I Don’t Paint ‘Perfect Pictures’ Anymore
When I was younger, I always tried to paint perfect pictures. I studied the tools of the trade, and I worked and worked. I got rid of every distraction in my pursuit of perfection. I locked myself in my room. I left everyone I knew. I couldn’t let them in. They did not have the same goals, the same pursuits, and they could not reach my level.
Well it took me years, but when I had finally successfully painted the perfect picture, I was held up and praised. I was set as an example to be admired and followed.
Alone I stood, looking out at the vast ocean that separated me from everyone else, alone.
I stood on top of my tower and looked out at my accomplishments. I talked highly of my great accomplishments, of my great ability to withdraw, to keep out the distractions, to finally achieve perfection. I sat at my island that I had crafted, far away from everyone else… Alone… All… Alone.
I could not understand their lack of perfection nor could they understand my striving for it. For that reason I could not associate. I was set too far apart, and isolated.
But as time went by, the paint started to crack, my perfect painting, cracking! I grabbed my brush quickly and started covering up the cracks with paint, covering the tears, covering the flaws. But the sun got hot and the paint started melting away. I couldn’t keep up with the pace. I cried out for help, but no one seemed to hear me. I was too far away. I was ‘set apart.’ They viewed me as a success, or at least that’s what I told them. I couldn’t ask for help either because that would require surrender.
It was then I noticed how suffocating was that success I wore. I wore it like a badge of honor, while it killed me. I could only hold that facade for so long before I cracked. The pain was too deep, the years had wore on. I realized that there was no joy in this journey, no celebration. On this day, something died in me. My eyes were opened and I left that island that day, ego bruised, & head down.
It wasn’t until I got to see the works of the masters up close. I saw the that their paintings had cracks. Their paint had chipped. I saw their flaws, exposed to the world, And unbothered to be covered. I saw the most beautiful pictures in the world up close, only to realize that even the most beautiful things are cracked. They are scarred. They are bruised. They are flawed.
But flaws are meant to be celebrated. They are what make is human. They are what unite us and bring us together.
Through this journey, I stopped trying so hard to paint ‘perfect pictures.’ I like the chipped paint. I like the faded colors, and the tears in the canvas. They now remind me of myself. They are the flaws in the story, the ‘wrong turns,’ the unexpected blessings. I like the mishaps of the artists behind them, & I like the fact they kept trying, pushing forward, unfazed.
Through this process I have felt contentment as I never felt before in my work.
I finally gave up. I stopped painting ‘perfect pictures.’ I stopped caring to really. ‘Perfect Pictures’ seem, to me, to be the loneliest.
I originally wrote this is April 2019.