The Last Word On Nothing

The first commercial object I remember coveting – and receiving – was a Spears toy hand loom. I must have been about eight. My family was not one in which children made wish lists for Christmas, let alone by brand name, but my friend Kathryn had this thing and I needed one. I was actually kind of amazed when my father agreed and produced it.

There’s a beauteous mathematical truth in the way that alternating pinholes and slots could turn into a machine. Push down on the shaft, and the warp threads would cross like closing spikes on a venus fly trap. Send the shuttle through, and let the shaft spring back up. In three seconds I had done the same work as if I had threaded a needle and painstakingly run the obstacle course, up and down, across forty-odd woolen strings.

The elegance was very appealing, to a mind that was just learning to think about dividing things in half. About a foot long and ¾ wide, the wooden frame was just the right size for making small placemats. I made many of them. And that’s the last time I remember really enjoying mastery over physical creation. My creativity turned to music and then writing – pushing information around and reveling in its complexity – but never back to physically shaping an object.

Touring the new Institute of Making last week, I wondered why. Materials engineer Mark Miodownik has been a leader of makers for years, and this center, part of University College London, is his natural habitat. He’d like it to become a club house, home to a loose band of passionate makers, welcoming of both men and women.

On walking into the Institute we pass the materials library, cabinets of curiosity filled with samples: Everything from steel cloth and memory foam to aerogel and horn. With hundreds of materials on display, a maker can think divergently about what overlooked fabric or ingredient might best suit the properties of the thing she wants to build.

Mark removes a rolled-up mat of rubber – real rubber from a rubber tree, and I inspect its knobbly orange-brown surface. A couple of those globules removed from the mat bounce on the ground like the rubber ball they are.

The mat smells like some hide moccasins that once stank up my son’s toy chest. “This has been smoked,” I guessed. Correct! Mark explained the tapping and smoking process and I felt proud of myself for this uncharacteristic connection with the senses.

On to the colorful MakeSpace that resembles a Sea-Can-sized Montessori classroom for adults, with its 3D printers and laser cutters, and lathe and kitchen (though no food or drink are allowed in the space), a kiln and electronics center. Up on a balcony overlooking the space is a row of sewing machines.

I tried to imagine how, in a real situation, this would pan out. Like the materials library with its pretty little samples, none big enough for substantial use, this equipment seemed set up for one person’s use. What if you come in and someone’s hogging the lathe all day?

I think of the mess involved in making, and the sheer amount of stuff that’s required to sit around between sessions – think 10,000-piece puzzles monopolizing the dining room table for months – and Mark admits it’s not the perfect set-up. “We have some lockers for storage, but it’s a real problem,” he says. “We’re hoping once we’ve demonstrated demand and success, these things will be easier to ask for from the administration.”

They say entrepreneurs are born, not made. Are makers made? Is it a temperament? I’m drawn to be part of this club, not least because Mark’s enthusiasm is so energizing, but I don’t know where to start at all. Perhaps I could sit in the corner and write a story.