Against Preciousness

In Creativity and Life

From the studio today :)

In the quiet corner of my home studio sits a box of carefully preserved art supplies, each item a testament to a pervasive quest for perfection. These supplies, unused and waiting, symbolize not just unfulfilled creative potential but a deeper struggle—the struggle between the desire for perfection and the liberating acceptance of imperfection, both in my creative endeavours and in my personal life.

Vincent Van Gogh once advised, “If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.” This wisdom echoes across every class that I attend. Each teacher implores us to stop being precious with our papers, paints, and brushstrokes.

I also attend the etching class, which is a form of printmaking. For those who are not familiar, this art form requires drawing with needles on metal plates and using acids to etch the marks before preparing the plate for printing. The entire process is physically intensive. There is no assurance that the lines or drawings etched will match our imagination. There are always surprises as foul bites. The concept of “foul bites”—unintended marks on a plate—serves as a poignant metaphor for life’s inherent imperfections. Our teacher embodies the philosophy of Wabi-sabi and encourages us to see beauty in these flaws, teaching us that acceptance of imperfection is not just an art lesson but a vital life lesson.

This battle against my internal critic, who demands perfection at every turn, is further complicated by mimetic desire, a phenomenon where our desires are influenced by the desires of others, steering us towards an endless pursuit of what we perceive we should want. It's not about status, money, or being famous for me. My desire is to make my art come alive and have a life of its own, like Rothko, O’Keefe, and many others whose art feels like an immersive experience. I am acutely aware of myself and my shortcomings. I know that this belonging that I search for will come at its own pace and time.

Each artistic practice I engage with presents its own set of challenges, reflective of the broader struggle between perfectionism and acceptance. When sketching, the worry about getting the lines and shading right consumes me. In watercolour, my focus narrows to managing the water content correctly to bring the envisioned shape and form to life. While portrait painting, the pressure to capture the likeness of the sitter is paramount. These varied experiences, with their distinct challenges, underscore the universality of my struggle across mediums. It’s a reflection of life in many ways. I bet by now, you would be acquainted with my love for fishing metaphors :)

The quest for perfection, driven by mimetic desire, extends beyond studios and galleries, permeating our personal and professional lives and resulting in missed opportunities and strained relationships. In our pursuit of the "perfect time" for our creative and professional achievements, we often repeat the same behaviours, constantly postponing and putting things off, convinced that a better opportunity will come along to apply for that job, reach out to someone, or mend and strengthen relationships. I, for one, have missed a few excellent work opportunities, as I felt I wasn’t good enough yet. It’s a paradox of how I don’t hesitate to show up as my messy and ugly self in relationships. I think early life loss embossed the importance of meaningful relationships.

Embracing imperfections in creative work can lead to more authentic and meaningful art. I have experienced it when I let go of the need to control the narrative. Embracing the imperfections in our personal lives can foster deeper, genuine connections. The fact is that true belonging does not require us to be anything other than our true selves.

The quest for the perfect moment to begin is a poignant reminder to reevaluate our priorities. A majority of end-of-life regrets are about courage and relationships. The past few weeks have been a roller coaster ride with an ailing parent. With sickness in tow, everything perfect one wants to attain goes out of the window. A resounding inner voice reminds me that there is no perfect time for creativity or the people I love. The only perfect time is the present moment, which is liberating as well as grounding.

Art has taught me innumerable lessons about noticing myself and embracing the messiness inherent in the creative process. This journey into various artistic practices has honed my skills and deepened my understanding of the importance of embracing imperfection, both in my work and life.

In recognizing the value of the here and now while embracing the messiness of the creative process and the imperfections of my personal endeavours—I discover a path to a richer and deeper sense of belonging. This belonging is not contingent on achievements or the approval of others but is rooted in the authentic expression of my true self and the acceptance of my inherent imperfections.

As I reflect on my journey, the silent box of art supplies in my studio no longer represents an unfulfilled potential or a quest for perfection but a reminder of the importance of starting, of making, and of being—in all the messy, imperfect glory that entails. It stands as a testament to the beauty of the present moment, a call to embrace my imperfections, and an invitation to live authentically, both in my art and in my relationships. In this acceptance, I hope to find not only freedom from the chains of perfection but also the true essence of creativity and connection.

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I have selected only two poems that speak to this messiness. I hope you like it.

I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost … I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place
but, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in … it’s a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V
I walk down another street.

by Portia Nelson

Failing and Flying by Jack Gilbert 

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It's the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work. That she was
old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that
anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her
while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.

Sharing some snippets of my imperfect voyage with art.

This was way beyond my art style. My teacher wanted me to be as abstract. There is still an unifying narrative in this. I would be keen to hear what you see :)

Embracing the foul bites :)

A moment of pause against the light. Yours truly :)

In other news, I am hosting an Interintellect salon on attention and focus with acclaimed author, Nir Eyal. My very curious self volunteered for the reading contributor group for Nir’s book, Indistractable, in 2019. My name is printed along with the hordes of others who were a part of this experiment. It’s funny and serendipitous that I am hosting this conversation on the same book. Do join us on 17th Feb if you are interested.

It’s super late here, so I'm sharing this one article that I liked. I am not sure if I shared it last time. While this article is written for women, I think it’s true for men who are goal-sheet-obsessed. I have been rereading Jung too. More on it in one of the next editions.

Until next time, let yourself get a bit lost, and messy and enjoy the imperfect moments that life has to offer <3