I use the word “craftsmanship” often when it comes to language (or language as art). I admire craftsmanship above most writing traits. As a poster somewhere in my room states: “It’s not what you say, it’s the way that you say it,” I also believe it’s the way you fit words and ideas together like a jigsaw puzzle. Writing should be functional. Should hold. Should be strong and made properly. And yet, there’s more to craftsmanship than durability. Craft is risky. Craft is art. Craft, more of all, is dedication. As in woodworking, it means getting all those splinters out. Or deciding which to keep.
uh craftmanship is a swaggy swag swag of the universe lolz um so jk it isnt lolz i like pie well i guess this is goodbye??? pepe luvs u lil cuti pea bay bay lil girl i hate you see ya butt later loser
They had great craftsmanship. I walked form aisle to aisle examining the fingers as they worked as fast as possible. ‘You’re doing great! Keep it up!” I turn around to see my assistant – his face mortified in terror as he stared ahead. He was gripping that moldy clipboard until his knuckles turned white and I thought it was going to break. “Is…is…that my nephew?” he stuttered. “Um, yeah. Looks like you Uncle didn’t pay his price…woops. I’m kinda sorry about that.” I replied. The assistant was crushed. Who would want a child to be destined for this? Pay for fees, kids. Pay for fees.
I admire people who are good at craftsmanship- people who are creative with their hands. They are talented artists whom I look up to. I train my hands to make art, but they do it freely and naturally
The sword gleamed in the sunlight as the warrior drew it from his scabbard. It was made from the finest craftsmanship, the greatest steel, and, most of all, the deepest hatred.
The girl walking down the street was a beauty, with long thick black hair, a dress that hit above her knees, and black boots with such skilled craftsmanship. She embraced what she wore. She made those clothes work. What we would think is horrendous, she thought was divine. Her clothes had extraordinary craftsmanship.
The house down the street that was built in early 20th century. The craftsmanship that was put into that house was clearly thought through and someone once cared about it dearly.
Hammer crashed down upon steel. Sparks erupted in every direction, briefly illuminating the damp cave. Metal screamed and hissed, but was tamed. A sword fit for a god.
His hands were rough and calloused. He was used to working with them. Always fixing broken things, always carving. Always working for someone else. Always making something for someone else. It wasn’t until he looked at his daughter that he could be proud of making something entirely his own.
His craftsmanship was not to be compared to anybody else’s, for he was the greatest in the land. This is why the king called to him when he needed his crown.
Chairs and tables and carpenters! Good quality work. My dad is a carpenter and he built me all of this tiny furniture that looked like our big furniture for just me. Even though they were just play items, they were beautiful. Craftsmanship goes a long way.
The little object in his hands looked delicate and possibly quite ancient, the high quality craftsmanship obvious in the details of the round pendant. It was warm to the touch and glowed from inside, a warm yellow light that mesmerized and fascinated everyone.
Taking that song and working it, applying 30 years of musical knowledge, but all of this done without thinking too hard about it, just tweaking unconsciously to match up with a hard-won, long-considered aesthetic. That’s craftsmanship.
Creation. Make something, anything. Created the world your want. Form it, love it. Put something you love into the world. Make something. So that you can be here. Be remembered. Be created through your creation.
The thing about crafting is that it is an art. So is everything else. But to be someone who can create a fancy shoe out of leather scraps means that you are a talented craftsman.
he crouches over his worktable;
the question mark of his form posing a single question
sculpting his love into the puppet before him –
can non-life replace a lost life?
The table possessed craftsmanship like a house might possess a spirit.
It glowed luminously, with curves and lines that haunted.
It held the bulk of lifetimes.
To break the word apart, craft man ship is my father. He was the man who could craft anything without much help from others. His relationships with others was to support the as he was the master of crafting.
craftsmanship? wtf kind of word is that. this world is all plastic switches and metal bobbles and polished stone counters that stay cold in summer. void of softness, void of pulpy wood and its carefully lain edges smoothed with elbow grease. craftsmanship is lost to progress
my intention was always about craftsmanship. how, you ask? well, art is in everything. even murder. it takes a special kind of doigté to be able to ring a stranger up, seduce them into trusting you, and gut them in the comfort of their home before sneaking away, never really seen or suspected.
He wanted to build stuff. All day long in his room. Wouldn’t come out to talk to me. I thought maybe he didn’t like me. He did. I was wrong, turns out. But it was too late when he revealed it. Now, I just sit down and admire whatever he makes. Everyone respects him for his work. I wish, I wish I only knew… Maybe I’m a sapiosexual?
he had skin of sandpaper; my lips were rubbed raw
eyes frozen in blue above a tightly clenched jaw
arms like chains on his chest; like a soldier he stands
my nails torn clean off, I throw up my hands.
