I love artists, because I’m a wordsmith and they say things I can never say. Here are two of my favorite paintings about work, both by Caillebotte: http://www.webstrategies.cc/caillebotte1.jpg ; http://www.webstrategies.cc/caillebotte2.jpg .My mother was full of aphorisms. I grew up with “All work has dignity,” and “It doesn’t matter what you do. If you’re a [floor scraper], be
best one you can be.”
Coming from an intellectual family, I was always fascinated to see people work with their hands. It took such patience. They did same thing over and over. I wondered what held their interest.
When I watched, I often saw and felt love. I watched carpenter pause for a moment, stroking wood as if it were a living thing. Turning it over in his hands, caressing it.
I heard repairman coaxing plumbing -- “Come on baby, come on baby,” he would say to corroded screw, with pliers in his hands.
I never heard my father, a corporate attorney, talking to his brief that way, or father of my children, a pathologist, begging pap smear to reveal its secrets. Though George Washington Carver claims that's how he got his secrets from peanut – by talking to them.
I watched woman who cleaned our house. Her favorite thing was to polish silver. We took it for granted, but she saw silver pitchers and tableware for beautiful objects they were. She would dip into silver polish and make swirls on coffee pot, taking her time, admiring object and admiring her work.
When it was done to her satisfaction, she would hold it out to me. “Ain’t dat purdy?” she would say.
The Cathedral of Notre Dame was done by such artisans (not craftsmen).
The object of work was not to throw up a pew as fast as you could; everything that could be embellished was embellished.
Each artisan was creating his own glory to God that would be part of greater whole. They were not chipping stained glass, they were building a cathedral. They also did not sign their work.
In my days as a fundraiser, I often heard Archbishop of San Antonio speak. He had a favorite story for those of us who served homeless.
He told about a homeless person who came to back of chancery one day for food.
The Archbishop was busy writing and annoyed to be interrupted from his important work. He stormed into kitchen, he said, threw some bread on table, slapped some turkey on it, slammed down a mustard jar and said, "HERE! Here's your food."
The man who had asked for food picked it up, andthen put it down. "I can't eat,” he said. “I can't swallow this. You were so angry when you made this. It wasn't made with love."
