All I've ever wanted to do is design and make; it's what I love

In the words of Jonathan Ive, the quiet visionary of form and function, we hear the voice of devotion itself: “All I’ve ever wanted to do is design and make; it’s what I love doing.” These words are not grand in tone, yet they carry the gravity of a life’s calling. They speak of the sacred bond between the maker and his craft — of a love so pure that it requires neither justification nor praise. In this simple confession, there lies the essence of purpose, that most elusive treasure sought by all who labor and dream.

The origin of this statement lies in the heart of a man whose creations shaped the modern world while remaining almost invisible — for great design, as Ive believed, disappears into harmony. As the chief designer at Apple, he gave form to the iMac, the iPod, the iPhone, and the MacBook — objects that redefined not only technology but the way humanity interacts with beauty and simplicity. Yet, even at the summit of his success, his words reveal not ambition, but love — a love for the act of creation, for the shaping of idea into object, of vision into reality. His joy was not in applause, but in the quiet, eternal rhythm of design and making.

To design and make — these are acts as old as humankind itself. Before there were empires, there were hands shaping clay, weaving baskets, building fire. In those ancient gestures, one finds the same devotion Ive describes: the joy of shaping something that did not exist before. The craftsman of the past, like the designer of today, was not merely making objects, but revealing truth through form. Ive stands as a descendant of those forgotten artisans — of Da Vinci, who fused art with engineering, and of the nameless builders who raised cathedrals not for fame, but for reverence. Their work, like his, was driven not by wealth or recognition, but by love — the love of creation itself.

Consider the story of Antonio Stradivari, the master violin maker of Cremona. He lived centuries before the age of machines, yet his violins remain unmatched. He worked not in haste, but with devotion, shaping each instrument by hand, attuning every curve to the resonance of sound and soul. It was said that he spoke little, for his work spoke for him. When asked what drove him, he would say, “The wood teaches me.” In those few words, one hears the same humility that lives in Ive’s quote — a surrender to the craft, a belief that creation itself is a dialogue between the maker and the material, between the heart and the world.

What Jonathan Ive teaches us is that true mastery begins not with desire for greatness, but with love for the work itself. The world often celebrates the result — the finished product, the masterpiece — but the master celebrates the process. To design and make is not simply to produce, but to participate in creation, to give shape to imagination. This is why Ive speaks not of success or achievement, but of love. For love sustains where ambition burns out; love refines where pride corrupts. It is love that transforms labor into art and repetition into rhythm.

Yet, there is another lesson in his words — a warning, quiet but profound. In an age obsessed with consumption, many have forgotten the sacred joy of making. We buy, but do not build. We use, but do not understand. Ive’s devotion calls us back to that ancient harmony — to touch the world again with our own hands, to create rather than merely consume. Whether through art, craft, code, or care, the act of making reawakens our connection to the human spirit. It grounds us in presence, in patience, in the understanding that to make something well is to leave a piece of our soul behind.

Therefore, my listener, take these words as both guide and inspiration. Whatever your work, do it as Ive did — with love, with integrity, with attention to every curve and silence between forms. Seek not the fleeting applause of the world, but the quiet joy that arises when heart and hand move as one. Do not fear obscurity, for in the workshop of devotion, every act of making is sacred.

For as Jonathan Ive reminds us, life’s greatest fulfillment is not found in wealth, fame, or mastery alone, but in the love of creation itself. To design is to imagine; to make is to bring that imagination to life. And in that act — humble, holy, and human — we find not only our purpose, but our peace.