Whenever I make something - a painting or a piece of writing - that I'm pleased with (very rare event), I go back to it again after a bit to check it out. Obsessive compulsion? Maybe. But back to it I return when the first rush of euphoria evaporates. And then I see them all. The glaring flaws, the wrong choices. Yikes! I think, I did that???
Take the paintings I put up on my last post. I was happy with them when I made them. They came out in a short, glorious outpouring of creative energy. I was so happy with them. Then I hung them up on the wall. And then, then I saw my errors. For a few days every time I glanced at them I thought OK, they really need to be scrapped. I'll just paint over them - start fresh. But that's not so easy any more with my baby butterfly exploring every inch of her fairy forest with me in tow to protect her from evil beings like fluff balls and bits of paper and string and odd unidentfiable objects (where do these things come from anyways?)and the rest of the time feeding, changing or otherwise engaging her.
So I'm stuck with looking at my work and agonizing over it. Why am I never complacent with what I do? I think searching for perfection (in its absolute sense) is futile, but reaching for the highest, the best that I can do, is imperative, something I owe to myself. Sometimes I try my utmost, most times I feel I miss the mark in trying my utmost. Either way I'm constantly stretching myself to learn, to grow, to be better. I hope it's a good thing, because sometimes it doesn't feel like it.
Does this happen to you?
A picture I took of canna leaves a while ago became this:
Check out more versions here.