Rethinking the Value of Production in Manufacturing and Art at Carnival Campus

Production is the act of transforming raw materials into something of value, serving either practical needs or deeper human expression. In Trinidad and Tobago, “production” is a national watchword. But what does “production” mean in a society where the invention of the steelpan is rooted in resistance and Carnival is an exported cultural experience? How do we define the value of production in the context of economic development, industrial output, and self-sufficiency? 

While manufacturing feeds economies, creating art feeds culture. So what happens when we compare them, not to compete, but to reveal the different kinds of value they create? I’ve worked within the rigid, safety-bound structures of manufacturing floors and created art from my bedroom, inside the walls of a bank, in public and live on theatre sets. From the factory to the studio and stage, each space offers a distinct way of transforming ideas into experiences and producing meaning. I’ve come to see these different modes of production not as opposites, but each as parts of a larger creative and cultural ecosystem. Participating in Carnival Campus challenged me to rethink the value of production in the context of mas: where it happens, how it happens, and what we choose to value in the process.

What Are We Producing—and Why?

In traditional industrial terms, production means standardized processes, efficiency, quotas, and tangible outcomes. It’s measured in numbers: units per hour, dollars per output, exports per GDP. But does art function that way? At Carnival Campus, we constantly explored the tension between these two paradigms. Artistic production is rarely linear. It’s exploratory, emotional, and deeply human. In some cases, the process is the product. How do we protect and sustain this kind of value? How do we ensure that creative labor and cultural expression benefit the people and places they originate from?

One panel discussion on intellectual property, featuring Clover Consultancy Ltd, opened up exactly this dilemma. Even our national instrument had to be folded into the frameworks of production, licensing, and IP protection. The steelpan once shaped in backyards by tuners is now subject to international demand, manufacturing rights, and commercial potential.

In a Clover news article “Patently Misunderstood – Who Owns the Steelpan?”:

“The steelpan has gained popularity in Japan. Japanese people are learning to play the instrument and steel orchestras have been formed in Japan… The steelpan is a national treasure of Trinidad and Tobago. It has not been ‘stolen,’ but the pan in the traditional form cannot be ‘owned’ in any meaningful sense. What can be ‘owned’ are improvements to elements of the steelpan. Local inventors should consider familiarising themselves with patent law if they wish to commercialise their research in this area.”

In the complex relationship between cultural invention and global commodification, it’s not just about ownership. It's about ensuring the originators of cultural products remain visible, respected, and economically included.

In the context of mas, we must ask: How do we hold space for authenticity and innovation in a system built for replication? How do we protect the spirit of invention, story, movement and identity - while navigating the realities of production, intellectual property, and scale?

Carnival as Convergence: Art Meets Industry

The Carnival Campus course, particularly the Production & Pricing session with Renée Pouchet - Production Manager at the Tribe Group, clarified how Carnival sits at the intersection of artistic imagination and industrial execution. Designing a costume may begin with a sketch or a mood board, but the reality of producing it requires budget planning, procurement of materials, labor coordination, and customer satisfaction. I had the opportunity to learn the language of both creativity and logistics. In our class discussions, Renée masterfully balanced perspectives and gave me tools not only to manage the create-manufacture duality, but to honor both sides equally.

Communicating with a collaborator, a seamstress, a wire bender is all part of realizing a design. Without communication, there is no collaboration. Without collaboration, there is no costume. Without community there is no innovation.

Though manufacturing often divides labor, specialization increases output. However, this human resource model can also distance the worker from the whole. In contrast, artistic production is often holistic. The labor is deeply embodied and personal, even when collaborative. Still, both require skill, training, and innovation, just deployed differently.

Similarly, where engineers have an appreciation for gravity, artists dream of flight. And it’s only through the combination of both that we achieve things like airplanes, wingsuits, or other inventions that give humans the sensation of soaring. The iconic Inflatable Man, previously “tall boy”, was brought to life through collaboration by mas man Peter Minshall , Arieh Dranger, an aeronautical engineer, and Doron Gazit, an industrial designer and inflatable artist for the  1996 Summer Olympics. Their combined expertise made its existence possible beyond sketches.

