Re-creation

On Tuesday we took the train to Chester for a rendezvous with old friends. The weather was so warm that we were able to enjoy a picnic in the park and a boat-ride on the river: springtime has most definitely arrived and what a joy it is to see it again! Each season brings its unique parcel of pleasures - winter frost, summer green, autumn gold - but spring brings something more exciting: rejuvenation, the reassuring re-boot of life's cycle.

Chester itself struck me as having something cyclical about it. The architectural remains of the former Roman city are revealed in places, though they serve mostly as foundations for the medieval city which, in turn, support the Tudor and Victorian buildings. Roman Chester boasted an amphitheatre which seated 7,000 and a public bath-house which incorporated under-floor heating. These things fell into disuse when the Romans decided to leave which, to my mind, is puzzling. Was there no enterprising native (or immigrant) ready and willing to exploit the commercial opportunities of circuses and bath-houses? What were they thinking? "Good, now they've gone we don't have to go to the circus and be made to feel guilty about not bathing"? Today, Chester has a theatre which seats 126.

Back in central Manchester, where there are no green spaces, the manifestations of spring are not exactly in-your-face. In the courtyard of our apartment block some of us have placed potted plants - despite the architects' determination to make no such provision - and a couple of bird-feeders, so that we occasionally get some real tweets. The neighbouring City Art Gallery, however, has embraced the idea on a grander scale: its front terrace has been transformed into a garden with flagstones pulled up, topsoil laid, plants introduced and deck-chairs placed (tastefully) overlooking the tram line. The theme is 'lost garden' as in old-fashioned, informal and unkempt. They've cheated a bit by playing recorded birdsong in the portico, but this may be a temporary measure until the real birds can be persuaded that the garden is not just one of those arty trompe-l'oeil wheezes. In any case the people are flocking there.

The plants continue into the atrium and up the grand staircase where they finally accede to the regular exhibitions and to a large, temporary show called Eastern Exchanges. This show displays traditional East Asian artefacts, Western pieces which imitated them and contemporary pieces which draw on the ancient traditions and techniques which they embody. Like the garden, it raises the question of what differentiates craft from art. An obvious answer could be that, while they share elements of creativity, imagination and skill, craft relates to utility while art does not.

But some craft pieces are so meticulously wrought that they present a conundrum. Ever since the machine age it has been possible to make objects beautifully, accurately and cheaply: continuing to make exquisite, hand-crafted objects seems to be a pointless exercise. The answer to this lies beyond logic. Crafted objects are more than the sum of their parts. Their makers have mastered ways of exploiting the variable qualities of materials to enhance the beauty of their object in ways that machines cannot; and they have an eye for combining form, colour and texture that machines don't possess. Machines may make beautiful, flawless products, but the absence of flaw in beauty is itself a flaw.

Oriental belief systems like Buddhism and Confucianism originally influenced the design of the Eastern objects and encouraged the patient, painstaking mindset of the makers: the rich ruling classes provided patronage in order to maintain traditions and buttress the status quo. These things have changed but the essence of craftsmanship has not. It keeps regenerating itself out of the knowledge and skills of the past, imbuing objects with more than just practicality. Craft, at its most sublime, is a celebration of creativity for the sake of it: and it puts a spring in your step.