What does it mean to be human? Imperfection, entirely perfect. I like not having to live with perfection. I’m not into it, for myself or for those around me. I do not want a perfect home, I do not wish for my kids to be perfect. I wish for imperfect art.
In the brushstrokes of my paintings, I have learned to let go. I have learned that the beauty is in imperfection. I could step back and analyze a painting, studying brush strokes and asking why each one was there. Asking if one distracts or question its existence. There is a place for that in learning of the balance of a painting and discovering that, in most paintings, I like vision to flow. But in the overanalysis of brushwork, I find a lack of freedom that questions the intelligence and the seeming source that co-created the artwork in process.
I have stood before a painting and asked myself these questions. I have asked if one brushmark overstudied should be removed from the art. And I have held my hand over that one brushmark and found the nonexistence of that one brushmark changed the entire painting, for me, to my dismay. That one brushmark can make a difference. It may not seem so beautiful, overanalyzed or closeup, but that one brushmark can make the painting.
And so it is with life. You are here. You can make all the difference in the painting of a life, today. Life is art, as people we are creative. If one brushmark can make a difference, certainly one person can make a difference. What painting are you in today? If you don’t have one going, try jumping into someone else’s painting and make a difference in theirs. Be that bright imperfect brushmark, smile to yourself, embrace your humanity and make a difference. Even if you don’t see it, someone standing farther back will.
Perfection is boring, and you are not. In many ways, every day, you make a difference. For this, I thank you.
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than every thing)
And all shall be well and
All manner of things shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned Knorr of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.
T.S. Elliot, Little Gidding, Four Quartets
Wish could take back the mobile typos… 😉
Goes against grain of your ideas to make these corrections, I know, but in quoting someone else, feel I should get them right. If it was my words, I like to think I’d let the imperfect brush strokes staff
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