I don’t want to simply exist in the world. I don’t want to spend my time surrounded by immutable objects, constructions designed by others with the intention of my lifestyle fitting them rather than them being designed to fit me. I want to be more than a simple consumer; I want to be a creator. I want to shape the world to fulfil my own desires, my own needs, to be of my own imagining. I want to leave it in a different state to how I found it, one object at a time.
To hack is to make an object do something it wasn’t designed for: to repurpose it; to re-imagine it; to make something of your own design.
A couple of cans become a phone line when connected to a taut length of string. This page becomes an origami crane when ripped out and folded.
Find something, make it something else. Do it. Consider it a challenge.
There’s a quiet rage in the craftsman who spends an extra hour, an extra day, pushing his work toward perfection. The swollen knuckles, the missing fingertips and cracked skin. There’s a rage behind doing it right.A rage against profit, and scaling; against outsourcing, and wholesaling, and cheaper and more. A rage against the sacrifice it demands, and the ease with which it might slip away.
There’s a rage in saying I don’t want your money, what I want is to do it right. It’s a rage against mediocrity, and all the garbage touted as design that stuffs our world.
I used to think that making as perfect a thing as I’ve got it in me to make filled me up. But the truth is I’m overfull. When I finish a piece that’s more perfect than perfect, it’s an unbuckling, a pouring out. The rage is all and I’m King Kong on the loose, rampaging neighbourhoods.
Imagine on your deathbed you were able to see two films of your life. One showed highlights of what you actually achieved; then the other showed highlights of what you could have achieved with your ability, your talent, the opportunities that came your way.
It would probably bring you to tears to know what else you could have done. The heights you could have climbed. The people you could have met. The races you could have run. The ideas you could have made happen. The change you could have made.
If only, when you had come to the edge, you hadn’t taken that step back to safety. If you had just kept going after failing that one time. If only you had believed in that crazy dumb idea enough to tell the world about it.
Yes, if only you hadn’t, well, played so damn small.