I'm emotionally attached to my movies and crew. Maybe that's why

Hear now the voice of Tovino Thomas, who spoke with the candor of a craftsman devoted to his calling: “I’m emotionally attached to my movies and crew. Maybe that’s why my wife calls me ‘workaholic’ at times. I love doing my job.” In this saying lies not only the heart of an artist, but the eternal rhythm of those who give themselves wholly to their labor, whose souls are entwined with the people and works they create. For such a one, work is not burden but devotion, not compulsion but love.

The meaning is thus: Thomas confesses that his bond with his movies and crew is not transactional, but emotional. The work is not merely a profession, but an extension of his being. To be called a workaholic is, in one sense, a reproach, yet in another it is a mark of passion. For when love and labor are one, hours lose their weight, and toil becomes joy. This is the ancient wisdom that work, when done with heart, ceases to be mere work—it becomes art, and art becomes life.

The ancients themselves bore witness to this truth. Consider the sculptor Phidias, who labored on the statues of the gods in Athens. He poured such care and love into even the hidden parts of his work—the parts no human eye would ever see—that when asked why, he replied, “The gods will see.” His emotional attachment to his craft transformed stone into living spirit, just as Thomas’s attachment transforms film into living story. For when love is bound to labor, the result is something greater than function—it is something eternal.

History too gives us the tale of Thomas Edison, who, though accused of relentless work and sleepless nights, once said, “I never did a day’s work in my life. It was all fun.” To him, invention was not drudgery, but joy; the hours spent in his workshop were no sacrifice, for they were the hours in which he was most alive. Tovino Thomas echoes this same truth: though others may see obsession, within such devotion there is delight. The heart calls it not slavery, but love.

At the core of this reflection lies a greater truth about attachment and community. Thomas does not speak only of his films, but of his crew, the companions who labor beside him. His devotion is not solitary, but shared; his love is not only for the art, but for the people who help bring it forth. This is no small thing. For work becomes most meaningful when it is bound not only to craft, but to kinship—when it is done shoulder to shoulder, with loyalty, gratitude, and unity.

The lesson, then, is clear: pour love into your labor, and honor those who labor with you. Let your work be more than duty; let it be devotion. Let your craft, however humble, carry the fragrance of care, so that even the smallest detail bears witness to your love. And let your relationships in work be sacred, for no great thing is built alone. In this way, what the world calls workaholism may be, in truth, the noblest form of dedication.

What, then, should you do? Find the labor that makes your spirit alive, and when you find it, do not be ashamed of your devotion to it. But also guard your balance—cherish the voices of those who love you, as Thomas hears his wife’s playful reminder. For though passion gives wings, love outside of work gives anchor. The two together—devotion to work and devotion to family—make a life that is both fruitful and whole.

Thus let Tovino Thomas’s words echo: “I love doing my job.” Simple though they are, they carry the eternal wisdom that when work is done in love, it ceases to be a burden and becomes a calling. And those who live by this truth will find themselves not merely laboring, but creating; not merely earning, but giving; not merely existing, but living fully, with hearts ablaze.