Perfection of Art

Picture this, a young Chicanita at a desk, legs swinging, too short to touch the ground, pencil poised in right hand forefinger curled and tucked toward thumb while the middle finger presses down and clamps the writing implement in a tight hold. You look to the right of the desk and there are a few pieces of crumpled up papers in the wastebasket. And then, in frustration the Chicanita crumples up their piece of wide-ruled paper and chucks it off the desk in disgust. This little one (six maybe? Or seven?) is not frustrated because they can’t do the homework, but rather they can’t execute the assignment perfectly - without having to erase a mistake. The mistake is a mark misplaced, a slip of the lead pencil making a stray flourish where it shouldn’t have been on the paper. An affront to her perfectionist desires. 

I often misplace the inception of my anxiety to my junior year of high school when I started having panic attacks, but really, the beginning is here, with me in my childhood bedroom frustrated with my inability to be perfect. I don’t recall anyone telling me that my handwriting was messy or that my turned in work wasn’t meeting the assignment (she understood the assignment), but somehow I decided that it wasn’t worth turning it in if it was completely perfect. Somewhere along the way I digested messages indicating I needed to be perfect, and this manifested in my homework sessions. I hated seeing the mark of my mistake through an eraser attempt, I really disliked it when you’d cross over the erased section and the past was visible right there under the correction. Poor little Chicanita striving, striving, striving for something, anything that would be some semblance of control. It’s as if, turning something in with no evidence of an eraser would be some sort of validation for me as a human. As if, my existence was not enough.

This scene keeps returning to me lately on long days in my studio. Looking back through time, I check in on my younger self and wondering how can I care for her now? I recognize it's because I am I spending a lot of time at desks these days. A desk of my own, where I'm either writing, finessing words into something new, tracking the administrative mundanities of selling work out of one's home, drawing or sketching in my sketchbook, or painting studies. I spend a lot of time in the same position as she did, at a desk, wondering about the evidence of the mistakes that lie underneath the perfected veneer. Decades later, my feet touch the ground, and I’ve had to upgrade to some ergonomic cushions to allow my back enough comfort to sit hunched at the workstations I’ve staked throughout our house, but my exterior contains all the versions of myself that came before. And sometimes, that younger version really clambers forward in my consciousness. 

I know she’s not the shape of my self-doubt, because she too had the inner critic whispering in her ear, looking over her shoulder, critiquing her every move with that pencil. In a loving, caring version of my Present KCF self I could tell the little KCF that it’s probably the inner critic CREATING THE PROBLEMS - distracting you so that you can’t make the perfect line, filling up your head with other thoughts that makes it difficult to concentrate fully at the task ahead. In the low-vibrational version of Present KCF I have the urge to kick her chair, to admonish her, to tell her what she’s working on is nothing compared to what lies ahead.

I’ve been fighting with a painting in my studio and trying to be gentle with all versions of myself. Though, to be honest, my energy has more often than not been the chair kicking type. I won't burden you with my negative self-talk, I'm sure you can discern the flavor of it. When things don’t come easily I’m quick to turn that frustration inward and allow it to grow into a deep personal failing. If young me could be so tough on myself when things actually came easily, just imagine what it’s like when what I’m creating feels like all anyone can see is the eraser’s trace of the past mistakes and current failures. Surely, I’m not the only who feels this way, right? It helps knowing we all have work to do to love that small version of ourselves who needed something she was unable to receive. 

