By Emily F. Popek

Community editor

Hear the words "folk art," and you might think only of decorative knickknacks in a souvenir shop. For those who practice traditional arts, the term means a lot more.

People engaged in activities such as traditional rug-hooking, chair caning, weaving or blacksmithing, describe these arts as a way of staying in touch with one’s cultural roots, preserving a bygone tradition or expressing one’s artistic voice.

For Astrid Knilssen of East Meredith, traditional rug-hooking is a hobby that allows her to create something beautiful while taking part in an ancient tradition.

In traditional rug-hooking, a coarse, woven fabric such as linen or burlap is used as backing, and strips of cloth are pulled through the backing using a tool that resembles a crochet hook.

The origins of rug-hooking are so old as to be uncertain, but the craft has been practiced in many parts of the world, including among early American settlers.

It has been both a utilitarian practice _ a way to create useful rugs out of leftover scraps of fabric _ and an art form recognized for its diverse beauty.

The simplicity of the craft allows for an incredible diversity of design.

"One of the things I like about it is that it’s just as individual as the people who do it," Knilssen said; for her own part, she said she likes to use Scandinavian-inspired designs.

As someone with experience knitting and sewing, Knilssen said she picked up on rug-hooking right away.

"It’s very easy to pick up; the basics are very easy. You get somebody who knows how to do it to show you, and then you just go. I had a 10-minute lesson, and that was it." From there, it didn’t take too long for her to get together with other rug-hooking enthusiasts.

"We started the group, me and my friend Darlene, a couple of years ago. She wanted to do it with other people, so we did it. It’s been really nice, we have a nice number of people who get together."

The group is small _ about seven people, Knilssen said _ but tends to swell slightly in the cooler months.

To find out more about the group, or to attend one of its meetings, call Knilssen at 278-5181 or Darlene at 783-2271.

Some practices are more utilitarian than others. Toni Christensen of Laurens found her way into a chair-caning class at the Butternut Valley Arts and Crafts Center in Morris years ago because she had a set of dining-room chairs in need of repair.

Some 30 years later, Christensen is teaching her own class at the center and runs a business from her home.

Most of us have sat on a woven-seat chair at one time or another. Styles and techniques differ greatly, but the similar thread is that they feature a woven material, usually stretched over the wooden frame of the chair’s seat. Traditional materials include strips of tree bark (splints or splits), cattail leaf (rush) or the skin of rattan vines (cane).

Because of this great variety, the first step in repairing a chair is to find out more about it. "We determine what was in it before, whether it was a rush seat or a splint seat," Christensen said.

"That’s actually how I ended up in the antique business years ago," Christensen said, which proved to be a beneficial move. She was able to buy chairs and repair them herself, where another dealer would have to hire someone to do that kind of work.

The craft may seem daunting, but Christensen said novices have nothing to fear. "The nice thing about chair weaving ... is that it doesn’t take a lot of strength and it’s not difficult."

Some of the high points in her classes have been "Antiques Roadshow"-type moments, when people have discovered they are in possession of a rare treasure. "I had a lady who brought a chair in a year ago _ she said, �I got this at a garage sale in Oneonta,’ and I said, �You bought yourself a Shaker chair.’ We looked at it and found the number on it and everything. And the patina on it was perfect."

For James D. Whitaker of Morris, broom-making has been a way to engage himself in the history of New York state.

Whitaker found himself drawn to the humble practice because it was something he could see through completely from start to finish.

"From growing the broom corn to going into the woods and getting saplings for the handles, it was something that I could do from the beginning to the end, and that’s what really attracted me to it," Whitaker said.

Beyond being a talented craftsman who has worked at The Farmers’ Museum and Hanford Mills Museum, and teaches classes through the Butternut Valley Arts and Crafts Center in Morris, Whitaker has studied broom-making as a historian as well.

"Going for my master’s (degree), I ... was doing a thesis on broom-making, and that’s when I really got involved in both the history as well as the actual making of the brooms and the popular culture of it," Whitaker said.

According to Whitaker, broom corn was once grown in every county in the state. The practice peaked in the mid-19th century, leading New York state to become the fourth-largest producer of broom corn. However, Whitaker said that as dairy farming increased in New York and broom corn began to be grown in the Midwest, production waned, but some growers and broom-makers stuck it out until as recently as the 1940s.

As a craft, Whitaker attributes broom-making’s survival in part to the Works Progress Administration of the 1930s, which encouraged people to take up traditional practices for their own use or as a way to earn extra money. From there, it enjoyed a modest revival along with other traditional crafts after World War II.

More recently, Whitaker has found that other things can spark people’s interest in brooms.

"I saw a surge when the first Harry Potter movie came out," Whitaker said. "Kids always ask about brooms. Someone always wants to purchase a broom for their wife for an extra form of transportation."

On a more serious note, Whitaker said broom-making brings him a feeling of connection with history.

"I can not make a broom without thinking about all the other broom-makers that had come before me, the different ones that created brooms, who grew the broom corn. You feel a connection between the past and the modern day," Whitaker said.

Blacksmith Patrick Grossi is also forging a connection with the past as supervisor for the blacksmith’s shop at The Farmers’ Museum in Cooperstown.

"When a visitor comes into The Farmers’ Museum blacksmith shop, I say to them, �When you step through that threshold, you are now in 1845.’ It’s all period tools _ we’re actually doing real work in real time," Grossi said.

Grossi learned the craft from his father and started at the museum as a volunteer about five years ago after retiring and moving to Cooperstown.

He and the other blacksmiths at the museum are hard at work year-round, creating tools and hardware for projects on- and off-site.

"We make items for the general store (at the museum); we take on work on a commission basis ... and we also do any iron work that is needed ... for the historic village," Grossi said.

As for the future of traditional blacksmithing, Grossi doesn’t seem worried.

"It’s important to realize that there are a lot of full-time smiths, much more than some people realize, that are actually making a living out of it," Grossi said.

For Tabitha Gilmore-Barnes, her work with the fiber arts is a labor of love.

The Roxbury resident works as a program educator with Cornell Cooperative Extension of Delaware County, and runs a part-time craft business out of her home, making tapestries, table runners and blankets.

Gilmore-Barnes learned to weave in the 1970s and, like many other people, moved upstate to experience the inspiring atmosphere of the Catskills.

"The tapestries ... are inspired literally by the views that I’m looking out at right now from my studio windows _ the colors, the movement and play of light, the wind," she said.

But as a Catskills artisan, Gilmore-Barnes has found that the region has yet to achieve the cachet of other geographical areas, despite the fact that craftspeople draw on deep regional traditions.

"The Catskill ... regional branding still has not really happened. On my own personal end, I try to have tags on my items that say �Made in the Catskills’ because I think there is a way of capturing the people who come up here for vacation, or for recreation _ they are coming for what they perceive as an ideal life. However, that does not necessarily mean they are aware of crafts that are going on that either have had original roots or are newer crafts," Gilmore-Barnes said.

On the other hand, Gilmore-Barnes has seen more people want to learn to do traditional crafts themselves, rather than buying things made by someone else.

For herself, it is still about doing something she loves, just as it was when she got started professionally in the 1980s.

"I need to be doing it because it pleases me. And ideally out there, there will be several someones who say, �Hey, I share that vision, yes, I want that,’" Gilmore-Barnes said. "If I’m happy doing it, one day fame may come. And in the meantime, just have fun with it."