I love words, I love English, and there is no way I could be a lexicographer. I will never read a dictionary the same way again. This was even more interesting than I hoped it would be.
I call it “craft” and not “art” for connotative reasons. “Art” conjures an image of the lexicographer as medium or conduit— a live wire that merely transmits something unkenned, alien. But “craft” implies care, repetitive work, apprenticeship, and practice. It is something within most people’s reach, but few people devote themselves to it long enough and with enough intensity to do it well. That sort of dedication to words comes across as batty, so we speak in metaphor. Defining is the mental equivalent of free throws in basketball: anyone can stand at the free-throw line and sink one occasionally; everyone gets lucky. But the pro is the person who stands at the free-throw line for hours, months, years, perfecting that one motion until it is as fail-safe as humanly possible, until it looks so much like second nature that an uncoordinated clod like me can watch them lob a rare miss at the net during a game and say, “Are you kidding? How easy is it to shoot a free throw?”