We could get anything we need in a supermarket ― we have as many China-made goods as the next European country. Yet we are a practical, frugal and, yes, even a bit tight-fisted nation. In our rational way of thinking we know exactly how to estimate the price of each and every object we use. That's why we make things ourselves.

Our artisans make some things that are quite unique. Latvian women form handicraft circles and weaving studios. They make very practical things ― ethnic sashes and skirts, tablecloths, towels. There's nothing better to keep your feet warm in winter than knitted woollen socks. Our knitters do more than just copy the ancient ornaments preserved in museums. They adorn their mittens and socks with signs and symbols of their own choice. Latvian weavers often use natural pigments from wild plants to dye their wool.

The artisans do without modern technology, using the tools that have been passed down to them from their ancestors: a woman may have her grandmother's gold needle at home, a man may treasure his grandfather's box of carpenter’s tools. It is trendy to use things made in a handicraft workshop. Like anywhere else in the world where there's an overproduction of goods, it's the unique quality of things that matters, not quantity. Robust design is quite typical of the work of our craftsmen, these objects do not seem out of place in the most sophisticated of interiors.

Mass-produced building materials are widely available. And yet, if we are about to build a house of our own on the shore of the lake, those who can afford it choose a proper log building with a thatched roof that will last for at least a hundred years, equip it with crocks made by the local potters from the clay dug up on the nearby hill and adorn the house with straw puzuri ― geometrical ornamental objects that are said to symbolize the universe where heaven, earth and the underworld are in harmony with one another.  The Baltic Sea washes ashore only a small part of the amber we use. Amber is unearthed in big lumps in Lithuania and what is now the Kaliningrad region. Our amber craftsmen make both tiny beads for little girls to show off and massive amber jewellery for respected matrons. Should you choose to wear amber, the hardened resin, which is millions of years old, will protect you by emitting its magic light: it will help you fight off hexes, neutralise the hazardous effect of underground streams and ultimately make you invincible.

Silversmiths buy silver, melt it and make pieces of jewellery, that often areethnographically accurate copies of ancient ornaments. Our blacksmiths make exclusive articles to be used in good households: candlesticks, candelabras, decorative door hinges etc. With their hammers they create amazing lacework out of the metal most commonly used in fences and gates. These are exclusive one-off items for which the craftsman names his own price. Just like elsewhere, the equestrian sport has gained immense popularity, and horses here are shod by the best of the best. The first Latvian blacksmith workshop that broadened the boundaries of the craft was founded in 1835 in Riga.

Our artisans have united in interest groups (lately we have been calling them workshops of national craftsmanship), professional studios and the Artisans Guild.