I know what we did that summer Part 3 - Preciousness

Language evolves, words change and slip in meaning. Cliche and irony creep in, draining colour and intent. Speakers of Middle English understood precious as something of great moral spiritual or non-material worth, something held in high esteem. By the 1620s it had come to mean of great price, value and costly, though irony already pressed its claim.

Now, it’s rarely used except in certain settings, describing gems or artifacts. Or tickling a baby, pinching a toddler’s cheek, or by those Golems out there during cosplay. 

But our attachment to the intent, to the sentiment is constantly around us. From pimped up muscle cars, gardens trimmed to sterility, to brand fashionistas and the ever favourite topic of real estate prices around every dinner table, we are fixated on the precious. A strange shifting mix of rarity and market value.

As makers, preciousness derives in part from the value and rarity of the materials used. In woodworking, figured timbers such as burl, birds-eye, spalting or fiddleback, scarce species such as ebony, huon pine, remu or rosewood denote value even when an object is design-wise or aesthetically less than the sum of its parts.  

Skill displayed through joinery, material processing techniques and high lustre finishing are also markers of preciousness although this has been undercut by makers such as Garry Knox Bennett whose impatience with traditional process is legendary. The least interesting piece Bennett made was the Nail Cabinet in 1979. It’s the hundreds of chairs and lamps assembled using black sheet screws, epoxy and aluminium which are the most important aspect of his legacy, with his acute understanding of form and colour.  

Sanka 2009

15” x 10” x 9”
Office supplies, wood, coffee can, lamp parts

Copyright © 2011-2020 Garry Knox Bennett. All rights reserved. Photo credits: John R Bagley, Lee Fatherree, Alison J. McLennan

During the Black Summer fires, 2,448 homes were destroyed in NSW alone. As people were interviewed beside the charred ruins of their homes, again and again the loss people mourned was so often the small and to others the insignificant things. A tea cup that belonged to a grandmother, photos of children. A sense of preciousness that Chaucer would recognise.

Just as those small personal things are irreplaceable, the lost trees, forests and ecosystems are too. Whether it’s due to fires driven by climate change, industrial forestry practices destroying primary growth forests, or land clearing for agricultural or urban development, the loss is just as profound as it pushes the planetary boundaries of resource consumption closer to ecological collapse.

We can recognise the preciousness of a teacup but ignore the same in a tree or forest. We can value the beauty of timber’s grain and figure, but ignore the complex ecosystem lost when the tree was felled. We carefully insist on quarter sawn straight grained timber to ensure our stock is as stable as possible, making our complex joinery achievable. How much of the standing tree destined for use as a cabinet timber makes it to the rack in the yard, then into the maker’s workshop to be dressed and dressed again? Generally less than 50%.

We destroy one type of preciousness to make another. We admire the mindfulness of the maker, and ignore the mindlessness of our forestry practices and response to human induced climate change.