The term ‘practice’ is, for the maker, the equivalent of a job description. I used to flinch at its use, finding it a bit pretentious and pigeon-holey. Yet despite my sensitivities around the word, I’ve come to admire it, like wisdom. Something slow in the making and precious; not to be cloned or easily replicated.

It’s quite different from process. Process can be taught, replicated, optimised. Practice is something else entirely: embodied, tacit, experienced. Writer and cultural thinker Richard Sennett has long argued that craftsmanship is rooted in skill developed through sustained engagement over time, rather than the simple execution of procedure.

In a culture shaped by speed and instant access to information, the appetite for slow skill-building feels diminished. A tutor recently described how difficult it’s becoming to hold students’ attention during demonstrations on their 3D Craft and Design degree course. The alchemy of material transformation, the small, startling magic of polymerisation or firing, no longer presents as revelation. It has already been watched, replayed and mastered via YouTube. Or so it seems.

But there’s an existential third P that should join the gang, for me the hero of the trio, and that is Purpose. The ‘why?’ we are doing things in the first place. Craft has had some wobbly moments in the past. Think late 19th century when the second wave of industrialisation left the likes of William Morris worrying about the future of hand-crafted goods under the growing shadow of machine tools. Craft has shifted and re-invented itself in an evolutionary bid for survival but is still at its finest when there’s a clear purpose beyond even aesthetics, tradition or skill. Process and practice are important components, but what really matters is why you are bothering in the first place. We can marvel at skills and material transformation, but purpose is the link between the maker and the world.

Purpose added delightfully to The Culture of Cutlery exhibition I visited recently at the Goldsmiths’ Centre. Six hundred years of knives, forks and spoons sit on display, not as relics, but as evidence of evolving habits of hand and taste. Cutlery was once a highly prized possession with practicality, versatility and even self-defence accounted for. Soldiers, travellers and diners would carry personal sets which would signal status and taste, alongside sheer convenience. Life before the plastic spork! Historic patterns like Pistol Grip, Fiddle and Old English are echoed and gently subverted by contemporary makers in the ‘Old Dogs and New Tricks’ showcase. David Clarke’s bulbous Blow Spoons and Charlotte Duckworth’s foraged holly flatware were particular favourites. ‘Utensil’ seemed such an understatement for these works of art, and I hoped they would make it to grace someone’s dinner table one day. Back home I felt a reconnection with my own cutlery drawer and enjoyed a re-acquainting rummage with this mismatched collection, littered with years of drift from many sources, many with their own memories and meaning. When I dine tonight, I will remember to treat them as guests at my table in their own right.