Anna Ploszajski - Handmade: A Scientists Search for Meaning through Making

Also available in the Bloomsbury Sigma series:

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Contents

I am forever indebted to all the makers and experts featured in this book, without whom it wouldnt exist. In order of appearance, thanks to Charlie Murphy, James Shaw, Agnes Jones, Steve Coles, Necole Schmitz, Andy Taylor, Darren Ellis, Ellie Doney, Helen Reed, Jane Lithgow, Barn the Spoon, Eleanor Schofield, Mandy Brannan, Zofia Wyszomirska-Noga, Andrew Ziminski and Karl Lee.

Many thanks to my editors Jim Martin, Anna MacDiarmid and Angelique Neumann from Bloomsbury, and all the others behind the scenes well-oiling the machine. To my amazing illustrator and friend Hana Ayoob, thank you for blessing my little book with your exceptional style and flair.

Enormous props to my kick-ass agent Laura Macdougall who would have thought that splashing about in Mallorca all those years ago would have ended like this? Thank you for going above and beyond to help me make this book a reality. Thanks too to Olivia Davies for carrying the baton while Laura does some making herself.

Sharing some early drafts to a select inner circle was a nerve-racking and somewhat bruising experience at times. Thanks to Scary Boots, Sara Brouwer, Selali Fiamanya, Lucy Gulati, Miriam Hanna, Oz Ismail, Sarah Jones, Romain Meunier, Emma Milner, Mark Miodownik, Jo Ploszajski, Tony Ploszajski and Rachel Wheeley for softening the blow. Thanks to all those who were kind enough not to respond.

Researching this book was made much more enjoyable by the small conversations I had with other experts, too; thanks to Kimberley Chandler, Charnett Chau, Sarah Day, Andrew Gaisford, Helen Hailes, Shirley Jones, Alex Kaiserman, Nick Murch, Andrew Smyth, John Ward and all the women in the wool shops. Conversations recorded for my podcast, also called Handmade, sowed the seeds of inspiration for this book. Thanks to all my marvellous guests who so enthusiastically offered some rial talk to set me on this path.

Thanks to the whole team at the Institute of Making not yet mentioned. Together you created a very special place which inspired and incubated this book; Zoe Laughlin, Martin Conreen, Helen Carnac, Beth Munro, Rita Pinho, George Walker and Sarah Wilkes. A special shout-out to Sara Brouwer who curated and put together the marvellous masterclasses mentioned in this book. In particular, I owe enormous thanks to Mark Miodownik; thank you for your unwavering support, for tirelessly blowing my trumpet and for allowing me the freedom to write this book. And the Twixes.

Thanks to Steve Cross for roping me in to try stand-up comedy, and for the snowballing of opportunities and friends which subsequently accrued. Thanks to the Talented Factorians and extended SciComm network for the friendship, humour and occasional lifeline. I am a better person for knowing you.

Then, of course, to the friends who have kept me buoyant throughout this process. To my family of Channel swimmers to name them all would be impossible but honourable munchions to Ashleigh, Cliff, Fiona, Mikey, MJ and Sally. Thanks for being there in the strongest of spring tides. Toot toot to my funky siblings in Dont Freak Out, Londons premier funk and soul covers band (available for weddings, birthdays and funerals). And to my squad of kick-ass sisters who continue to inspire me and hold me steady: Alice, Carmela, Emily, Emma, Lucy and Miriam.

Penultimately, to Claire, Nina and Jennie I couldnt have dreamed of a better bunch to be locked down with. Thank you for putting up with me, for the chats, the telly times and the laughs during some truly unprecedented times.

And last but not least to my parents, Jo and Tony Ploszajski. Youve always said that my musical, sporting and academic endeavours had nothing to do with you. Well, Id say they have everything to do with you. This book is testament to that.

Thank you.

As I descended the foam-lined staircase into the pub basement, the buzz of the bar became muffled into silence. Entering the underground venue, I saw rows of empty chairs and, following the eyeline of the imaginary seated crowd, my stomach lurched when my eyes fell upon the spot-lit microphone stand at the centre of the small, elevated wooden stage. I had a very bad feeling about this.

The audience gradually took their seats, and I sat in their midst, attempting a show of normality. As the event began, the MC introduced himself and I spilled beer down my chin. The folded print-out of my script grew damp between my sweating, shaking fingers, and I continually re-read it from the centre of the laughing crowd as the acts turned over, one by one, ticking down to me. I glanced over my shoulder towards the fire exit it wasnt too late to feign illness. Or injury! Yes, an injury. Maybe I could stage some sort of terrible accident using this pint glass? Not enough to cause serious damage, obviously, but just enough so that

My morose contemplation was interrupted when the MC suddenly shouted my name and the crowd clapped, whooped and cheered as directed. Mortified, I rose, shuffled along the cramped row of knees, and approached the empty platform. Grasping the microphone tightly, I moved its stand to the side of the stage. Its metal casing felt comfortingly cool beneath my flooded palm. Meanwhile, spotlights shone aggressively into my eyes, and my cheeks turned hot. The clamour subsided and was succeeded by silence. The front row gazed up at me, expectantly.

Good evening everyone, my names Anna, I began, as rehearsed, startled to hear my amplified voice boom disembodied from the sound system, and Im a materials scientist.

*

Materials scientists study substances metals, plastics, ceramics and glasses by zooming in. The process starts at the human scale, which covers the objects we can hold and the surfaces we can feel, like the weighty microphone I was grasping in my tense hand that night, the coolness of the smooth metal shaft zapping nervous heat away from my skin.

Zooming in further, we reach the limits of human discernment by hands and eyes. These are the textures and constructions of materials, like the hard metal wire grille that pressed into my chin as I recited my opening jokes, and the soft plastic foam behind it whose bubbles flexed to cushion the shockwaves of air ejected from my lips as I spoke.