A Definition of an Artisan?
I'm currently reading "Several short sentences about writing" by Verlyn Klinkenborg, at the suggestion of Sue Heatherington.
It may well take me longer to read than any other book I've read in the last decade (and that's a lot), not because it's difficult, but because I find it so powerful. I find myself having to stop every dozen pages or so in order to digest the implications of what I've just read.
I found this, from pages 36 and 37, a wonderful perspective on the artisan in us:
The central fact of your education is this:
You’ve been taught to believe that what you discover by thinking, by examining your own thoughts, and perceptions is unimportant and unauthorised.
As a result you fear thinking.
And you don’t believe your thoughts are interesting, because you haven’t learned to be interested in them.
There is another possibility:
You may be interested in your thoughts, but they don’t have much to do with anything you’ve ever been asked to do.
The same is true of what you notice. You don’t even notice what you notice, because nothing in your education has taught you that what you notice is important.
If you do notice something that interests you, it doesn’t have much to do with anything you’ve ever been asked to do.
But everything you notice is important. Let me say that in a different way: if you notice something, it’s because it’s important. What you notice depends on what you allow yourself to notice, and that depends on what you feel authorised and permitted to notice in a world, where we were trained to disregard our perceptions.
Who is going to give you the authority to feel that what you notice is important?
It will have to be you.
The authority you feel has a great deal to do with how you write, what y0u write and how you do it, with your ability to pay attention to the shape of the meaning of your own thoughts and the value of your own perceptions
For writing, substitute whatever you regard as your craft.
I thought you might like to see it.