Pull up
to the bench.
how something comes together.
One of the things I like most about Adam Savage is that he makes room for the part of creativity that happens between having an idea and having something to show for it.
That interval can be awkward. Your enthusiasm has outrun your ability. The shape in your head is clearer than the object on the table. You know enough to see what is wrong, but perhaps not yet enough to fix it.
His work gives that middle stretch somewhere to live. There is room for the unfinished object, the unusually specific interest, the practical arrangement that makes the next attempt easier.
I find that welcoming. A beautiful finished thing can make me admire its maker. An open account of the making can make me want to try something.
An imagination
with a vocabulary.
Savage’s official biography lists an unusually satisfying range of materials and processes: paper, metal, rubber, foam, glassblowing, mold-making, hydraulics and animatronics. His effects career included work on Galaxy Quest, the Star Wars prequels and the Matrix sequels.
That range helps me understand the appeal of his making. An idea has more places to go when its maker knows different ways of giving it a body. A problem that resists one material might become approachable in another.
He and Jamie Hyneman brought that practical resourcefulness to MythBusters, which they hosted from 2003 to 2016. The improbable question could become an apparatus, a test, something you could look at together.
I admire the translation involved. An abstract possibility acquires dimensions. People can point to it, disagree about it, change a component. Curiosity gets a place on the table.
Even the drawers
have a story.
There is a wonderfully unglamorous page on Tested: Savage’s master index of his storage cases. It provides a searchable, downloadable list of what is stored where.
Sharing the index is a small gesture I find unusually generous. It lets the audience see some of the preparation that sits underneath an apparently spontaneous build.
There is real affection in making a useful thing easy to find again. Organization can preserve the energy of an idea: you can stay interested in what you are making instead of spending the afternoon searching for the part you remember buying.
This is the kind of relationship with objects that interests me in Things Worth Wanting. The useful question is what an object lets a person do. Sometimes the best improvement is knowing which drawer it is in.
There is a badge for that.
Tested’s (de)Merit Badges turn familiar workshop mishaps into a gently ridiculous roll of honor. “Built Backwards.” “Touched Wet Paint.” “Spilled Parts.” There are also merit badges for clearing space on the bench and cleaning the workshop.
I like the scale of the joke. These are small, recognizable incidents, the kind that can make you stare at the ceiling for a moment before you start sorting the pieces.
Giving one a name makes it easier to admit. A mistake can be embarrassing in isolation and funny once you realize how much company you have.
The humor leaves room for competence and fallibility in the same person. You can care deeply about doing good work and still have an afternoon when the parts escape. There is something kind about making that familiar.
Follow the
interesting part.
In Every Tool’s a Hammer, Savage gives fascination a practical welcome. The publisher’s description presents the book as an invitation to pursue an interest deeply, alongside the tools, materials and decisions involved in making.
One detail I appreciate is the attention to joining things. A mechanical fastener can leave a project open to adjustment. A permanent bond makes a different commitment. The choice belongs to the actual work in front of you.
That specificity is appealing. Creativity can become a very airy subject when the conversation never reaches a screw, a surface or a fit. Practical detail gives the idea some weight.
The book also brings in other makers, including Nick Offerman, Guillermo del Toro and chef Traci Des Jardins. I like the breadth of that company. The word maker can accommodate a meal, a film and a carefully fitted object without flattening the knowledge each requires.
Making the work
visible is work.
Tested’s team page is worth opening. It names co-founder and executive editor Norman Chan, director of photography Joey Fameli, general manager Kristen Lomasney, producer and editor Josh Self, and ecommerce director Thomas Crenshaw.
Those roles matter to the invitation the audience receives. A useful view of a build depends on someone choosing where the camera belongs. A clear sequence depends on editing. A continuing project depends on the people who keep its many moving parts working.
Tested also visits the craftspeople behind films, television, theater and museums. I admire the curiosity directed outward there. The famous maker can become an interested guest in someone else’s world.
That feels like a particularly good use of recognition: it gives other people’s expertise an audience. There is pleasure in finding out how much thought has gone into something you might otherwise have passed without noticing.
A place for the
oddly specific interest.
My essay about MrBeast considers what an enormous audience can make possible. Here, I am interested in the closeness of attention: the part, the fit, the person who knows how it was done.
There is a quiet welcome in taking a specific interest seriously. Someone may arrive caring about a costume detail or a mechanism that most people would never think to ask about. The care itself is worth respecting.
That is what I admire in Savage’s public work. It gives curiosity something to do with its hands, and it lets other people come close enough to see how the work happens.
You can arrive interested before you arrive accomplished. There is room at the bench.
Keep exploring.
The links throughout this essay lead to Tested’s own accounts, its team and workshop resources, and the official publisher’s description of Every Tool’s a Hammer.
Continue through The Inspiration Series, or explore the wider collections.