Beauty and the Condition of Imperfection

(this was written a month and a half ago, since then, boyfriend has turned to fiancé…but more on that next time.)

Last night I asked my boyfriend if he still thinks I am beautiful. Of course, he was surprised by this, responding which some reassurance and a “my love, where is this coming from?” I don’t know where it is coming from, I just know it is there. Here. Inside my head.

Recently, I have been feeling not quite good enough. Everyday I hear or see something about another person getting plastic surgery, fixing something deemed imperfect, injecting something somewhere. And here I am, just raw-dogging life. I mean, is this even allowed?

I worry sometimes about how I will age. Sure, my body is attractive enough now, but what about after a kid or two? what about after years when my metabolism slows down and my skin sags? It seems to be only a matter of time. Noticing these patterns of thinking, I realize the influence of what I consume, what many of us consume in this consumer culture.

Will my man still love me when I change? When I do not look how I do now? Does my nose, my forehead lines, my acne leave me unlovable? Is he only pretending when he tells me I am beautiful? Usually I don’t think about this too much. When I notice an influx, there seems to be a link to social media. I’ve been stressed more these past few weeks, and have also been on social media more. And it is that low time in my cycle. Triple whammy.

When I was studying in Hong Kong last semester, I took this course called “Nature in Philosophy and Art.” One day, a poet came in to lead a workshop. We were told to bring an object of nature (I picked a flower on my way to class). We were tasked with writing in blocks of five minutes, prompted by something, stream-of-consciousness, disregarding logicality. First were free associations: this object reminds me of this which reminds me of this…and so on. Next, we were told to give the object we brought a story. With my little flower as my focus, I wrote, “if you were still attached to your roots you would…” The next was empathizing, and this one stuck with me:

“What did you want to do with your life? It probably was not to get picked up by me today. Taken away from your kind. but you are beautiful, do you know that? I wonder how much the question of beauty comes up for you, like it does for us humans, which are constantly judging, ‘am I beautiful, am I not?’ but for you, I imagine there is simply the knowledge of being. No question of self, but a connection only with what is and what is to come. Will the rain come? Will the bee? Will a caterpillar came to eat me? Will there be sun today? You only live. And when it is time to go, it simply is. there is no flighting death, no ‘why me’ or ‘why now?’”

The poetry exercise was great, and I’d recommend it for anyone interested. The poet’s name is Marco Yan, and his time in grad school was packed with exercises like these. I loved it. Sometimes one must be pushed to write freely, to get unstuck.

With art, like with my own beauty, there is a fair amount of second guessing. Of looking at others and their techniques or styles and thinking how much better they do it. Right before I left for break I noticed the frame of the painting I’ve been working on, which is the biggest painting I’ve done, is warped. I couldn’t do anything in the moment, so I just did my best to not think about it. Imperfections! They are always there, slowly I am learning to get better, but the learning never ends. For this painting, I will simply remove the staples that hold the canvas to the wood frame, make another frame (with help and reinforcements), and restretch the canvas. Not terrible, but annoying work that will likely do a number on my hands.

I used to be much more of a perfectionist than I am now. I dramatically switched from only using pencils to only using pens around middle school to limit the ability to undo—no erasing, only moving on. With a pen, mistakes can be crossed out but they do not fully go away. This was a symbolic moment for me, a resolution to not let mistakes stop me. I have come a long way, but the internal tugging towards perfection remains.

I believe a longing for perfection is inherent in the human soul. Think Plato (Phaedrus, we used to be two people in one, and even now we long for the other half) or the Judeo-Christian myth of Eden, perfection then the fall. There an original perfection, and after this is lost, there is the continuous longing to return. In modern society, this longing for perfection has become perverted into the perfection (which doesn’t actually exist) of physical beauty. So buy all the things with their claims to help you get there!

See Jonathan Pageau’s clip on disappointment as a theological condition:

I take comfort in this. The longing for perfection is there, and that is normal. It does not say anything about my state other than I am human.

In a committed relationship I have to deal with these questions, these insecurities. If I was still in the initial dating phase, it wouldn’t matter. The only thing focused on then is the moment. In a hook-up, the future doesn’t matter (a false rationalization, but one that can be convincing for a time).

But in a relationship, it does.

Being committed to anything in life. To one’s art form, to one’s career, to one’s religion…is to accept the disappointment that comes from it. To know the imperfection, but keep going anyway.

I try to focus on the good, in myself and the world around me—cultivating what brings joy. The insecurities and doubts remain, but they need not be fed.

That’s it for now.

Thank you for tuning into an Artist’s Journal! If you anything stuck out to you in this newsletter, send me a reply, I’d love to hear it :).

xoxoxo Anna