Zestful Blog Post #232
I’m always fascinated by the idea of deliberate
imperfection. Most recently, I was touring Flagler College in St. Augustine,
Florida. This was a few months ago. The tour guide directed our attention to
the mosaic tile floor of the rotunda in one of the main buildings. The college
was built by Henry Flagler, and industrialist who endowed the school and
fostered many building projects, both charitable and otherwise, in St.
Augustine. The guide told us that Flagler, a religious man in the Christian
tradition, ascribed to the same belief that Islamic artists do: only God is
perfect, and it is folly for humans to try to imitate God. Thus, if you build
in a mistake or two into your project, you won’t displease God; you’ll be OK.
Thus the photograph below, showing a seeming mistake in the
tile work of this elaborate and beautiful rotunda. As an artist, this idea
should be comforting, and I find it so. Us writers tend to seek perfection, and
worse, expect perfection in our work,
and that often holds us back from being productive, and it holds our work back
from seeing the light of day. It can even hold our work back from being the
best it can be: free-flowing, honest, spirited.
[It's in the checkers.]
I know I’ve touched on this topic before, but mostly I’ve
written about the fact that we should accept imperfection in ourselves and in
our work. I hadn’t thought about inserting deliberate imperfection, just to be
on the safe side. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea, and the
more, as a creative person, I find it freeing.
I do remember receiving some criticism on one of my early
books, where the reader or reviewer said it would be better if I didn’t tie up
every loose end. Readers are OK with a little ambiguity. It just occurs to me
now that ambiguity is part of the human condition. Perfection is not.
This is all a little metaphysical, but I guess I’m in that
kind of mood today. It’s so easy for writers and artists to lose touch with
that inner core that feels and knows so much. It’s too easy for us to close off
that core in order to get business done—in order to handle all the things we
have to handle in life. Now here’s something funny and imperfect: I’m dictating
this post using a headset microphone and my Dragon software, and I’m sitting
next to my office window. The wind is blowing very hard outside; it’s whistling
across the window frame and I suppose a little air is whistling right on in. When
I pause my voice, Dragon hears the wind and types the word will. Will will
will. I’ll leave those mistaken words in. I like the word will, and I like the
word yes, and God knows what I’ll write next, but you can bet it will be
imperfect.
Thank you for being my friend.
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Comments,' or '2 Comments,' or whatever. [Photo by ES.]
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