I describe management as arts, crafts and science. It is a

Host: The office was empty except for the hum of the air conditioner and the faint glow of the city spilling through the glass. It was late — too late for productivity, too early for sleep. On the long table, folders lay open, papers spread like discarded maps, half-full coffee cups bearing the scars of long hours and longer thoughts.

Jack stood by the window, staring out at the skyline — steel and light, ambition and fatigue drawn into form. Jeeny sat at the table, flipping through an old management textbook, its corners worn, its margins alive with notes and sketches.

Jeeny: “Henry Mintzberg once said, ‘I describe management as arts, crafts, and science. It is a practice that draws on arts, craft and science and there is a lot of craft — meaning experience — there is a certain amount of art meaning insight, creativity and vision, and there is the use of science, technique or analysis.’”

Host: Her voice was soft, measured, like a teacher reading aloud to remind both herself and the listener that wisdom isn’t found in theory — it’s found in practice. Jack didn’t turn. He kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes still on the restless pulse of the city below.

Jack: “Mintzberg, huh? He makes it sound romantic. Like management’s a symphony, not a spreadsheet.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’ve forgotten it’s supposed to be.”

Jack: (smirking) “Try telling that to a boardroom full of analysts. They’d turn a violin into a KPI.”

Jeeny: “Only because they’ve mistaken control for clarity.”

Host: Jack turned at that, leaning against the window frame, the city lights reflected in his gray eyes like a constellation of decisions waiting to be made.

Jack: “You really think leadership’s an art form? I thought it was just survival with better fonts.”

Jeeny: “That’s because you’ve spent too long in the science part of it. You measure, forecast, calculate — but you forget to imagine.”

Jack: “Imagine what?”

Jeeny: “People. Possibility. Meaning.”

Host: She closed the book gently, the sound of paper against wood like a sigh.

Jeeny: “You see, Mintzberg wasn’t talking about management as a job. He was describing it as a craft. A lived experience. You learn it by doing — by failing, observing, trying again. It’s not something you master; it’s something you inhabit.”

Jack: “You make it sound spiritual.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Every good leader’s part artist, part scientist, part craftsman. You have to balance imagination, method, and experience without letting any of them dominate.”

Jack: “And most of us just end up bureaucrats with burnout.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Because bureaucracy kills the artist, and arrogance kills the scientist.”

Host: The rain began outside, soft at first, then steadier — a metronome for introspection. The lights from passing cars painted moving reflections across the floor, streaks of red and gold sliding over their faces.

Jack: “You know, I used to believe in systems. Everything could be optimized, quantified, predicted. But the more I manage, the less control I actually feel.”

Jeeny: “Because you can’t manage people like algorithms. They’re not data sets — they’re stories.”

Jack: “And stories don’t scale.”

Jeeny: “No. But they inspire. And that’s what scales everything else.”

Host: She stood, walked toward the window, and stood beside him. The rain on the glass blurred the city into abstraction — skyscrapers turned watercolor, lights turned brushstrokes.

Jeeny: “That’s the art part. Seeing patterns where others see noise. Knowing when to lead with intuition, when to trust analysis, and when to just... step back.”

Jack: “And the craft?”

Jeeny: “That’s the humility of experience. It’s the calluses you earn from trying. The lessons you can’t write in a report.”

Jack: “And science?”

Jeeny: “The framework that holds it all together — the skeleton beneath the skin.”

Host: The air between them hummed with quiet understanding. Leadership — the word itself felt heavy now, less title, more practice.

Jack: “You make it sound balanced. But in reality, it’s chaos.”

Jeeny: “Of course it is. But that’s what makes it art. Order is easy. Harmony takes courage.”

Jack: “You think harmony’s possible in business?”

Jeeny: “Not perfect harmony. But rhythm, yes. When people move with purpose, not pressure — that’s when management becomes music.”

Host: Jack turned back toward the table, scanning the papers spread before him — graphs, numbers, plans, all sterile and silent. He ran his hand through his hair, then smiled faintly.

Jack: “You know, I used to think being a good manager meant knowing all the answers.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now I think it means knowing when to ask better questions.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the artistry — the intuition to know that people aren’t problems to solve, they’re instruments to tune.”

Host: The rain tapped louder now, a syncopated rhythm. The office lights dimmed automatically, leaving only the soft glow of the city and their reflections in the glass — two silhouettes in conversation with something larger than business.

Jeeny: “You know, Mintzberg’s idea reminds me of something my old mentor said: ‘Leadership is choreography. The best leaders don’t move people — they move with them.’”

Jack: “So it’s not command, it’s composition.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: She picked up a pen, sketched something on a napkin — three overlapping circles. She labeled them quietly: Art. Craft. Science.

Jeeny: “See this? When all three overlap — that’s where real management lives. The art inspires, the science disciplines, and the craft sustains.”

Jack: “And when one’s missing?”

Jeeny: “You get either chaos, coldness, or burnout.”

Host: He studied the sketch — simple, elegant, almost poetic. Then he folded the napkin carefully and slipped it into his pocket.

Jack: “You know, for the first time in years, that definition actually makes me want to lead again.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Then Mintzberg’s architecture worked.”

Host: The rain softened, the skyline shimmering like a living constellation. The office, once a tomb of strategy and fatigue, now felt human again — alive with the quiet pulse of understanding.

Jack looked out one last time, his voice low but certain.

Jack: “So management isn’t about control.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s about creation.”

Jack: “And creation?”

Jeeny: “Always begins with art, survives through craft, and endures by science.”

Host: The city outside seemed to nod in agreement — the lights flickering like applause beneath the rain.

Because Mintzberg was right — management isn’t a machine; it’s a mosaic.

Each decision, a brushstroke.
Each mistake, a lesson.
Each person, a note in the unfinished symphony of what it means to lead.