Does perfection kill the pursuit of happiness?
I was having lunch with a colleague of mine today and we started to talk about our various artistic pursuits. She’s an art instructor, so I figured, this is probably a woman who knows a bit about the process of creating a “masterpiece.” She says she hates this word…”It’s just too much pressure! If I thought every project had to be a masterpiece I would never start anything.” Now that’s getting right to the heart of the matter. Do any really talented artists pour their very being into their work, step back and say “Now that is absolute perfection. I’m a freaking genius!”
Every artist I’ve ever known, be she or he a singer, actress, painter or writer, is his or her own worst critic. I can only speak from my own personal experience when I say, there is no way in hell it will ever be good enough. I was telling my artistic professor friend Colleen about this sketch I painstakingly created for my sister and brother-in-law for their tenth anniversary. It was a pencil sketch of their wonderful doggy-child, Bandit. As any loving sister would, Dana immediately hung the image on the wall in her living room. I recounted for Colleen the little flinch I feel every time I look at that stupid picture. “I notice how it looks one-dimensional, and I got his coloring wrong in a couple of spots. I just can’t stand it, every time I look at the thing I see something wrong.”
Here’s the struggle that stops me dead in my tracks. When I’m sketching, writing or singing it’s the most joyful experience I have ever had, but when I start to really look at it and scrutinize my work, it becomes painful. Hell I can’t even write a snippet for this stupid on-line journal nobody reads but me, because it takes too much time. It has to be perfect. Although some rather biting feedback from an ex-boyfriend I wrote about in an unflattering manner didn’t really do a whole lot to boost my confidence about my journal witticisms (in my defense I didn’t use his name!).
Moving on…I have sung my little heart out since I was old enough to mimic Olivia Newton-John in her awe inspiring role as Kira in the cult classic Xanadu (okay maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, stay with me here). I have had people tell me repeatedly that I am very talented. But, what do they know really? They’re just being kind. There are a million singers out there who are much better than I am. Did you notice right there in the intro, I was just a little under pitch on that high note, I never could really nail it, I think it’s out of my range and I totally lost my breath support on that final note, it just petered right out. I wish I had Whitney Houston’s amazing range, minus the nasty personal demons… How did something that started out being so much fun end up being such a frustrating experience?
I’d love to say that I know how to solve all this personal conflict, but I don’t. I don’t have a damn clue. Some of the time it doesn’t stop me from charging ahead, but I can’t help wondering, would I be much more prolific and maybe even much more talented, by virtue of experience, if I just said “screw it” and focused on the joy of creating just for me.
Every artist I’ve ever known, be she or he a singer, actress, painter or writer, is his or her own worst critic. I can only speak from my own personal experience when I say, there is no way in hell it will ever be good enough. I was telling my artistic professor friend Colleen about this sketch I painstakingly created for my sister and brother-in-law for their tenth anniversary. It was a pencil sketch of their wonderful doggy-child, Bandit. As any loving sister would, Dana immediately hung the image on the wall in her living room. I recounted for Colleen the little flinch I feel every time I look at that stupid picture. “I notice how it looks one-dimensional, and I got his coloring wrong in a couple of spots. I just can’t stand it, every time I look at the thing I see something wrong.”
Here’s the struggle that stops me dead in my tracks. When I’m sketching, writing or singing it’s the most joyful experience I have ever had, but when I start to really look at it and scrutinize my work, it becomes painful. Hell I can’t even write a snippet for this stupid on-line journal nobody reads but me, because it takes too much time. It has to be perfect. Although some rather biting feedback from an ex-boyfriend I wrote about in an unflattering manner didn’t really do a whole lot to boost my confidence about my journal witticisms (in my defense I didn’t use his name!).
Moving on…I have sung my little heart out since I was old enough to mimic Olivia Newton-John in her awe inspiring role as Kira in the cult classic Xanadu (okay maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, stay with me here). I have had people tell me repeatedly that I am very talented. But, what do they know really? They’re just being kind. There are a million singers out there who are much better than I am. Did you notice right there in the intro, I was just a little under pitch on that high note, I never could really nail it, I think it’s out of my range and I totally lost my breath support on that final note, it just petered right out. I wish I had Whitney Houston’s amazing range, minus the nasty personal demons… How did something that started out being so much fun end up being such a frustrating experience?
I’d love to say that I know how to solve all this personal conflict, but I don’t. I don’t have a damn clue. Some of the time it doesn’t stop me from charging ahead, but I can’t help wondering, would I be much more prolific and maybe even much more talented, by virtue of experience, if I just said “screw it” and focused on the joy of creating just for me.