Leathercraft

According to Genesis, God was the first leathercrafter. When epic dumbasses Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, they became self-aware. They realized they were naked, and so they hid. God came to visit and found the kids hiding in the bushes. It didn't take long to realize that the kids had made a royal mess of things, and now they couldn't stay in the playpen anymore. So God made them clothes from animal skins, and booted them out of the Garden of Eden. And here we are.

I started leathercrafting a couple of years ago, and was astonished at how straightforward and easy it is. Easy, at least, as long as your bar for success is set at creating pieces that are functional and sturdy, and rustically attractive. I'm not a fine craftsman. My work is not going to be on par with a fine Italian leather wallet made from shell cordova. My stuff is practical, serviceable, and designed with efficient function in mind. It's made with tough stitches, brass buckles, and heavy rivets.

I opened my first shipment from the leather supply company like I was opening a treasure chest: a gorgeous light brown latigo, thick and tough, mottled with character marks. I smoothed my hands over the satiny topside; it felt like standing over a blank notebook with a pen. Except my pen was a new pair of heavy sharp scissors. I traced my pattern on the leather, making sure to use the hide as conscientiously as possible; this was, after all, the skin of an animal. I zoned out as I curved the scissors along the chalk line, feeling more than seeing the way they cut so cleanly through the material. When I was done, I had a pile of neatly cut pieces, ready to be stitched together.

I loved the planning and mental work that went into that first project. I needed to remember to sew on the buckles before stitching the main pieces together, or else I wouldn't be able to access the back side. Don't forget to use the seam groover to make the stitches lie flush, or else they'll get worn and weakened with use. Will the thickness of the leather cause that seam to wear or pop after repeated bending? Will that clasp catch on clothing if I attach it that way?

When I was done, I had a rugged, hard wearing purse with loops on the back, through which I could feed two leather straps with strong magnets on each end, holding the bag securely to the motorcycle tank. Since this project, I've completed and sold another tank bag, made a water bottle holster that buckles to the frame just under my seat, and started on a set of bi-colour tan saddle bags for my husband's bike. I have a pair of leather chaps all drawn out on another hide of supple bark brown leather. I have this vision of myself as Sharon Stone, rolling into town on my iron steed, full of piss an vinegar and badassery. We shall see. That project will require the additional investment of an industrial sewing machine.

I've never had the tenacity to stick with anything for very long, so I don't know how long this hobby will hold my attention. But its appeal is undeniable. There is a feeling of connection that one has with any craft or trade, where we do the very human thing of using tools to transform something raw into something useful. And with skill, into something beautiful. For thousands of years humans have sat by a fire in their shelter, sewing together pieces of tanned pelts and hides, weaving baskets from grasses and vines, spinning fibres into thread or yarn, and weaving them into colourful tapestries.

There is something satisfying and even comforting about the business of patiently creating something of worth with your hands. In a world of insane mass production and waste, this conscious creation draws us back to centre, Rembrandting the simple core tenets of economy: we create things of value by transforming less valuable raw materials into high-value objects through skillful, patient work. Some humans have taken on the task of becoming experts at such skillful manipulation of materials, and we pay them well to benefit from the work that they do. These are our tradespeople, our craftsmen, our artisans. I realized that, by virtue of our humanity, there is something of a craftsman in each of us. Perhaps we'll never create the next Faberge egg, or Tiffany's diamond ring, but we can each connect with our deep ancestral roots as natural makers and innovators. And it starts by picking up a pair of scissors, and making that first snip.