( the handmade life )

The rebels leading the new craft revolution like to crochet bunny skulls. They hand-pour soaps in the shape of raw steak. They stitch fuzzy purple iPod cozies with the faces of monsters. They are young. They are girls. Except when they are boys. Regardless of gender, they are ironic, and punk rock. They are tech savvy, yet nerdy about yarn, fur, fabric, paper and buttons. They feel the weight of the world on their shoulders, then design a bag to express it. They love nature--owls, naked mole rats and deer. They like pretend creatures too. They are masters of invention, reinvention. They reuse, repurpose, recycle. Something happened to traditional arts and crafts in the past few years. Like a gene exposed to the mutating radiation of the 21st century--the hundred-hour workweeks in front of computers, the informational warp speed, the outsourced sweatshops, the super-slick plastic fantastic--craft went weird. "Rock is dead," is the rebel battle cry. "Long live paper and scissors."

The revolution so far has been a quiet one, taking place in basements and cafes and bedrooms. On a hazy, sweltering Saturday in the perfect suburb of Walnut, Vickey Jang, designer, manufacturer, marketer and sole proprietor of BirdInASkirt.com, was in her workroom at her sewing machine, fighting crafter's block. "God!" she said. "I'll kill myself if I have to sew this seam again." But it could have been worse. Not too long ago, before she quit her job and devoted her life to craft, before she broke up with her boyfriend, before she moved back into her old room in her childhood home, she would have been manning a cubicle, staring at a computer screen, slowly going insane. Staring at a sewing machine--a fancy yellow Husqvarna--was infinitely better. "I love this sewing machine," she said. "It has flowers on it."

It had been a slow day. Most days in Walnut are slow. The Jang residence was immaculate--gleaming white tile, living room a sea of pristine blue carpet. The only exceptions were the mess in Vickey's bedroom and the room she had taken over as her workshop, formerly her sister's room. Next to the sewing machine was an empty tofu box repurposed as a pin repository. "Guess who brought that in," Vickey said. Mrs. Jang, who is old-school and Taiwanese, is a clean freak. She uses tofu boxes for everything: to hold sponges, to scoop dog food, to sprout plants. If the tofu people knew how much use the Jangs got out of their plastic boxes, she likes to joke, they would charge a whole lot more. Mrs. Jang had worried that Vickey would step on a stray pin. "Vickeeeeey!" she said. "Be careful! The needle will go into your vein, travel through your bloodstream and pierce your heart."