A ship that went all power, full of people with dreams and hopes traveled the ocean at high speed, all very hopeful to get to the island in time. What they didn’t know was that they would make a visit to another place before arriving. They would mix with artists and sculptors. They would all combine to become one big world with different languages and believes, but all with the same aspiration: to be happy.
he blew the dust from between the slats, years of it had accumulated, all the dead skin, hair, particles of whatever just sat there growing and growing.
Oh the ways he moves. Back and forth. Little by little. Making shapes and groves. Building what he hopes will be a piece that someone will take with them forever.
You see this word all over the place. What does it mean, really? You picture a man, (why a man, don’t ask me) bent over large pieces of wood, smoothing the grooves with his fingers, gently, quietly. Blowing away the shavings with a soft, experienced breath; looking again to see where there might be any mistakes, flaws. He smoothes the wood again; he likes the feel of it on his fingers, even more than he loves running his fingers over the soft, quiet skin of the woman he has loved all his life. He’s never understood why some men stop loving their women when they get old; he has seen the beauty in her from the beginning, and it has never gone away, this loveliness of her. All of her. They are both old now; does she see the beauty of him? And each time she comes upon him, somewhere in the house, or on his way up the driveway carrying the day’s mail, each time he sees her eyes find him, he knows the answer.
He stalked back and forth in front of his desk. He knew he could do it on a normal day, but today wasn’t a normal day. The glossy mahogany stared at him while he scratched his wrinkled forehead and thought about how he could make it work.
“Look at the beauty!” cried Evan, holding the stone up to the light. “Look at the craftsmanship! I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
The jewelry maker looked a little surprised by the inundation of praise, but she did smile. “Thank you,” she said. “That took some time to carve it and polish it. I’m still considering whether or not to place it in a sterling silver band or have it attached to a chain.”
I use the word “craftsmanship” often when it comes to language (or language as art). I admire craftsmanship above most writing traits. As a poster somewhere in my room states: “It’s not what you say, it’s the way that you say it,” I also believe it’s the way you fit words and ideas together like a jigsaw puzzle. Writing should be functional. Should hold. Should be strong and made properly. And yet, there’s more to craftsmanship than durability. Craft is risky. Craft is art. Craft, more of all, is dedication. As in woodworking, it means getting all those splinters out. Or deciding which to keep.
craftsmanship. hm. craftsmanship. craftsmanship…. craftsmanship.
uh craftmanship is a swaggy swag swag of the universe lolz um so jk it isnt lolz i like pie well i guess this is goodbye??? pepe luvs u lil cuti pea bay bay lil girl i hate you see ya butt later loser
They had great craftsmanship. I walked form aisle to aisle examining the fingers as they worked as fast as possible. ‘You’re doing great! Keep it up!” I turn around to see my assistant – his face mortified in terror as he stared ahead. He was gripping that moldy clipboard until his knuckles turned white and I thought it was going to break. “Is…is…that my nephew?” he stuttered. “Um, yeah. Looks like you Uncle didn’t pay his price…woops. I’m kinda sorry about that.” I replied. The assistant was crushed. Who would want a child to be destined for this? Pay for fees, kids. Pay for fees.
I admire people who are good at craftsmanship- people who are creative with their hands. They are talented artists whom I look up to. I train my hands to make art, but they do it freely and naturally
The sword gleamed in the sunlight as the warrior drew it from his scabbard. It was made from the finest craftsmanship, the greatest steel, and, most of all, the deepest hatred.
building. talent. talents of building. crafts. ships. a man crafts ships.
The girl walking down the street was a beauty, with long thick black hair, a dress that hit above her knees, and black boots with such skilled craftsmanship. She embraced what she wore. She made those clothes work. What we would think is horrendous, she thought was divine. Her clothes had extraordinary craftsmanship.
The house down the street that was built in early 20th century. The craftsmanship that was put into that house was clearly thought through and someone once cared about it dearly.
Why is ‘craftsmanship’ our word of the day?
Why can’t it be along the lines of campaign or something?
It makes me think of ships.
I just want to talk about how Sarah Palin and Donald Trump are my new OTP.
Worked your fingers to the bone
To be sent home with a cardboard box
Hammer crashed down upon steel. Sparks erupted in every direction, briefly illuminating the damp cave. Metal screamed and hissed, but was tamed. A sword fit for a god.
His hands were rough and calloused. He was used to working with them. Always fixing broken things, always carving. Always working for someone else. Always making something for someone else. It wasn’t until he looked at his daughter that he could be proud of making something entirely his own.
His craftsmanship was not to be compared to anybody else’s, for he was the greatest in the land. This is why the king called to him when he needed his crown.
fddjhuhu
Chairs and tables and carpenters! Good quality work. My dad is a carpenter and he built me all of this tiny furniture that looked like our big furniture for just me. Even though they were just play items, they were beautiful. Craftsmanship goes a long way.
