WE WORKED ON THE TOWER each afternoon when the school day ended. All in all, the work took us a couple of weeks. The first week and nearly all of the second went into clearing bamboo from the site. Then we erected the watchtower in two days of frenzied work. (During those busy days I discovered what a pleasure it is to hear a hammer hit a nail squarely. I didn’t hit the nail heads squarely very often, but when I did I was rewarded with the solid sound of competence. I found that I could hear that sound and get the satisfaction that came with it more often if I used a lighter touch, and I’ve applied that principle to all forms of work throughout my later life.)
I tapped away happily, occupying my mind with a chant to the rhythm of my tapping: depreciation, bun soup, windflowers, court bouillon, Zwischenraum, shandy, ontology, epistemology, bills of lading, splines.
When we were done, we gave the watchtower what I’ve thought of ever since as “the builder’s look.” If you watch someone completing almost any kind of work done with the hands, especially work that requires some skill or esthetic judgment or has been a real pain in the ass during the doing, you are likely to see the craftsman, at the end of the work, or merely at the end of one day’s installment of it, pause to take the builder’s look. It begins with stepping back and taking the long view. (For small work, holding-at-arm’s-length serves as a stepping-back.) This stepping-back is essential, for you, the builder, homo faber, must be able to see your work in the round and in its surroundings. You want to see that the proportions are right, for one thing, and you want to assure yourself that what you’ve made really is, that it fills some space in this world that formerly was empty. If the proportions are right, and you’ve filled some space properly, you complete the builder’s look with self-congratulation.
At the end of the first full day of real building, we had a pretty solid base, just a wooden platform, but solidly constructed. It had taken us all day, and when we had finished work that evening and were walking away from the site in the fading light, sweaty, tired, but exhilarated, we turned as if at a signal, and looked back at where we had been working, intending to take the builder’s look. None of us said anything at first, but we were all immediately disappointed to find that our work didn’t show. The foundation was well built, we knew that; we’d put our best effort, the best of the scrap lumber, and the straightest of our scavenged nails into it—but it didn’t show. It was completely hidden by the bamboo. Work that doesn’t show when you take the builder’s look is disappointing. It could serve as one of the definitions of disappointment.
“Nice work, guys,” said Raskol, but without much enthusiasm.
“I think you can see one corner of it from here,” said Marvin.
“Really?” I said. I was trying.
“Maybe not from where you are,” said Marvin, “but I think if you come over here—”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, lying. “I think you’re right.”
“That might be it,” said Marvin.
“I think that’s just a leaf of bamboo,” said Raskol.
“Hey, listen, we did a good day’s work,” I said. “A building’s got to have a firm foundation.”
“Sure,” said Marvin.
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” said Raskol.
“Tomorrow,” I said, “we’ll put up the uprights, and then you’ll see that tower tower. You’ll see it tower over the bamboo.”
“Yeah,” said Marvin.
“Sure,” said Raskol.
“And we won’t stop with the uprights, either, we’ll add the platform at the top, the railing, the cabin where the guard can go to get in out of the rain, the housing for the searchlight—”
[to be continued]
In Topical Guide 617, Mark Dorset considers Art: Literature: Responding to: Sharing the Experience; Work: The Light Touch; and Work: “The Builder’s Look,” Self-Congratulation, Disappointment from this episode.
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🎧 617: We worked . . .