Work is a hobby

One of the reasons I still go into work every day is that I still want to try being a software developer in an artistic context. 
I've always seen software as a creative thing, like writing, painting or sculpting, but most of my friends can't seem to process this idea.

I've worked in Dublin, Trossingen, Altenberge and with customers all over Europe from Paris to Belgrade. Now when asked what I'm doing I get blank stares when I say I create software as an individual.

But why do you work?
I work for myself.
Who do you sell it to? I don't sell it.
I do make some money from time to time, by selling something I've created, but most of what I create doesn't make money, the opposite, it costs me money to make it.

I got lucky with Wolfgang and perbit, the company grew and our products were successful and we sold them for a long time to companies all over Germany. I enjoyed being a manager and was able to do the job, sort of, but now every day when I wake up, I'd rather create something than manage something. I don't like being responsible for other people's careers any more. So my manager days are over. It worked well for a long time and the money we made has made it possible for me to live a creative life, which is where I am most comfortable now.

I make software for others. More recently I've made products only for myself, with good results. Something new happens when you relax the assumption that software has to be easy to learn. People have a hard time understanding that you can do art with materials such as compilers, servers, editors, networks, display screens, etc. In general they have no idea what those things are but they're similar to the raw materials of writing (plot, character, story etc.).

In a sense I want to go back to the early 90s, when the internet was still a twinkle in the eye, and I had the feeling that if we created simpler networked software products, people would use them. We've been here before with the birth of the PC.

Woodstock at 50

It seems apt that the attempt to create a music event to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the Woodstock music festival ended in shambolic disorder: the venue being changed to a different state, the musicians withdrawing, the tickets then being advertised free of charge, and the whole event then being cancelled.

The 1969 festival was also marked by chaotic disorder and ended as a scene of mud and rubbish.

The Woodstock festival still seems to many a defining moment in Twentieth Century culture, a rejection of tradition and convention and the assertion of complete individual freedom.

Except it wasn’t like that, I never thought it was. The festival was running late, so late that, rather than coming on at the culmination of the event late on a Sunday night,  Jimi Hendrix and his band played at 9 o’clock on a Monday morning. There were not hundreds of thousands, there were a few thousand who had remained amidst the mud and the rubbish, and their numbers grew progressively smaller as the band played. By the time of the encore, the footage of the performance shows people streaming away, and even the festival crew, standing on the stage behind the performers, are looking bored.

The programme concluded and there was a flat feeling. The only conclusions one seemed able to draw from Woodstock were that, after a party, there was a mess to clear up, and that weekends are followed by Monday mornings, when it is time to get on with the real business of life. It was hardly the stuff of dreams 50 years ago.