There is art and there is construction.

While I do not pretend to believe anyone can build things, the number of persons who can in this world is far greater than those who can make art.

I do not actively participate in the Pinterest phenomenon. I have an account, but I don’t use it. I see things on Pinterest, though, that my friends on Facebook share … and every now and then, I try to make one in my wood shop.

The first few times I did this, I beat myself up because something wasn’t exactly like the project posted on Pinterest. I’d try to cut letters with the jigsaw to perfectly match letters cut by a complete stranger in a far-off land or try to stain wood to a tone identical to something made in another climate. Both of these goals are impossible to achieve — letters cut by a jigsaw almost always start with something handwritten in pencil and the tone of a piece of wood that has been stained varies according to temperature, humidity and time given to allow the stain to soak into the wood prior to wiping away the excess.

It finally dawned on me: my own handwritten letters and elements of a project like that were what made it unique. Yes, I could construct a doghouse or deck or bench to match someone else’s as long as I followed their blueprints specifically. I can run a table saw, miter saw and other tools common to constructing things. I know how to use a tape measure.

There is a difference, though, between a deck and letters spelling a child’s name, hanging from a lightly-sanded tree branch. Rarely do people admire the beauty of a deck — they just want a raised platform behind their house on which to sit. The latter, however, evokes emotion and happiness, as each time another looks at it, they can’t help but think of its builder and the emotion he or she put into making it.

And why not? This is an object gone over dozens of time by a soul, making sure every corner was sanded to the desired angle and brush stroke of polyurethane was intentional. It was not something that could be quickly mass produced. It had passion and feeling put into it.

I’m not sure what started it, but there is this one-sided rivalry that today exists between people who study liberal arts in college and those who study specific trades such as construction, engineering and professions that are “practical,” as proponents put it. The argument that liberal arts degrees are useless is becoming more common.

While I am biased because I have a liberal arts degree and it has served me well, I do not see how this does not make everyone just a little sad. Imagine a world full of welders, truck drivers, construction workers and other “useful” trades. Alternatively, consider a world void of the arts.

Imagine a world where everyone is the same, where everything has a blueprint so it can be copied to be identical.

Some may say I am not working a job for which I went to college, which is why I am not complaining about my ability to support my family despite having a “useless” degree. On the surface, that is true. But I manage people. I lead them. I take the language of corporate, decipher it and deliver to hundreds of people from different backgrounds, income classes and levels of education. Then, I get them to buy into these instructions from my bosses, believe in them and make it happen. I do this very well.

Anyone who thinks a day passes when I do not use something from my liberal arts education that helps me listen, comprehend and convey is terribly mistaken. These “sissy” classes taught me to be patient, empathetic … and that listening is the most important element of communication. In an industry of engineers, business degrees and industrial backgrounds, these leadership characteristics set me apart.

There is a place in this world for 2-by-4s cut at precise 35-degree angles to match up perfectly with 55-degree counterparts. But there’s also a place for weathered barnwood floors with different-sized gaps.

May we always teach our children it is okay to be some kind of artist.