feature :: makers of east london - confessions of a design geek

This article was published 11 years

My second book, Makers of East London, is out in just a few weeks. To whet your appetite, I thought I’d share my introduction with you here.

The whirr of machinery is almost deafening as Daniel Harris wends his way through the collection of antique looms, warping mills and pern winders he has brought back to life to create London’s first ‘micro mill’. Here in Clapton, he weaves cloth that can be traced back to a specific flock of sheep.

Not far away, lighting designer Kyla McCallum is folding paper. Her studio in Limehouse is surprisingly quiet given that she counts a steel manufacturer and a cement factory among her neighbours. Sheet by sheet, she makes 11 precise folds in each of 70 pieces of Italian parchment. She talks as she works, barely watching what she’s doing, her hands moving automatically. “Every product I make is of exceptionally high quality,” she says. “Producing something yourself on a small scale means you are completely in control of the supply chain and the making process.”

Meanwhile, East London institution ‘Barn the Spoon’ – more properly known as Barnaby Carder – sits in the window of his tiny workshop on Hackney Road, carving spoons. “Making stuff out of wood with axes and knives is in our blood,” he says, wood shavings landing in his tea.

From spoons to shoes, bells to bikes and chairs to chopping boards, people are making things all over East London. It is perhaps surprising, given the explosion of all things digital, that so many artisans and craftspeople should still be working with their hands. But it has been ever thus.

The Whitechapel Bell Foundry has been in continuous service since 1570, casting everything from Big Ben to the Olympic Bell, and countless handbells in between.

Spitalfields’ silk trade, in its infancy in the early 17th century, exploded upon the arrival of 45,000 Protestant Huguenots fleeing religious persecution in Catholic France. In 1824, when the rules surrounding the import of French silk were relaxed, the industry declined, sending many of the weavers out to London’s suburbs.

In 1863, an article in The Illustrated London News described the living and working conditions in the Old Nichol, once home to the weavers, then on its way to becoming one of London’s most infamous slums: “Bandbox and lucifer-box [matchbox] makers, cane workers, clothespeg makers, shoemakers, and tailors, mostly earning only just enough to keep them from absolute starvation, swarm from roof to basement; and, as the owners of such houses have frequently bought the leases cheaply and spend nothing for repairs, the profits to the landlords are greater in proportion than those on a middle-class dwelling.” The notion of profiteering landlords preying on east London’s creative industries is not a 21st-century one.

Of the two million Ashkenazi Jews en route to America from Eastern Europe (again seeking refuge from religious persecution), 120,000 ended up settling in Spitalfields, bringing the ‘rag trade’ with them. By 1900, 95{ff546b69e23b1524d799f96c6ba7a638e1f677053b0a2a1568b05315fd5f8fc7} of the population of the Wentworth Street district was Jewish. Anti-Semitism was rife, as were claims that the newest arrivals to the area were driving up rents – another accusation frequently levelled at incomers today. The 1905 Aliens Act restricted further immigration, and gradually the majority of the Jewish population followed the Huguenots out to the suburbs.

This pattern of successive waves of makers coming into East London, leaving their mark and then moving out, has repeated itself through the centuries. The Huguenot church on Brick Lane became a synagogue; today it is a mosque. The area has become a palimpsest of cultures and crafts, a new layer of creativity introduced with each influx. Every generation of makers stands on the shoulders of those who have gone before and, at some point, leaves to make way for the next.

Letterpress printer Graham Bignell has been in Shoreditch since 1986. He has seen this pattern first hand over the last three decades. “Rising rents and the development of warehouses into luxury flats mean that most of the artists and craftspeople have been forced out. Thankfully, we are secure in our building, but I am really saddened by this change and the knock-on effect for the area. The future for makers in the East End is pretty grim.”

“East London is the traditional shoemaking district of London as well as being my home,” adds bespoke shoemaker Sebastian Tarek. “Makers are going to get priced out of the area, which means ‘Made in London’ will no longer have the same cachet. There have only ever been honest trades in East London and I don’t know whether that will continue. It’s entirely plausible that ‘Made in East London’ will become a byword for disingenuous creativity. I would hate to see that happen.”

“Rising costs in the East End mean that things are changing,” echoes crocheted-lamp maker Naomi Paul, of Dalston. “Over the six years that I’ve been here, I have seen many of the old makers, including carpenters and metalworkers, move away due to rising rents. I suspect that technology-based design companies will prevail and independent designer-makers will migrate to other less well-known areas.”

This may be true, of course, but throughout its history, East London has been defined by change. It’s this very dynamism that has made it such an exciting place for creative work, something that Paul concedes: “Although it is sad to see, it is exciting to bear witness to the evolving landscape, and I feel really lucky that I have been privy to it. I look forward to seeing and experiencing all that is to come, whether I am working here or just visiting.”

Neon sign-maker Rob Court, who has had a workshop on Lea Bridge Road for 20 years, shares her view. “East London has changed a great deal. It certainly has a smarter appearance now, which I applaud. It has got a really eclectic mix of people, which I enjoy too – it has a real buzz. It’s difficult: on one hand regeneration creates a nicer environment to live and work in, and on the other, it forces rents to unrealistic highs. It is a tough balancing act and I have seen some businesses fall victim to high rents. I hope the future brings me good fortune so I can continue trading from the part of London that I love.”

The livelihoods of East London’s current maker generation may well be under threat – from the escalating rents brought by gentrification, from the spread of the City, or from the next creative wave to wash over the area – but could those very tensions serve to maintain the area’s unique energy? Bespoke framer Simon Quinn thinks so: “As a woodworker it feels right to be in an area with woodworking heritage dating back to the 19th century. But the next generation of makers is determined to do it better and show us all how it is done – that keeps me on my toes and reminds me that a true craftsperson is never satisfied with their skills. There’s always more to learn.”

For better or worse, things are changing. But innovators know how to adapt. For every maker forced to move elsewhere by prohibitive costs, there’s another finding their place in a shared studio or collective maker-space, or a creative start-up merging traditional craft with digital technologies. Perhaps the decline of the east London maker has been exaggerated?

“There’s been much commotion about what east London has become,” sighs pom pom maker Karen Hsu. “To me, a place is what people make of it. Yes, east London has changed a lot in the last 20 years, but maybe it will become even more dynamic. Artists should not always conform to the status quo, so maybe change is a good thing.”

From his Hackney Downs workshop, bike-builder James Kennedy also watches the evolution of the area with optimism: “This part of London has so many things that are world-class, but the two that really strike me are the quality of design and innovation, and the sheer multiculturalism. When you combine those two things, you’ve got one hell of a recipe for creativity.”

Whatever else has gone into the mix over the centuries, that fundamental recipe has never changed. Makers may come and go, and what they make may alter as trends and technologies evolve, but east London thrives on flux. When it stops moving, that’s when we need to start worrying.