You Forgot 'What If?' (Solarpunk Protopia Fiction)

Part 8: Chen's Weaving

As Sinclair and I strolled into the store, Chen Zhenyi looked up from a green and red basket in her nimble fingers. She gave a soft smile, the lines around her eyes crinkling. "Good morning, Evan," she greeted. "How are you?"

I gave a wave. "Hi, Chen. Doing good, how are you? What are you working on?"

"The latest." She held up the half-made basket carefully, a shallow bowl made from elegantly braided, red and green, starchy strips. I had a basket of hers in my living room that looked similar, a low bowl I used to cradle my incense, forest finds, sculptures, and other trinkets.

"Looks great. I'm showing my friend around the Bean tower today, he's a journalist--this is Jonathan Sinclair."

"Nice to meet you." Chen set her basket aside and moved around the table to shake Sinclair's hand.

Pocketing his small notebook, Sinclair shook her hand. "You too. This is wonderful work." He nodded to the baskets, bowls, rugs, ropes, and more that lined the walls, shelves, and tables around the room. "Did you do all of these?"

"Many of them. But not all. Would you like the tour?" she gave another soft smile.

"Sure, if you don't mind," he replied.

"Not at all." She started near the entrance, where bowls and baskets of varying sizes were neatly stacked, and the more intricate examples were displayed on the walls. "I made all of these. All of the baskets from plants here are made from our local plants, and the nearby forest. Sometimes I'll get reeds and branches and other materials from other crafters nearby when they visit. We also share crafting methods and classes, guidance on sustainable harvesting, all those sorts of things. We've actually made a book as well, you can get it here and online, collecting over 100 different weaving methods from cultures across the world."

"That's impressive. I'd love to take a look at it." Sinclair was back into his notebook, scribbling.

"Here you go." Chen took a book off the table and handed it to him.

"Oh." Sinclair looked down at Weaving of the World and studied it a moment, then flipped through the paragraphs, pictures, and diagrams within. "How much is it?"

Chen laughed. "You can have it. You don't really have to pay for anything here."

"Oh." His tone dropped a bit. "Well. I'd like to pay for it."

Chen shrugged. "How about you make a donation to the Trillion Tree project? That'd be nice." She gestured to the woven blankets displayed on the next wall and folded on the shelves. "These are made by a group of other artisans across The Sink. They're the Weaver's Web, and they make blankets and fabrics from locally-sourced materials, and recycled materials. Some of their works tell a story," she gestured to a large blanket on display on the wall, made from pale pink, blue, purple, white, gray, and orange woven threads, "like this one. Each color records an event or feeling in the crafter's life for a year. It doesn't look like a pattern, like most weaving, but you can see patterns amongst the chaos--this has been helpful for some people to identify patterns, good or bad, in their lives, and identify trends, even when it can be very difficult to do so."

"Hmm." Sinclair nodded, looking up at the blanket for a moment, then back at his notebook.

"These here are all made from reclaimed materials--extra thread, fabric scraps, packaging." She gestured to rows of colorful coil pots and baskets occupying a few smaller shelves. "A lot of people put them around their plant pots, or they put keepsakes in them, little odds and ends, all sorts of things."

Sinclair nodded. "Did you make these as well?"

"No, these were made by another group here in the Bean Tower called the Reclaimers. They specialize in reclaiming and repurposing materials that others might not use. Sometimes, it's materials from around here, but The Sink is mostly a circular system--there isn't much unwanted or unused. So, they often work with people from the city to repurpose other materials, mostly groups who are working towards zero-waste goals, or other businesses dedicated to waste reduction, things like that."

"Hm, interesting." Sinclair kept writing. "So, none of these items are for sale, is that right?"

"That's right. But anyone can take them," Chen answered.

As he nodded slowly, I watched him study the idea, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I see. I'm not sure... In that case, what is the purpose of a store?" he asked slowly. "Sorry, I think I'm misunderstanding."

"No, you're not misunderstanding. It's more of a gallery than a store. I like to work in the gallery because all of my tools are here, and I can tell visitors about each item, tell the story of each thing. They were all made slowly, you know? They should be appreciated."

"Uh huh." He looked up from his notebook. "So, what do you gain from this? It seems like a tremendous amount of work for... I don't really know."

She smiled again, and I noticed a bit of pity in her eyes. I wondered if Sinclair did too.

"It's not really about money. I don't really need to buy anything. And, anything I would buy... there are other galleries, like this one. I can just take what I need or want."

Sinclair blinked. "But... I don't understand. Why do all this work?"

"Well, I enjoy it. I really love weaving. I love telling the story of these crafts. I love making art from natural things. I love working with other crafters. I love chronicling and studying other weaving methods throughout history. And, of course, maybe most of all, I love sharing this with other people. Does that make sense?"

"Hmm," he repeated. "That's very interesting."

"Would you still be a journalist if you weren't getting paid, but everything you needed was taken care of?" Chen asked.

I held my breath. It was the sort of question I wanted to ask Sinclair myself, but not yet. His cynical sheen was still too strong; he didn't get it yet, and I was afraid he would only double-down on not getting it, if we pushed too hard, too soon.

Sinclair scoffed quietly. "I don't think so."

"Oh. Well, don't you enjoy the recognition? The prestige? You could do a lot of things that probably make more money, right? Why did you choose journalism?"

"Hm." He gave a wry smile. "I'm not sure I have answers to those questions. But your work is wonderful. And thank you for this," he held up Weaving of the World, "I'll make that donation."

"You're welcome. And I hope you enjoy your visit."

He smiled again, and I could already see that it was forced. "I'm sure I will."