When I started painting four years ago I catapulted back in time to this little one’s sensibilities. I was afraid to put a stroke of paint down on a surface because I was afraid it would be wrong. Paint isn't right or wrong, it just is, but every time I picked up my brush or palette knife, I was shaken with the anxiety emanating from within that I would put it on wrong; the wrong place, the wrong hue of paint, the wrong mark to make the shape I wanted to make. There was a lot of angst in not being about to represent things “right.” Whether that was space or the objects themselves, while I had taken a painting class “for fun” I wasn’t having much fun because the learner in me (my perfectionist) was judging every single move I made. After a few months I loosened up, and was able to find more joy in the process. I started taking pleasure in the challenge. I witnessed wonder and awe in myself and the universe after doing something I hadn't yet known was possible. Seeing the challenge as that, a challenge instead of a game I would inherently lose, something I had a chance of besting in my own way made me hungry for painting. With daily practice my skills improved, my hand and eye began to converge into something that was my way of doing things. I was able to let go enough to put the perfectionist on the back burner when I realized my favorite paintings were not photographs. While I’m very impressed with the photorealists rendering of life in such detailed ways, my paintings are clearly images that are rooted in representation from my feminist media studies interests. Representation is an image or symbol of a thing that we have assigned meaning to (hello semiotics). I have no desire to create the thing on canvas or wood panel (that would be impossible anyways), but I do desire to give some sense of the object’s essence on the canvas. Painting has been a good teacher to me, a healer too. I'm obsessed with paint because to me it feels mystical, powerful, heavy with historical weight, problematic and magical all at the same time. And still, every once in a while, that joy gets snatched by my internal critic. Maybe giving them some air time here will lesson the hold they have on me, I am a channel and my only true job is to receive and transmit these messages outward.

In honor of Valentine’s Day + 1, I want to love that little version of me better. She deserves it because perfection is not in the execution, it’s in the trying. It’s in the falling and the starting and stopping but most importantly it’s in the spirit of keeping going. I’m going to keep going, not by slashing a canvas, but by still staying in the fight. I kind of want to erase all these words and put something else down, but this is what I’ve got, and where I’m at, so perhaps the kindest thing I can do for little KCF is to unchain her from that desk. Let Present KCF tell everyone about the parts that feel like too much to share. And we’ll both keep hoping for the best. That sounds better than perfection, more like real life anyways.

What I’m Reading

Olga Dies Dreaming by Xochitl Gonzalez

You know when you pick up a book because there’s a lot of hype around it but then you’re not really sure what you’re going to get yourself into? This is that book. Already optioned by Hulu for a show (I will definitely be watching) the book is difficult to describe, part romance driven but not in the typical will she/won’t she fashion, part socio-political exploration of freedom and the limits of electoral politics, part love letter to the Puerto Rican diaspora, part investigation of the cost of and the challenge of dreams and success and “making it,” partial critique and ambivalence about the process of inevitable gentrification… this is difficult to really pinpoint as one kind of book. The writing is fresh yet relatable, and honestly Gonzalez’s treatment of wealthy white people is delicious. I know I mentioned I had identified a favorite fiction book for 2022 (Fiona and Jane by Jean Chen Ho), but this one comes in a close second. Anyways, get it if you’re into not always guessing what will happen in a story because this one pushes beyond typical genre expectations.

Artist Offerings

• This writing really spoke to me about the long winter, Vaimo and seriously don’t know where we can push any more snow if when it comes our way
• ​Super into these haunting paintings by Jennifer Packer, wish I could see them up close
• Just learned about this digital writing space and have been enjoying the offerings
• Grateful for the brilliance of Carmen Herrera and the loving tribute to her at El Museo del Barrio 

Creative Ritual

Busy busy times, so close to completing a smaller painting for my Roots series and I started my next 4x5foot diptych. Scared and somewhat hopeful I can wrangle something out of its humble beginnings. I applied for an exhibition, cross your fingers for me that they accept my paintings for a bit, started prepping for an upcoming show, received my first rejection of 2022 (that was quick!), and my record collection has expanded to 25! I also made some bold moves and started stitching on a canvas tapestry I’ve been waiting to try a new-to-me-technique so that I can bring the concept to the aforementioned stretched canvas painting. I also successfully revised a chapter of my manuscript. The work continues. Mostly, I’m proud of showing up to my studio daily, and I’ve been resting at least one day out of the week. Not much completed, but much in progress and I’m rolling with it the best I can.

Questions to ponder

How has perfectionism showed up in your life?
How have you loved your younger self lately?
What perfectionist tendencies might you consider letting go?

Thanks for journeying with me. I hope, as always, that you take what you need and leave the rest for someone else, or for another time. 

-KCF

Support this work with a one-time or sustaining donation. Can't support financially, that's ok, I'm glad you're here! Could you expand our community and share with a friend who you think would enjoy my ponderings?