Workmanship of Risk
David Pye, professor of furniture design at the Royal College of Art, introduced a fundamental distinction in The Nature and Art of Workmanship (1968): the workmanship of certainty versus the workmanship of risk.
In the workmanship of certainty, the quality of the result is predetermined. The jig, the mold, the template ensures outcome. A CNC router will cut the same curve every time. The result is built into the setup. Skill lies in designing the system, not executing each cut.
In the workmanship of risk, the quality depends on skill, care, and attention at the moment of execution. The carver’s chisel cut can go wrong until the moment it’s complete. The result depends on continuous judgment. Each action is a fresh wager.
Pye argued against nostalgic rejection of machine work. The workmanship of certainty isn’t inferior — it’s different. Mass production made goods affordable. Interchangeable parts enabled repair. The machine democratized quality that was once scarce.
But something is lost. The workmanship of risk produces diversity — no two handmade chairs are identical. It rewards attention — the maker must remain present throughout. It develops judgment — only practice under risk builds skill.
The woodworker with sharp chisels, reading grain, adjusting angle and pressure as conditions change. The potter centering clay, feeling wobble, responding. The calligrapher whose brush stroke reveals its quality in the moment. Risk means presence. Certainty permits absence.
Most real work combines both. The table saw ensures straight cuts (certainty) while hand-fitting the joint (risk). The software handles computation (certainty) while the designer makes aesthetic judgments (risk). The question is where each belongs.
Pye’s insight: what we value in “handmade” is often specifically the presence of risk — evidence that skill and attention were required at each step. The slight variation that proves a human was there, paying attention, caring.
Related: [[sharpening]], [[the-jig]], [[tacit-knowledge]]