This prime example of imperfection is another update of an old piece I did. It was originally done in sharpie, and was a sketch of a bouquet of roses my boyfriend (now husband) gave me. I remember those days were uncertain and somewhat chaotic. In fact, I broke up with him shortly after he gave me those roses (obviously not permanently).
I was a single mom at the time and I think the idea of having to share my son with someone else scared me as much as being thrown into fatherhood scared my now husband. We figured it out eventually but it took us a while. Well, I guess if I’m being totally honest, we’re still working on it. And we will probably spend our entire lives trying to get it right.
I painted acrylic over the roses to create a more permanent image. There are things I like about the updated version better, and there are things I like about the original. The initial sketch was more carefree I think, but the new version has more depth and feeling. I could probably spend the rest of my life “perfecting” this piece but I have decided to call it done. At least for now. Then again, I thought it was done five years ago.
I will say, I’m beginning to question the quality of my paints themselves. When did I buy them? I can’t remember. It’s been at least two years…they are getting a little chunky. But I’m a starving artist, and so I will continue to use them until they are gone.
I never considered myself a perfectionist, seeing as my life has always been “in shambles” so to speak. I have never been able to keep my living space clean, I got poor grades in school, and my artwork has always been pretty sloppy. In retrospect, however, I’ve accepted the fact that some of these failures stemmed from a desire to be perfect in a way that is not achievable. At least not for me.
I tend to put off cleaning up after myself because I am very particular about how things get put away. I like for every object to have its own home, preferably labelled, and placed neatly there. This is rather time consuming, and as a result my belongings tend to hang out wherever I drop them until that magical day when I will have the time to create the perfect space for them…you see where this is going?
In school, I often gave up on assignments if I couldn’t get them just right, preferring to take a zero rather than reveal to my teacher the sub-par-whatever-it-was that I came up with. It doesn’t make much sense when you actually think about it.
And then of course there is the artwork. I already said it’s usually pretty sloppy. This is because I get frustrated when things don’t go the way I wanted them to go, and then I end up rushing through the rest and giving up. Or just not starting at all. Frustration.
So I am learning to let go of perfection. I keep telling myself it’s ok if I make a mistake, and it’s ok if I’m not using the top quality materials, or if I’m using the “right” techniques or the “right” brushes or whatever…the truth is, I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing most of the time. I just don’t care anymore.
This is a painting I did a while ago and recently updated. The original was a spray painted design that was meant to be abstract and reminiscent of outer space. Recently I decided that I hated it. It was the start of something I never finished.
The updated version is a little better, but now it contains ghostly figures rising. Where are they going? That’s a good question. Maybe nowhere. But at least they appear to be moving, and that’s a start. Now instead of a page I’d say I have a chapter…someday I’ll finish the book.
This painting started out as a bland, fearful attempt to be creative. I painted it over ten years ago, and I recall even after I finished feeling like what was the point of that?
I was anxious and I was always trying too hard to be something. Anything. Instead of just allowing myself to be. I was always focused on the end result instead of just enjoying the process. This sad canvas board is a snapshot in time of that artificial lifestyle.
I recently updated it, mainly so I do not have to look at it anymore. It’s funny how rusty my painting skills are, and the end result is something I once would have beat myself up for. But this time at least I know it was painted more honestly and with less fear. So that’s something.