentice musician, for example, has many bright ideas about the life of the musician; perhaps, even, how to make the world a better place with music.

The teacher will give clear instructions to the student, so that the pattern within the craft is clearly presented in a practical, coherent, and satisfying manner. Then, the teacher will confuse the student. The mind holds the pattern in front of us, guides us from where we are towards where we are going, and shows us our place in the pattern at any moment. This is valuable, and if we intend to fully participate within a process, even necessary. But part of the mind will identify the craft with a set of rules, as if the craft itself is merely a method. The keen, dedicated apprentice will display their knowledge and broadcast their adherence to their craft, proclaiming the details of their instructions: clear, intelligible, and coherent. Swelling with their rich insights gained in the presence of authority, they misrepresent their craft. The apprentice believes they have understood, that an idea has come to live in them. They have forgotten that the teacher is also an apprentice, and making the same mistakes on behalf of the craft as they. Hopefully, the quality of the mistakes is higher; even, that no mistakes are being made. And they may not understand that their teacher has been tricking them. Part of this trickery is in presenting the craft as a rational, coherent, and intelligible method. Then, having granted the apprentice the security of allowing their mind to fix upon this true pattern, the mind is disturbed. The mind may never become an honest or trusted servant, but if it is robbed of its seeming intelligibility, its pretensions are easier to dispute.

The craft can be known, and reduced to a series of formulations, or descriptions. It has a pattern which can be learnt, held, and absorbed, and then described. But this is not understanding. When one attempts to penetrate a craft by knowing, it eludes us. This is where we approach the mystery within a craft: it is closer to us than we are to ourselves, but what can we do about it? So, the teacher disturbs the mind of the apprentice, that its hold upon them weakens. In the moment of release, the apprentice has an experience of what it means to be a master: a state of letting go, constantly; a state of application, constantly; and innocence within the contradiction of acting and not acting. This is artistry: acting with the assumption of innocence within the field of experience. Knowing this in the moment of abandoning reliance upon the infallibility of the mind, the student knows within their own experience the quality of abandonment. This quality can now always be consulted, and drawn upon. The apprentice has had an insight into the world of the master. Then, they fall to earth.

The teacher will recognise the bruises; they have many of their own in the same places, as well as elsewhere. Whether they offer the apprentice a salve or a hard seat will depend upon the nature of the student and the situation governing them both. Until now the teacher has been tricking the apprentice until the point of falling to earth. Now, the apprentice has seen what is necessary for them to continue, and can choose to continue or not. Before, there was mostly imagination. The teacher’s trickery has been flattery, reassuring that part of the student which is genuinely in search of the craft. Part of the trickery is free gifts; perhaps introducing the student to live performances, or touring, even making records. The performance of music is a privilege, and the price for acquiring this privilege is high. For the apprentice to be granted easy access is a gift, a free gift, the cost of which is shared by the teacher and the craft. Some students will return for flatter, for the nourishment of their imagination. The teacher will judge the situation nicely, perhaps continuing to flatter that which is less in them, in hope. Perhaps not. Some students will return for free gifts, or even ask that they be notified when free gifts are to be distributed. And some students will recognise the teacher’s bruises as their own, and offer salve.

The teacher has the protection of the role of teacher. The craftsman in this role will probably confuse themselves with the teaching, and acquire fresh bruises. But, sitting squarely on the hard seat with bruises smarting, will keenly remember their presumption and not entertain this conceit again. And this is their safety: in letting go of the idea, the reality occurs, and the craft speaks through the craftsman. The craftsman remembers this moment, and is their own apprentice at the same stage as their other apprentices. Within the role, the teacher has nothing to teach, but responds to the promptings of necessity, guided by the craft. The apprentice creates the teacher, by demanding entrance to the craft. This brings about the appearance of the teacher to enable this entrance to take place.

 

The Art Of Craft - XII

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