This weekend I was driving down the river road and saw a young artist with his easel set up on the bike path. He was standing in front of his canvas, painting the beautiful Fall colors. I turned and craned my neck to see how he was doing as I drove by. There were colors and lines on the canvas, a half-finished work of art. “That’s brave,” I thought, standing there in public where anyone could watch his process, see the humble beginnings, judge what might not look like much in the middle.
I remembered watching Bob Ross on public television when I was a kid. My dad liked to watch him teach the audience how to paint landscapes, and Mr. Ross did have a mesmerizing quality about his voice (painting all his “happy little trees.”) I was fascinated by his process—he’d start painting the scene and it would look like a mess. It looked like a mess until he was more than half-way through– every time I watched, I was sure he had totally botched his painting this time. Wouldn’t you know, he always managed to turn his mess into a miracle, and end the show with a lovely nature scene.
All this has got me thinking about Perfectionism lately. Continue reading
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