Where Freedom Takes Form : Rethinking Materials in Carnival

While many materials used in Carnival are imported as commodities, they’re assembled locally as expressions of identity, imagination, and community. Production here isn’t limited to factories. It thrives in studios, living rooms, mas camps, and community hubs. Through sewing classes with Petra Moore-Best, and design sessions with creatives like Atiba Borde, Sean Dhanraj, and JP Richardson, we saw firsthand how much of Carnival production is rooted in local hands and ingenuity.

Sean Dhanraj, for example, showed how he repurposes everyday objects like plastic spoons and artificial fingernails as design elements when time, budget, or supply chains fall short. Yet, while these repurposed materials are sometimes used in prototypes, the final costumes for sale are often reproduced using new materials. This raises an important question: How can we extend sustainable practices beyond the prototype? How do we promote recycling in the full cycle of costume production?

My time in manufacturing has made me aware of the byproducts that are routinely discarded. But in mas, I see potential in what’s left behind. Could factory byproducts in Trinidad and Tobago be reimagined and repurposed for costume design? Could there be a system that redirects surplus industrial materials to mas makers—offering them not just raw goods, but creative possibility?

These small acts of reuse move us toward a circular economy, where Carnival becomes a site of sustainable innovation and creative reinvention. They push us toward a circular economy where art and the carnival industry can transform what industry casts aside. In fact, traditional mas has long been rooted in repurposed materials. The culture and the community have always been reflected in the choices of fabric, wire, and embellishment.

While a large band like Tribe may operate with commercial precision and global appeal, smaller community bands carry the weight of cultural memory and neighborhood pride. For both models to coexist, sustainable development must support the entire ecosystem, not just the commercial tier.

This theme of inclusion and cultural continuity was echoed in a discussion led by Kimmy Stoute-Robinson on traditional mas. Traditional mas is not static; it is a space of cultural evolution, and innovation.

While a manufactured product fills a need, an artwork awakens one.One of the standout moments was the Fringe Small Business Panel, where speakers like Gaby Attong-Menzies (The Concierge), Shandelle Loregnard (36 Cornelio), and Brigette Joseph (Chef Brigette & Co) emphasized that Carnival is not just a two-day event—it is a full-scale, year-round economy. Their insights highlighted how art, culture, and business intersect to sustain livelihoods and generate value far beyond the stage or the road.

Kinetic Culture: Where Art Meets Utility

The Carnival Campus experience has shifted the way I value my work as an artist from the ways I design for my audience to the joy and freedom the process brings me. It showed how a designer can give joy a function: how we can intentionally create experiences that inspire freedom, self-expression, and celebration. Costume design becomes a craft not only of aesthetics but of emotional engineering.

Having studied mechanical engineering I have always been interested in designing for movement. Now, I find myself equally captivated by how bodies move in costume. The Carnival costume became for me a kind of kinetic sculpture: a piece of art that is only completed when worn and set in motion. To design a costume is to design for freedom, for play, for reclaiming space through movement. Mas, to me, is art is motion.

It’s not always easy to find spaces that balance artistic integrity with financial value. In many creative circles, conversations about money still feel taboo. But Carnival Campus approached it differently. Discussions led by Valmiki Maharaj, Creative Director of The Lost Tribe, offered a refreshing and empowering lens: one where business supports creativity, rather than stifling it. There was open dialogue and a welcoming learning environment where all participants felt encouraged to share. Valmiki’s sincere focus on the growth and development of the Carnival industry, was free of gatekeeping and full of insight. Additionally, the range of participants from a wide array of artistic and entrepreneurial backgrounds, with varying levels of experience, created a rich environment for cross-disciplinary learning and collaboration. As I continue to merge my engineering mind with my artistic spirit, I no longer see them as opposing forces. They are different dialects of the same creative language. 

As Trinidad and Tobago pushes for more local production, economic diversification, and creative innovation, it’s crucial that we don’t recreate hierarchies that place industry above art. Both are essential. To produce culture is to produce meaning, not just goods. And in a world oversaturated with products, perhaps meaning is the most valuable thing we can make.