Photograph by The Sintoses
In a society that assigns merit to most of our actions, there’s something to be said for expression for the simple fun of it. Lately, a messy but invigorating movement has emerged: adults returning to their childhood silliness and freedom through what’s known as “chaotic crafting.” Think unhinged friendship bracelets, fake three-tiered cakes adorned with rhinestones, homemade polymer magnets, and collage- or zine-making meetups at gathering places like galleries and breweries.
“It’s freeing to allow yourself to be messy,” says Daisy Mijangos-Jimenez, the owner and creator behind Pastry Plug, an art shop offering delicious-looking but inedible fake-food crafts and gifts. “The beauty in the chaos is found in the process,” she says. “This form of art can be healing to our childhood selves: mentally, physically, and spiritually.”
Photograph by The Sintoses
Mijangos-Jimenez is among the artists who have taught workshops at The Bakery Atlanta, a community arts center that has been instrumental in fostering the city’s
chaotic-crafts movement. Originally launched in 2017 in Southwest Atlanta, The Bakery opened a performance venue and gallery in South Downtown several years later. Now a nonprofit, the organization added a second space for programming this year in The Supermarket, located in Otto’s Apartment Hotel in Poncey-Highland. Amanda Norris, The Bakery’s assistant director and programming director at The Supermarket, credits pandemic shutdowns with inspiring people to seek creative outlets. “It also exposed the need for an in-person connection while doing these things,” she says.
Photograph by The Sintoses
The Bakery recently received a $25,000 grant from the online dating company Hinge, which launched the One More Hour fund to foster in-person connection among Gen Zers, who report some of the highest rates of loneliness in the United States. The Bakery is using the grant money to offer more classes, workshops, and monthly events, including bring-your-own-art parties, open mics, and collage nights. It’s also begun hosting a new series called the Chit Chat Club, a networking event that features quirky live presentations by local creatives on topics like “Why I Love Trash” and “Why Everyone’s Obsessed with Cheese.”
“The biggest thing that we offer people, and the biggest thing that people take away, is that there are accessible places and you belong in them,” says Madison Nunes, The Bakery’s programming manager.
Photograph by The Sintoses
When it comes to crafting—well or poorly—the biggest barrier to entry is that many adults are truly scared to make art. To combat that fear, arts groups aim to keep the bar low, offering accessible and encouraging workshops that deviate from the “fine art” ideal. “We forget that crafting is a lifelong process,” says Jonelle Dawkins, executive director of Scraplanta Creative Reuse. The nonprofit began in 2011 as WonderRoot Creative Reuse, a program connected to the now-shuttered nonprofit WonderRoot, before launching independently as Scraplanta Creative Reuse in 2018. The organization, which aims to make creativity more accessible to Atlantans, operates an art supply thrift store in Tucker and offers craft classes on a sliding scale to creatives of all ages.
Scraplanta’s workshops range from zine creation and papermaking to Craft & Panic, a popular crunch-time costume-building session for cosplayers headed to events like Dragon Con. Dawkins, who joined Scraplanta in 2021, has expanded the organization’s offerings to attract a younger and more diverse audience. In August, Scraplanta opened a second location—affectionately known as the Scraplet—in the Adair Park coworking space CreateATL, where the organization sells used art supplies and hosts workshops.
“There are folks who spend the majority of their time at home, and as soon as they step outside, they spend $100 or $200,” Dawkins says. “It’s stressful to find a happy medium with events that are affordable and enriching. A lot of art classes want you to have previous experience and to bring your own materials.”
Often, participants find that the community-centric crafting becomes its own form of therapy.
Photograph by The Sintoses
“Coming together saying we’re all frustrated, saying we’re all confused, and then moving forward, is the collaborative part of art that we don’t really talk about,” Dawkins says. She loves how the community, including Atlanta’s higher-brow artists, has embraced Scraplanta and other DIY art organizations. “In the beginning, I really thought people would turn their noses up at it.” “Even the people who make the bougiest of art still want to sit down and paint and get their fingers dirty with others.”
But the ethos of chaotic crafting holds meaning for professional artists too, as a means of relieving anxiety about the need to be perfect. “I put a lot of pressure on myself to make beautiful and meaningful art, but sometimes that pressure deters me from starting or finishing projects,” says Mijangos-Jimenez of Pastry Plug. “It doesn’t matter if you’re making ‘good’ or ‘bad’ art, as long as you’re making.”
This article appears in our November 2024 issue.
