The fine art of crafts

In the 1970s, as more women throughout society were entering the workforce, either by necessity or by choice, few had the time or inclination to pursue traditional domestic arts. "It skipped a generation," says Ms. Gschwandtner, a young New York artist, who explains that she and others relied on their grandmothers to teach them knitting. Now, despite the frantic pace of modern life, handicrafts have staged a renaissance.

Male artists, too, now feel freer to explore tactile art, especially when they can exploit materials such as underwear elastic (Mr. Waltener's "A World Wide Web"), or cutup dollar bills and lead ribbon (Dave Cole's "The Money Dress," and "Lead Teddy Bear"), or fiber optics (Niels van Eijk's "Bobbin Lace Lamp"). With the infusion of technology, both women and men have become adept at pushing boundaries. The men selected for this show, in particular, appear to prefer tech-intensive projects, using everything from strands of glass and fused layers of porcelain to wrapped wire and laminated fabric.

Visitors to the exhibition may not be aware of the finer points of the craft-versus-fine-art debate, but they do respond to the sheer inventiveness of the art. The show is also remarkable because of its accessibility – the basic technique of weaving or knitting is familiar to anyone who's worn a sweater or made a potholder in preschool. A viewer isn't separated from the art in this show by centuries of scholarship or criticism as is common with painting.

The excitement comes from seeing how these familiar techniques are reinterpreted in startling or amusing ways. For example, most people remember crocheted doilies that adorned furniture in our grandmothers' day. Using that same technique, Iceland artist Hildur Bjarnadóttir created a table cover ringed with 4-inch-tall crocheted skulls, giving a playful, macabre sensibility to an otherwise placid art form.

Gschwandtner and others also tap into the communal aspects of knitting. For the run of the show, she has signed up volunteers to take part in a knitting circle. Museum visitors can join the circle and work on such projects as helping to knit squares that will be joined to make blankets for recovering US soldiers. The circle becomes a community in real time, and the knitters' impressions are recorded in a book. Gschwandtner describes the experience of a retired construction worker who joined the circle while his wife beamed over his shoulder. She later wrote, "My husband learned to knit after 30 years of watching me! The show inspired him to try it!"

Waltener, who has organized similar circles in London, likes the idea of slowing viewers down by getting them to participate. "There is a formal way to go to an exhibition," he says. "You go in, look at paintings, sit in the cafe, and buy the catalog on the way out." But if the visitor is drawn into a knitting circle, "you break that pattern," he says.

"Radical Lace and Subversive Knitting" goes a long way toward overcoming the bias against craft by showing a rough and tumble side. Still, the ubiquitous nature of crafts, and the ease with which the skills are learned, is both a blessing and a curse: People require less background to enjoy the work, but at the same time, they tend to take it more for granted.

"Craft's greatest strength is also its greatest weakness," says Gschwandtner. "It can be utilitarian in a way that painting never can be."

• "Radical Lace and Subversive Knitting" continues through June 17.

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