Once in a while, when I create something, I post a picture of it to social media. I have a purpose: to show folks in my social media circles that things can be built by marginally skilled folks like me. That seems an important idea to share because I know a lot of folks who see building things as something that only professionals or talented amateurs do. Far too many people I know think building objects is for someone else. It’s not that they see it as beneath them. They just don’t envision themselves doing it.
I spent my professional life listening, talking, reading, writing, and thinking – all very abstract work. It’s the work I chose, and I always feel fortunate and grateful that I got to do what I wanted to do. It had a downside, though: There typically weren’t tangible products at the end of the work. There were schools I helped launch, programs and projects that I was part of creating, and, of course there were the thousands of people with whom I interacted as their teacher, as their colleague, or as their boss. But education is about abstraction. After all, even building a school or new degree program leaves more people listening, talking, reading, writing, and thinking. It’s purely mental work. In contrast, when an engineer or carpenter creates something, there are abstractions to that creation (like its aesthetic value or its level of functionality). But the perceptible part of that creation is unmistakably real. The builder sees and touches the creation.
Those builders can experience the joy of creation because they have that creation in front of them. When I look at my professional creations, they’re not as readily identifiable to me. Over time, abstract ideas I create meld into other abstract ideas, and they change into what the people interacting with them in the moment experience. Those abstractions mold into the needs of their current users. That’s as it should be. The school or degree or certificate program I helped to launch couldn’t and shouldn’t remain as it originated. For it to be of any use, it needs to evolve with evolving demands and needs. The lessons I taught 40, 20, or 10 years ago are out of date, and I hope the students who were in those classes evolved well beyond whatever I taught them many years before. But the workbench I built 25 years ago is still in service, even though I no longer own the house where it sits.
It's not about “legacy” or a “leaving a mark.” Creating something that’s tangible generates a satisfaction that building in the abstract cannot. When I use the steps or a table or a shelf I built, I see and experience the results of my creativity in ways that I cannot experience with more abstract creations. I’ve manipulated the material world and have tactile evidence of my work. There’s a satisfaction in that creation as I develop and use the required skills to synthesize raw materials into something where the sum of those materials is greater than their separate parts. And the physical product doesn’t have to be complex or ostentatious. I build to the level of my skills and take enjoyment from whatever I build.
I’m not somehow specially skilled. I’ve been fortunate because I’ve had opportunities to tinker and build from childhood forward. And I’ve been around people who were generous with their time to show me new skills. For example, my greatest learning during my undergraduate years wasn’t in college classrooms. Because I had some knowledge of tools, I was hired as a maintenance mechanic at a local newspaper. The manager who oversaw the maintenance shop believed that he could fix anything; so when the press needed to be expanded, he rented a boom lift, and those of us on the maintenance crew came in during down time on the press and installed the addition. Or when one of the loaner bicycles we kept for carriers to use came back damaged, we’d have use an acetylene torch to weld or braze it back together. Large or small, we fixed things. I learned a lot of new skills as a result. While I learned about abstractions during morning college classes, in the afternoons, evenings, and weekends, I honed my mechanical skills. In the 40+ years since, I continue to learn and expand my skills so that I can continue to build and create.
One worry I have about the future is that many people don’t cultivate ability with their hands. Part of the issue is that even the simplest modern device can have complex electronics that require some knowledge of PC boards and microchips – so it’s become easier to replace than repair. But the other part is that many folks are disconnected from the ability to tinker and build. These folks are missing the incomparable satisfaction of building something that they can see and feel. People don’t need to know about PC boards and software design to use a drill or chop saw. They need a more kinesthetic set of skills that lots of folks aren’t currently developing. I believe that the proliferation of TV builder shows comes from a yearning to build. However, although people may watch building shows on TV, they haven’t done it themselves. Vicariously watching creativity is very different than constructing for yourself.
I’ve had former graduate students remind me that I always encouraged them to learn to work with their hands. That encouragement comes from my own joy and satisfaction from building. It also comes from my belief that it’s an innate humane trait to build. Leave a child alone in a room with any object, and within moments, that child will be imagining that object as a spaceship or a bridge or a car. Natural imagination is the root of our need to build. From years of evolutionary adaptations, imagination compels us forward as a species to create. While compiling software or building new organizations taps into that creativity, there’s something instinctively more satisfying when we can see and touch a finished product. The key is to explore and develop those skills that allow us to build.
I appreciate the “maker spaces” that have popped up in recent years. They seem like an attempt to recapture the desire to build. I wonder, though, if that’s just the latest trend in a society that seeks whatever is novel at the moment – a society that’s mimicking the latest Tik Tok dance one moment and going off to a hot yoga class the next. The good news about maker spaces is that in many communities, they’re accompanied by tool libraries where people can borrow tools for projects. As people master a tool, they can discover many new applications to that tool. You can use a skill saw, for example, to build a bird house, but it can also build a full-sized house. So maybe someone attending a maker course can find a new passion for building and extend that passion into further creations by borrowing the tools to do the work. I’m completely in favor of anything that encourages people to develop a passion for expanding their skills to build.
