Scattered across the Ballarat and surrounding areas, makers persist quietly, hidden inside studios, sheds and backyards.

They work in creative practices that are not relics but rather careers and entire lifestyles. Practices that have evolved from the making of essential items to objects now labeled as “artisan” and “heritage”.

It is my hope that their works are bought via a fascination for the slow processes driven by the hands of people who serve not just as makers, but also as custodians of drifting knowledge. People who preserve techniques and skills that would otherwise be replaced in this ever changing, digitising and increasingly disposable world. 

These artists are resilient to their shifting roles. Holding their tools with a sense of permanence, and with a promise for a continued dedication to their chosen field.

They continue in the solitude that comes from narrowing fields, spending hour upon hour to create things with overwhelming care. A kind of romantic resistance to the world around them - seen through the dance that is their processes- sculpting things from nothing to something, in spaces unique to each individual. That is why artists create. Or some of the reasons.

These are not lost trades but living ones, past down, adapted, self-taught and sustained by individuals deeply committed to their craft.