It is, after all, the dab of grit that seeps into an oyster’s shell that makes the pearl, not pearl-making seminars with other oysters. ~ Stephen King
I guess if you keep making the same mistake long enough, it becomes your style.— John Prine
When I was little, I accompanied my mom on art outings to Coconut Grove, a bay in Miami as tropical as it sounds, one that challenges painters to capture shimmering reflections of sailboats anchored in turquoise waters. Mom had her oil paints; I had my crayons. The crayons would melt together in the hot sun which made it possible to color in yellow, aquamarine, and midnight blue all at the same time.
My mother had an intimate relationship with precision. She had been a draftsman for the airplane industry, you could see this skill in her paintings: She would paint ocean scenes with white foam waves so realistic they almost splashed out of the painting, and … sailboats with the shimmering reflections flawlessly captured. Her art was gallery quality, but she didn’t think so. She wanted to sell her paintings in a garage sale along with discarded shoes and old recipe books. She never considered her art good enough for people to purchase. She didn’t consider what I did art at all. I was an odd child, spending hours in the backyard herding imaginary cats which later made me laugh when I came to understand that herding cats was a metaphor for working with artists.
My earliest exposure to art was garnered from this unhappy perfectionist, who turned out immaculate paintings, never satisfied with the results and immune to praise from others. “Oh, they’re just gushing,” she would say when I mentioned how many people complimented her. I looked up “gushing” and synonyms include blubbery, mushy, and effusive but also “admiring with great enthusiasm.” I’d be fine with blubbery.
I inherited my mom’s perfectionism but having ADHD made drawing with precision a lot like a driving a car with no steering wheel. Although I have a lot of determination, I am clumsy, resistant to instruction, and short on frustration tolerance. Impatience is also a regular companion.
Mom would take a crayon and go over my sailboat drawings to make them look more accurate. With straight, professional lines drawn over my wobbly sailboats, they looked like squiggles with corrective scaffolding. It was the first known incidence of an incarcerated sailboat drawing. If the world was my oyster, frustration is what led to the pearl
Her dismissal and example didn’t deter me from making art. Despite feeling I wasn’t good enough, I was still in love with it not just because I could bring funny doodles into existence for the amusement of my friends, but because it was also a place to stave off anxiety and depression. Discovering that my flowerpots could fly, funny creatures to keep me company, and the spontaneous emergence of an entanglement inherent in doodles became as important finishing something. The process is where I was satisfied.
I was single-minded. As I stayed with my version of uneven, imperfect squiggles, they evolved into a style of imprecise whimsy, purposeful flaws, incomplete completeness to which some people seem to relate. It’s a fixation with playfulness and giving up how things are “supposed to be.” This was freeing and freedom to me, is deep fun. My untidy style entered me into the happy league of Wabi Sabi.
“Wabi-Sabi,” as novelist Tom Robbins described it is, “the aesthetic of finding beauty in the imperfect and unexpected; the secret, private joy of being attuned to the Zen of things.”
Wabi-Sabi is Wild Abandon, a form of art I now teach. Wild Abandon is letting go of conformity to rules, tossing to the wind the need to be perfect, and sailing away to find fresh water pearls. Fresh water pearls hang out with melted crayons and wobbly sailboats.
Wild Abandon is fleeting, freeing, mysterious, and for the most part has more of a story to me than something drawn neat and precise.
This evening opens my fifth or sixth art show. It’s been awhile, so I’m a little nervous. I feel like I’m doing some of this for my mother- showing less than perfect paintings.
My two favorite comments on my chickens keep the courage in tact:
“When I see your art, it makes me believe I can do art too.”
“Your chickens make me happy.”
Painting them actually brings me amusement which to me is medicine. There will be a lot of chickens in the show.
I may stream live, but if not, I’ll be sure to take lots of photos.
If you’re in San Diego. It’s at 6pm in Inspirations Gallery is a public art space located at San Diego Writers, Ink in the Arts District Liberty Station, situated at 2370 Historic Decatur Road, Barracks 16, Suite 204
Our next Wild Abandon workshop for paid Subscribers is Sept 23. I’ll send the link soon.
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