Thoughts on Craft

I've always loved well-crafted things. It probably stems from a childhood spent watching my dad meticulously remodel our home. He was many things in his lifetime—one of them a carpenter. He moved deliberately and spoke carefully. He listened to classical music and was alive when color TVs first appeared in stores.

I'm the opposite. I whirl around, leaving a path of destruction in my wake. My parents nicknamed me Hurricane Chris. I gravitated toward action sports to release this chaotic energy, eventually settling on skateboarding as my drug of choice.

Skateboarding served me well for many years. But as I age and my body breaks down, I've found other outlets for this energy—mostly visual ones like drawing, graphic design, and photography.

I've often rushed to get the quick dopamine hit of completing something and posting it online, rather than the slow-burn satisfaction of truly crafting it.

But I'm older now. Probably wiser. Grief has a funny way of aging you. Lately, I've been called to craft. Digitally, that means many things: taking an extra five minutes on a client email, saving a file in its proper folder, finding more inclusive design approaches, or perfecting an animation's easing. It also means stepping away from the screen to spend time outside thinking about the natural world and the gifts it gives, then returning to the studio and letting the experience inform my work. Drawing on paper. Painting on canvas or wood panels. Physical mediums force you to slow down and consider every brushstroke, each movement. I've found this way of working bleeds into my digital work. Add daily exercise to this practice, and the wheels start turning—creatively speaking.

I used to wonder how my dad was so patient all the time. I think I understand now. A commitment to people, planet, and process requires two things: patience and the courage to give a shit.