“The judge, the pianist, and workman,” he wrote, are interpreters. “Interpreters are always necessary because instructions are always incomplete.” The workman can do with his eye what the judge does with intuition and logic, what the pianist does with intuition and ear: he or she can measure with astonishing accuracy those things that can never be specified, isolate nuances that are too subtle to be described. No law book could be complete enough to handle the specifics of every individual case; no musical score could possibly convey how long each note must hang in the air, or precisely how loudly it should sound out; no boat design could determine a single, absolute outcome of every curve.

The door slid open again and the room lit up as an unassuming bearded man in a dusty cable knit jumper walked towards me. He moved through the shed, feet wide as if crossing a moving deck, held his hand out and with a beaming smile and a soft Hudson Valley lilt said, “Mark? I’m Nat”