The Lost Art of Slow Work

The vise is open. Ready to hold the next project.
Tools are close at hand. Old tools. Hand forged
and perfect for the work
as long as you are not in a hurry,

as long as you are more concerned
about connection than speed.
Connection to the work, knowing
it is not a mere thing you are making,

but an extension of yourself.
A bit of soul in the steel,
in the curve of the metal,
in the small holes that let the light out,

All carefully punched. Bound together.
A lamp in the making. Beginning
with the decision to create, to build,
to make rather than destroy,

to make something lasting
whether it bears your name or not,
something you know will matter
long after you do not.

About this poem

Our world does not value slow work. Be it craft, relationships, love, or faith, we want a quick and cheap product. Slow work is more of a curiosity than a norm, and we are poorer for it.

The picture was taken at the American Farm Museum in Cooperstown, NY.

Tom