I set out to write last week and needed something to write about so I went to the park to draw something from life.  I used to do this regularly in school but lately I haven’t allowed myself the time.  I needed “nature” and happened to be close to central park– Ahh, yes perfect.

I parked myself in front of a tree, pulled out my sketch book  and I realized I had forgotten my pencils, charcoal, and markers etc.  Shute.  That’s ok— nothing was going to stop me- I pulled out the pens I did have– better than nothing.  I probably drew one of the worst drawings that I have done in years.   I couldn’t get the tree to show up on my paper in an interesting way– I became frustrated– I scratched and scratched away at it— it felt terrible– I needed to write this post, I have been neglecting my blog for waaaaay too long and I felt really stressed about it. And, because of that–  It needed to be perfect.

I  kept going– I’m not one to give up, but as I drew it got worse and worse.  I started to focus on copying the tree exactly and it spiraled further down a vortex of desperate drawing —  stress building.  Then I remembered something.

A few weeks ago I had gone to a lecture at the NewSchool given by google creative lab.  I thought it was going to be a lecture on their particular work processes and but it wasn’t that exactly.  It was more like an hour-long advertisement for some of their new products and creations– one of which had both amazed and depressed me.  They had come up with a machine/software that could take a photo of someone and create a perfectly loosely rendered pen and ink sketch  of that person.  It was actually really cool, but. . . it made me think of all the years I had been doing that in my sketchbook and that this skill I had developed could now be done by a machine.  And a machine could do it faster and cheaper than anything I could do– and probably better- or at least more perfectly.

What am I doing? and why am I trying to make this perfect?  I looked down at my rigid, stressed tree and took a deep breath.  The tree looked the way I felt– it looked tense.  Something dawned on me.   I started to look really deeply at the tree.  I started to try and feel what it felt like to be a tree as I drew it.  What did the light leaves twinkling in the breeze feel like?  I felt them as I drew– What did the solid trunk feel like rooted and supported by soil.  I started to feel connected and rooted as I drew the base.  I didn’t care what it looked like– I started to care what it felt like.  I was on to something.

I needed to start a new drawing with this new insight in mind– I looked around- ahh yes- the Met!! I made my way out of the park and into the greek and Roman sculpture galleries.  Ahhh yes.  I found a statue and started to feel it from the inside out as I drew. I felt the smoothness of the marble as I traced the curves and lines of the body.  I felt the tension in the fabric in the places where it gathered.  It felt good.  It didn’t turn out perfect.  I didn’t care because the process was worth it.   I didn’t care because I had learned something.

I’m making an effort to enjoy the process more than the end result now.    I try to notice how things feel and if they don’t feel good, there is probably a learning opportunity in that and I aim to look for it.

Embracing imperfection is an accomplishment and something to strive for.    Here’s my tree that taught me something more valuable than some flashy google robot.