When people recall a performance of a world-class orchestra they mention the aesthetics of the hall, they compare a particular piece they heard with past renditions, and they appreciate the beauty of music played by virtuosos. What they don't say is "man, that piano was in perfect tune!" Yet at a baseline, that may be the most critical component of the show. Peter Stumpf, the piano technician for the renowned Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, explains, "these concert grands are like Indy race cars." They require all sorts of complex tweaking. "There is voicing, regulation, you have to take into account the venue and the piece that's being played . . . I spend many hours and multiple visits getting a concert grand ready for a performance." The work requires an extraordinarily focused "attention to the minute details of sound. Sometimes I feel like I'm chasing a ghost into the fog." And though he is "not even in the program, ever," Stumpf feels deep reward from a silent pride in his craft. "When I am in the audience and I hear Emanuel Ax I genuinely feel like we're doing a duet—it's my piano and the artist. And I don't mind him alone getting the praise because the audience is thrilled with what he's been able to do with my piano."

Graphic designers are unique members of The Invisibles because some of their work, like corporate logos or a beautifully laid out catalogue, is indeed noticed by the end user (even if the designer herself isn't known). But much of their work is intended to be invisible. "A book is a great example of this duality," says Marc Levitt, the Creative Director and Co-Founder of MSLK, a design firm in New York. "The cover is intended to be flashy, memorable, yet inside is the opposite task. It's about conveying the author's words in an invisible manner." While some may think that the best design always grabs our attention, Levitt counters that great design often shouldn't call attention to itself. "I'm not as concerned with prettying things up as I am with the end user being engaged in the right way." While he's happy when he takes on a flashy project that brings him recognition he feels perhaps more reward for his unnoticed work. "Our work may at times be invisible but it's not insignificant," Levitt said, citing the butterfly ballot controversy of the 2000 election. The ballot, which allegedly confused voters, had "bad design. It probably cost Gore the election." The butterfly ballot was one of those moments when The Invisible, terribly, became visible. "It was a lightning-rod moment in my profession, when regular people suddenly became aware of how important design can be."

LIKE HIS INVISIBLE BRETHREN, Levitt noted, too, the refrain that most designers "have to be meticulous by nature." That The Invisibles aren't seen is largely of no consequence to them. Their reward is in the work itself, in the satisfaction both in the good result for the end user and in the private fulfillment that focused, detailed work with consequence can provide. Though I've only focused on a few members of this club, in my research I found again and again these same unique traits in other Invisibles, and I've been humbled by them. Meticulousness, savoring great responsibility, and seeking only internal satisfaction are a trifecta of traits—a near antithesis of our societal ethos of insouciant attention-cravers—as a culture we'd all do well to follow.