From the workshop, Sunday afternoon #10

Firstly, a week or so ago on the 31st of July, I was sitting at my computer and looked at our ecommerce stats - I realised we were just $1000 short of making July our highest revenue month ever - we were on the cusp of our best month in over a decade. I sent out a short email about this shortfall to see whether we might be able to tip July into a Kohutt personal best - and you did. Within the hour. A large portion of our revenue is actually repeat purchases, which is significant. It's a sign of trust, quality and a very interested, supportive and niche customer base. I cannot thank you enough for your ongoing support. A few days into August, I sank that extra revenue we made directly back into Kohutt, by purchasing new machinery to improve our processes and outputs. I'll chat more about that after it arrives and I can show you what it does and how exactly it helps us.

Some newsletters ago, I reached out to you all for some feedback on what we might be able to make next, with the last remaining Australian made oilskin canvas we have on hand. We've made progress on that feedback, with our first pattern and first prototype. We're going to keep working on the prototype tomorrow in the workshop and hopefully get something on the bench we can actually begin to share very soon. I think you're going to like it, and I also think you're particularly going to like the story of how it came about.

The last two editions of this newsletter have been about dreams. Where Kohutt is going, how it's handling the making of things through a tiny distributed team. There has been a short history of manufacturing, discussion around some key philosophical interests in decentralisation, and perhaps even dipping the toe into the very morality of work.

Today, I wanted to talk about monozukuri. There are a handful of countries around the world which hold powerful meaning in their manufacturing relevance. By example, Made in Germany means something to a lot of people. Handcrafted in Japan also means something. The former evokes small rural workshops and entire work towns, precision milling steel into high quality parts. The latter evokes the ideal of the shokunin, the lone craftsman, crafting beauty out of raw, organic materials. I often wonder what it feels like to be a person such as myself in a culture where those things are recognised and respected. Australia is not that culture. Because of that, I must seek my inspiration elsewhere. Australia is perhaps the first truly post-modern western country. We are not an origin story of distinct culture, but rather a reflection of global influences. That is not to say we are a copy or not unique, but rather a contemporary melting pot: Australia is a remote island diaspora, DJ'ing & sampling the interconnected globalised Zeitgeist. To add cultural complexity, I live in Tasmania, an island off an island, significantly closer to Antarctica than where virtually all of my cultural identity even originates.

Monozukuri. I digress. A word that essentially means 'thing making' - I love how the word at first glance seems exotic, but in reality it's just about things. The word is old, but became relevant in modern Japan when the economy stalled and factories started moving offshore. The Japanese parliament passed a law with monozukuri in the title in 1999, a basic act for promoting the foundations of thing-making. Sit with that for a moment. A country doesn't legislate to promote something it's confident of keeping. It legislates when it's frightened. While making things was simply what everyone did, nobody needed a word for it, let alone a law. The name arrived with the loss.

Australia isn't culturally known for the making of things. Made in Australia doesn't necessarily mean a lot in a global context. Perhaps if you're in New York an Australian steak says something; however, Made in Australia is not a heavyweight in the space of making. We did make cars, boots, hats, clothes, etc out of necessity for a long time, but, as soon as something could be made elsewhere at a lower cost, things changed rapidly and without mourning. The key word is necessity - things were made not out of cultural pride, but out of need. Parliament didn't pass any laws. I dare say members of parliament probably saw the writing on the wall and were some of the first to buy multinational stocks at a discount.

Monozukuri. I digress. Over the last decade or so we've seen & heard a lot about 'maker culture.' If you read the Kohutt website or peruse our socials, you'll see images of myself making things. There is a certain level of discomfort I feel in this, because of the personal tension between the maker and the thing. The CEO Stefan Leitz of Faber-Castell is not known for crafting pencils - rather, Faber-Castell is associated with high quality art supplies, controlled & owned by a 9th generation family.

In the last few newsletters I've opined about where things are at and where things might go for Kohutt when it comes to making things. From a brand evolution perspective, I see Kohutt growing up to be an expression of itself. Kohutt is almost like having a child - the early years are about parental influences, guidance and developing the tools to self-express.

Maybe that's the answer to the discomfort. Monozukuri names the making, not the maker. The shokunin ideal was never about the craftsman being seen - the obligation runs to the thing, and to whoever the thing is for. The pot matters more than the potter. If Kohutt grows up properly, it will be known the way Faber-Castell is known - by what it makes and how long the things last, not by pictures of my hands at a machine. Those images are the parental years. Eventually a child stops being introduced as somebody's son.

Everything in these last three letters points the same direction, I think. The distributed team, the piece rates, the work moving between houses, a word borrowed from Japan - all of it away from me, towards the work. A record July carried by repeat customers tells me the things are already doing the talking. My job now is mostly to not get in their way.

The new machine arrives soon. The prototype moves forward on the bench tomorrow. More making, less me.

With much appreciation,

Nick