Picture Perfect

Many years ago, in tai chi class, I ran into a model we use to draw and paint in art school. She was a slender, lithe girl who posed and moved with the grace of a dancer. I mentioned Sheridan College to her. “Those were the good old days,” she beamed. Subsequently, whenever I saw her again at the club, we exchanged friendly, casual greetings. In one lesson, we were taught how to refine a move. The instructor gave us individual suggestions on how to improve stance, posture and balance. The comments I received were very helpful and cleaned up my mistakes nicely. The former model struggled with her corrections. She paused to catch her breath and discuss with some of the other students, the challenges of revising bad habits. “Unlike Miss Perfect here,” she snapped, referring to me. “Everything she does is perfect!” Although startled and miffed, I said nothing; figured it was uttered in a burst of frustration. But that didn’t stop me from wanting her pants to split and make rude noises, especially during this section where we all had to stand with our feet wide apart, bend one knee, then stick out our bum to stretch the other leg.

Although the ex-model’s remarks concerned a different activity, I did notice the poetic irony of being dissed by someone who was once subject matter in works of art. Imagine a drawn or painted figure who climbs out of a picture to bitch-slap the artist, then steps back inside the frame to resume their pose. Perfectionism haunts some artists more than others, especially those who try to distinguish it from the worthy pursuit of excellence. Certainly, it is possible to demand the best of oneself and produce exceptional results. Many artists have standards for the accomplishment of their own work. Most also know when to relax these in the short-term, to facilitate research and exploration– or to leave them altogether when premature value judgements inhibit expression or advancement. Knowing when to pull back, when to come forward with criteria in service to progress or development is an art in itself. When good days bless the studio, it’s easier to mitigate goals for achievement because the artist is usually enjoying themselves too much in the moment to care. Indeed, the delight many of us experience while engaged in the creative process often generates a more satisfying outcome than conscious, laboured effort. But making art isn’t always about the light-filled studio or raptures of creative energy. For many, the majority of time involves building upon layers of multiple attempts, decisions and then revisions, false starts, restarts and courses of elimination. Like most areas of life– once you begin to care about something, angels and demons both take notice.

I’m constantly fascinated by how artists treat themselves and regard their own work in comparison to how they respond in kind to peers. Subjective preference is of course, a given, but I know artists who set high standards for themselves and expect nothing less from others. I’ve also met those who are equally self–disciplined– display far more generosity of spirit towards others and the art they make– than they have ever shown themselves. Then there are artists who nitpick, who ruthlessly address faults in other people’s work, yet overrate their own products and/or excuse whatever shortcomings they possess. I have encountered talented artists as well, who are dissatisfied with everything, themselves included, and struggle to create even a modest output. Has perfectionism impacted such cases? I’m not sure. Most artists I know work hard at their craft even those whose finished pieces appear effortless. Perfectionism is inevitably, a form of self-sabotage. If an artist genuinely senses their potential and refuses to rest on past laurels, that’s one way to continue further learning and growth. The attitude: “I can do better” lures them to fulfill this prophecy. But if we persistently undermine what we do, deem it never good enough even when those we esteem and respect in our field disagree, there’s a danger of sterilizing, of defeating what it is we truly have to give in our work. It’s natural and understandable to covet outstanding qualities we admire in the art of others. Superb work has the power to inspire and motivate us in this manner. The problem arises when we have yet to reach desired heights or believe them unattainable and fail to appreciate our less-than-perfect contributions. Occasionally, artists do assess correctly, the level of their talent in relation to the virtuosity exhibited by another artist. However, even brilliance isn’t always what is needed all of the time in this world. Honest but flawed work– for example, with clumsy perspective, disproportionate anatomy etc.– has been known to evoke just as deep a connection and resonance as a masterpiece, sometimes completed by the same artist. We never really know if what we do will ever make a difference. But if the little demon of perfectionism runs out of control with its maddening need for that very control– we limit opportunities to share our work with the world and to realize the difference it could make in ways we may never have imagined– not as grand as we had perhaps hoped, but no less rewarding.