I look at each episode in two ways - from a design standpoint and

“I look at each episode in two ways — from a design standpoint and from an entertainment standpoint — this is TV, after all. We usually succeed on at least one of the levels.” — Douglas Wilson

Hear now the wisdom in these words, and know that they come not from idle speech, but from a craftsman who has toiled in the luminous forge of creation. Douglas Wilson, a designer and television producer known for his work on shows like Trading Spaces, speaks here of a truth that reaches beyond the screen and into the very heart of artistry itself. His words remind us that every act of creation, whether humble or grand, has two faces: one of craft, and one of connection. The first is the structure—the design standpoint—born of discipline, skill, and vision. The second is the spark—the entertainment standpoint—born of emotion, story, and delight. Together, they form the twin pillars upon which all enduring art must stand.

In this saying, Wilson speaks with the humility of one who knows the nature of his art. He acknowledges that in the great dance between design and entertainment, perfection is rare. One may build something beautifully structured yet cold to the heart; or something joyous and engaging, yet flawed in form. And yet, he accepts this with grace: “We usually succeed on at least one of the levels.” Here lies his wisdom — that success is not perfection, but the honest striving toward balance between structure and soul. It is the recognition that in creation, as in life, one must be content to do well what can be done, and trust the rest to the current of the world.

To understand this, let us look to the ancients, who faced the same struggle under different names. Consider the Greek tragedians, whose plays were both artful in construction and stirring to the soul. Sophocles designed his works with mathematical precision — every chorus, every turn of fate arranged like gears in a divine machine. Yet his plays were not mere intellect; they moved the heart to pity and fear, and thus to wisdom. This harmony between form and feeling made his art immortal. But others, like Euripides, leaned more toward raw emotion, shaking audiences with their humanity, even when their structures were wild. Each found success — one in design, the other in entertainment — proving that the path of creation is not a single road, but a wide field where many truths can bloom.

Wilson’s words, though born in the age of television, echo this ancient understanding. The designer must balance beauty with accessibility, art with audience. For television, as he reminds us, “is TV, after all”—a medium of light and movement, meant to reach the hearts of the many, not the few. To ignore its entertainment is to build temples that no one enters. To neglect its design is to offer joy without depth, a feast without nourishment. True mastery, then, lies in honoring both: to build works that are well made and well loved.

His humility, too, carries its own lesson. When he says, “We usually succeed on at least one of the levels,” he reminds all creators that failure is not defeat, but part of the rhythm of endeavor. The builder of cathedrals did not expect perfection in every stone, nor the composer in every note. The artist’s duty is not to control the outcome, but to offer the best of both intellect and passion, knowing that sometimes the audience will see the soul even when the structure falters. For every act of creation, like every human life, is a balance between effort and grace.

Let this, then, be your guidance: in whatever you do — whether you craft words, raise children, design buildings, or shape the course of a life — see it from two standpoints. Ask yourself: Is it well made? and Is it well felt? Does it honor both the mind and the heart? For if it does, you will have built something worthy of time. And if, in the imperfection of mortal hands, you succeed in only one of these, do not despair — for even a single shining quality can light the path for others.

So let Wilson’s words ring in your memory: the work of life is not judged by perfection, but by presence — by how earnestly you shape, and how generously you share. The design gives it form; the entertainment, or joy, gives it life. When the two meet, creation sings. When only one shines, creation still breathes. And in the end, the wise creator knows that both are sacred — for one builds the body, and the other, the soul.