Perfection is so debilitating. It freezes us, makes us question everything about ourselves. Makes us question the very fabric of our being. Are we smart, good, tall, thin creative or witty enough? Did we make a mistake saying that? Could we have tried harder on this or that project?
At first glance this calligraphy piece is okay. It has some nice letter forms, a good tail on the “G” and okay embellishment. Look closer and suddenly we see the upright letters are not parallel, the “F” looks like a capitol in the middle of a sentence and the question mark is just not very good. For a final critique the spacing is terrible and the letters are way too large for the size of the paper.
But you know what? I love this piece just the way it is. This little exercise was written during a period of upheaval. My life was taking an unexpected turn down a side street. One that I certainly had not chosen. So this piece is a cry, a lament “what now, I’m lost, how do I get out of here?”
Had it been perfect it wouldn’t have expressed the feeling that drove me to write that evening. We cannot express ourselves when we are worrying about how we look, or sound , or appear to others. Full expression is very messy stuff.
Artistic expression, or any expression for that matter, comes from the heart and the heart does not care about parallel uprights anymore then the heart cares about proper syntax when it spills itself to another heart.
As we know, in the affairs of the heart (and life), messy is much more rewarding then perfect