Have no fear of perfection – you’ll never reach it.
― Salvador Dali
Painting is always a good idea, until you start to paint. It’s something I always say, and always mean, but still I paint.
Not on a canvas, but my home. There will be a need to paint a room or two, or any wall, ceiling or surface in need of a “facelift”, and with the optimism of an amnesiac who forgets his past failings and frustrations, I purchase the needed supplies and get down to business. And usually after the first hour, or less, the activity is giving me the “business”, i.e. I am speckled with paint from head to toe, and ruing my decision to take on the job.
Part of the problem is my OCD. When I paint, it kicks in to high gear, manifesting in repetitive, negative thoughts about imbalanced brush strokes, uneven lines, smudges, streaks and sloppiness. When I’m finally done (one good thing about OCD is it propels one to completion no matter the obstacle), in my eyes, the finished product is awful: all I see are flaws, ugliness, a veritable “mess” in need of professional intervention.
Yet, invariably, when someone first sees my painting handiwork, their retort is usually along the lines of: “I like the color.” And when that happens, I always realize that what I see they don’t see. They are not focused on the flaws, the small issues driving me mad, but the big picture, so to speak. And with that bit of affirmation, and renewed perspective, I move forward and forget my issues when it comes to painting and start the cycle again the next time a space is in need of a fresh coat.
As a student of life (not yet a graduate), I often use my struggles with painting as an analogous way to explore the insecurity that has plagued me over the years. I can’t count how many times I have stared into a mirror and agonized at the sight of pimples or wrinkles or other imperfections of the skin. Or gazed into my cloths closet in dread that nothing will look good on me. But more and more, as I age, I have been able to push aside these concerns and remind myself, when it comes to appearance, I’m my most harsh critique. And that others, when they see me, most likely see something different – the bigger picture of who I am, and not just the paunch around my waist or the bags under my eyes.
At least that’s my hope. Jason Kurtz, a stalwart column contributor, who has been helping people overcome insecurity for years as a psychoanalyst, and who has also uniquely dealt with issues of self-confidence as a young man (read his fantastic memoir “Follow The Joy”), has an interesting take on this common emotional struggle.
He writes:
“It’s natural, that as we grow we examine the actions and appearance of those around us. When we want to know how to eat, or how to walk, or how to talk, a baby focuses on those who care for them and tries to imitate them. Watching others in this way and mimicking them is essential for our survival. It’s also how we learn to fit in and be accepted. It’s how we know what is expected of us and also how to meet those expectations. This is a healthy instinct when it is in balance, but can become unhealthy when our need to fit and be like others becomes excessive, or when we worry excessively that we will not be good enough for others to care for us.
This happens to many of us somewhere in our middle school to high school years. Suddenly, we start fixating on our own flaws. Maybe we’re too shy. Or too outgoing. Maybe we’re too tall, or too short. Too skinny, or too fat. Maybe we don’t have great hair, or a great sense of style. We worry we’re too nerdy, or not smart enough. We stare at ourselves in the mirror, noticing every blemish, and it terrifies us to think that others will notice these imperfections and we’ll be ostracized because of them. Bullies, of course, capitalize on this, looking to hide their own insecurities and flaws by directing the group’s attention on the flaws of another. Despite all of this, hopefully we grow out of this self obsession. Generally, this happens when we learn this essential bit of life wisdom: no one is paying as much attention to us as we are.”
So I will continue to paint. In fact, I’ve a deck outside in desperate need of a touch up. I know there will be a point, maybe after the first roll along the wood, when I will begin to doubt myself and question my skills. But I also know, even more, that these worries are not important, they mean nothing, and that one day, when the chairs and table are back in place, the grill set up and the cooler full, that friends and family will visit, and together, with luck, we’ll all enjoy the color.
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