What craft, mastery and good work look like in a hurried world

Odds are good that by the time you’re finished reading this essay, a new innovation will appear. Somewhere. By an institution, or maybe an individual. It’ll sweep over the people - making some excited, isolating others, and undoubtedly adding to the overwhelming sense that the world is moving on without you.

It can feel like the world doesn’t reward slow & patient growth that fights the noises of change with uncommon discipline.

We used to call these people artisans and experts. But now, the world’s eyes peer beyond, into the violent waves of change. Rapids of artificial intelligence swallowing any need to seep yourself in a subject and get lost in the philosophies and teachings that used to take thousands of hours to understand.

Have we seen the last of the Mozarts and da Vincis?

It’s easy to say that the only “masters” are those who are known as greats in their field. Individuals with significant accolades who can be referenced by their last name alone and you know who they are, like Brady, Gaudí, or DiCaprio.

Their achievements are a loud variation of mastery that’s easy to understand because the stakes for winning are obvious or even physical. But there’s a definition of mastery I like that is more important than one driven purely by public accolades and attention.

Mastery is unusual capability at a craft, paid for in time, missed opportunities, and failures.

In this paradigm, mastery is something you earn at great personal expense. It’s not something that can be generated or performed. There are no shortcuts to becoming a master, no matter your practice.

Think about ancient architects. Their responsibilities were tremendously larger in the past, requiring them to be innovators, field inspectors, designers, and the equivalent of a modern day civil engineer.

When you study the history of the Notre-Dame cathedral you’ll notice that despite being a multi-century project, there are only four architects mentioned (with the original architect’s name being lost to time). The Friends of Notre-Dame de Paris note that one of architects, Pierre de Montreuil, was named “master of works” and posthumously, “master of built stone”.

It’s easier to understand the need for craftsmanship and mastery in physical fields like architecture, art, or any trade - the growth from apprentice to master is a well documented path of success still used today. But swap to a less physical field like writing, graphic design, or software development and the landscape is a lot more threatening.

Why take on the intense costs and sacrifices required for greatness when the cost of producing something that is good enough is cheap?

Because the construction of an idea is the least valuable part.

Nobody praises the men who laid the stones of a great cathedral. We don’t laud the efforts of the drafters who bring a design to life on a plan set.

Reducing a role to its output alone ignores the most important aspects of expertise and craft. Michael Jordan was more than someone who put the ball in a basket. His edge and ferocity won championships more than his basketcraft. Tom Brady “throws the ball to receivers”, but his mastery developed from intense preparation that let him correctly read a defensive formation before snapping the ball. Great logos are often simple to draw, but are born of unique ideas, judgment and experience.

Craft is the act of deploying earned experience, judgment and taste toward an idea to bring it to life. Time we spend developing our craftsmanship builds mastery, and mastery moves the craft forward in time.

You and I both have a craft - a skill we focus on, usually with a resume of different incentives. For most, the incentive to practice a craft is money. A paycheck. But a financial incentive is a terrible motivator for growing mastery because it relies on the expectations of an institution rather than internal passion for the craft.

A lot of people seek jobs in technology for the paycheck. As an experienced software engineer, I can assure you most in my trade have mediocre skills at best, often chasing the fastest way to get more work done rather than improving their fundamentals of problem solving, system design, or understanding the business. The skill ceiling is low. Most are apprentices.

But if you look to the world of graphic design, the opposite is true. The average skillset I’ve seen of professionals with at least five years of experience is much higher than software engineers, compared to their starting point. Many in this field reject any advances in technology that automate the construction of ideas and instead favor developing the principles of their craft - studying problems, laboring over the hundreds of needs their designs have to accommodate, and coordinating closely with the ever-changing needs of their stakeholders and clients. The masters of this field understand that creating the output is one of the least valuable aspects of a project. Unlike most people in technology, their incentives include a love of the craft, otherwise the starving artist persona wouldn’t exist and we wouldn’t have history books filled with famous artists who died before being discovered.

Craftsmanship, by extension, is more about how work is approached than the quality of the work.

The world feels hurried. Construction of ideas is cheaper than ever before. Technology has also made more crafts accessible to amateurs than ever before. For those in pursuit of mastery, this is frustrating because it reduces the quality of work that is available to do, and adds tremendous pressure to sacrifice thoughtful craft in favor of speed and work that is good enough.

Craft and mastery are under attack by cultural pressures and institutional expectations.

You always have a choice to pursue mastery. Outside forces may look different every week, but don’t forget that your spirit’s attitude toward a craft is in your control. Any craft that ceases to produce new masters is doomed to irrelevance or automation by machines.

And now, we’re entering an age of choice where those who practice a craft can choose to walk away or stay and keep it alive. It’s easy to surrender to the fast pace of the world, but masters have always grown slower than the world around them. It’s time that creates meaningful experiences and grows your wisdom. Time is the fabric of your expertise, upon which is woven every success and failure in your journey. Your idiosyncrasies matter, because they move your craft forward with innovation sourced from a well of passion that literally cannot be copied, even if it can be performed by bad actors.

The survival of your craft depends on your decision to pursue mastery over it.