The little object in his hands looked delicate and possibly quite ancient, the high quality craftsmanship obvious in the details of the round pendant. It was warm to the touch and glowed from inside, a warm yellow light that mesmerized and fascinated everyone.
Taking that song and working it, applying 30 years of musical knowledge, but all of this done without thinking too hard about it, just tweaking unconsciously to match up with a hard-won, long-considered aesthetic. That’s craftsmanship.
I admire people full of craftsmanship who create beautiful things in all different colours and shapes.
Creation. Make something, anything. Created the world your want. Form it, love it. Put something you love into the world. Make something. So that you can be here. Be remembered. Be created through your creation.
craftsmanship is like a blacksmith
like you dont really know what they do but you get it
is that what an artist is
not so much different than a banker i guess
craft man’s ship
The thing about crafting is that it is an art. So is everything else. But to be someone who can create a fancy shoe out of leather scraps means that you are a talented craftsman.
he crouches over his worktable;
the question mark of his form posing a single question
sculpting his love into the puppet before him –
can non-life replace a lost life?
The table possessed craftsmanship like a house might possess a spirit.
It glowed luminously, with curves and lines that haunted.
It held the bulk of lifetimes.
self reinvention: i took a hammer to my ribs, precisely,
pounded until my chest was an empty
cavity, dry and wordless. at my feet,
a horrible mess.
i did this to myself;
it was my hands gripping the hammer.
on my best days, i recognize this as a lie.
To break the word apart, craft man ship is my father. He was the man who could craft anything without much help from others. His relationships with others was to support the as he was the master of crafting.
craftsmanship? wtf kind of word is that. this world is all plastic switches and metal bobbles and polished stone counters that stay cold in summer. void of softness, void of pulpy wood and its carefully lain edges smoothed with elbow grease. craftsmanship is lost to progress
my intention was always about craftsmanship. how, you ask? well, art is in everything. even murder. it takes a special kind of doigté to be able to ring a stranger up, seduce them into trusting you, and gut them in the comfort of their home before sneaking away, never really seen or suspected.
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He wanted to build stuff. All day long in his room. Wouldn’t come out to talk to me. I thought maybe he didn’t like me. He did. I was wrong, turns out. But it was too late when he revealed it. Now, I just sit down and admire whatever he makes. Everyone respects him for his work. I wish, I wish I only knew… Maybe I’m a sapiosexual?
he had skin of sandpaper; my lips were rubbed raw
eyes frozen in blue above a tightly clenched jaw
arms like chains on his chest; like a soldier he stands
my nails torn clean off, I throw up my hands.
A ship that went all power, full of people with dreams and hopes traveled the ocean at high speed, all very hopeful to get to the island in time. What they didn’t know was that they would make a visit to another place before arriving. They would mix with artists and sculptors. They would all combine to become one big world with different languages and believes, but all with the same aspiration: to be happy.
he blew the dust from between the slats, years of it had accumulated, all the dead skin, hair, particles of whatever just sat there growing and growing.
Love this site!
Oh the ways he moves. Back and forth. Little by little. Making shapes and groves. Building what he hopes will be a piece that someone will take with them forever.
You see this word all over the place. What does it mean, really? You picture a man, (why a man, don’t ask me) bent over large pieces of wood, smoothing the grooves with his fingers, gently, quietly. Blowing away the shavings with a soft, experienced breath; looking again to see where there might be any mistakes, flaws. He smoothes the wood again; he likes the feel of it on his fingers, even more than he loves running his fingers over the soft, quiet skin of the woman he has loved all his life. He’s never understood why some men stop loving their women when they get old; he has seen the beauty in her from the beginning, and it has never gone away, this loveliness of her. All of her. They are both old now; does she see the beauty of him? And each time she comes upon him, somewhere in the house, or on his way up the driveway carrying the day’s mail, each time he sees her eyes find him, he knows the answer.
He stalked back and forth in front of his desk. He knew he could do it on a normal day, but today wasn’t a normal day. The glossy mahogany stared at him while he scratched his wrinkled forehead and thought about how he could make it work.
“Look at the beauty!” cried Evan, holding the stone up to the light. “Look at the craftsmanship! I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
The jewelry maker looked a little surprised by the inundation of praise, but she did smile. “Thank you,” she said. “That took some time to carve it and polish it. I’m still considering whether or not to place it in a sterling silver band or have it attached to a chain.”
aw yis this creft is so gud
look behodd the detale wow
eech handcrefted by sum munk on a mtn
sumwhere
this must sell for millions of $$$
floating
ship
woman
seeking
craft
maiden voyage.entry #1
floating
ship
woman
seeking
craft
virgin voyage