The Moment "Perfect" Walks Out the Window (And Why That’s Okay)

Musings from an Artist's Notebook: Embracing Imperfection

I recently had a flashback to a tiny pivotal moment in my art practice a few years ago—a one-degree turn, as Martha Beck would say.

I’m perched at my desk in my attic studio, the kind of space that whispers about ideas wanting to come to life. Outside, a flat gray sky threatens rain, letting only soft light shine through the window. I decide to fight the gloom with color—something warm enough to coax a smile from the clouds. I pull out yellows and oranges, toss in a pinch of purple, and begin scribbling tiny swatches on scrap paper.

After a few attempts, I notice my shoulders hunched, my jaw clenched, and my breath hanging shallowly in my chest. I’m holding my own tension, waiting for the “right” stroke.

The "Perfect" Sketch That Cracks Me Open

I set the brush down, roll my shoulders back, and let a sigh escape. The realization hits: I’m not just painting a picture; I’m chasing a feeling, a validation that the colors I choose are “right.” The irony isn’t lost on me—watercolor is the most mercurial medium I know. It runs, blooms, and often ignores the artist’s intentions. Yet, I’m tightening every muscle, trying to force predictability onto a substance that thrives on chaos.

A flash of my teenage self appears: the kid who skipped a grade, wore the badge of “gifted,” and felt the knot of expectation tighten every time a test didn’t go perfectly. That same knot shows up now, not on a math paper but on a sheet of watercolor paper where I’m supposed to coax light out of pigment. I smile because my inner critic hasn’t moved—it’s simply changed addresses.

Sunset Elegance - Watercolour Painting

Leaning Into the Mess

Instead of fighting the medium, I lean into it. I push the practice scraps aside and turn to the larger sheet I’d prepared weeks ago. I dip the brush, let the water run, and allow the colors to mingle without a strict plan. The yellows bleed into the oranges, the purple sneaks in at the edges, and a soft, accidental gradient forms—less a perfect sunrise and more a sunrise caught in a dream.

My shoulders loosen, my jaw unclenches, and a small, warm laugh bubbles up. The painting isn’t the immaculate, textbook example I imagined; it’s a conversation between pigment and paper, a dialogue where mistakes are invited guests rather than unwelcome intruders.

Perfection Doesn't Want to Be Chased

Perfection, I’ve learned, is a mirage shimmering just beyond the horizon of every creative endeavor. In art, the “perfect” moment is less a static point and more a fleeting feeling—a breath of satisfaction that comes when you stop measuring and start experiencing. When I let go of the need to control the watercolor, I also let go of a part of that inner critic that insists every brushstroke must earn a gold star.

A quick, tongue-in-cheek thought crossed my mind: “Add a splash of extra purple and call it ‘abstract weather forecast.’” Humor, I’ve found, is a useful safety net. It lets us step back from seriousness enough to see that a “mistake” is just another color waiting to be named.

A Gentle Nudge

So here’s a gentle nudge if this resonates with you: the next time you feel that familiar tug toward perfection—whether you’re mixing paints, drafting a proposal, or picking an outfit—set a timer for 90 seconds, close your eyes, and breathe into the knot. When the timer dings, ask yourself what the “imperfect” version looks like. You might be surprised at how much more alive, human, and—dare I say—beautiful it feels.

Finding Beauty in Nature

Nature itself is a perfect example of imperfection. Have you ever noticed how trees grow in all shapes and sizes? Some are tall and straight, while others are gnarled and twisted. Each one tells a story. Just like in art, nature embraces its flaws. The beauty of a landscape isn’t in its perfection but in its diversity and unpredictability.

When I paint wildlife, I try to capture that essence. I want to show the raw beauty of animals in their natural habitats. Each stroke is a reflection of the world around us—wild, free, and beautifully imperfect.

The Connection Between Art and Conservation

Art and conservation go hand in hand. My goal is to connect people with the beauty and peace of the natural world through my wildlife art. Every piece I create is a reminder of the importance of preserving these moments. When you purchase a piece of art, you’re not just buying a painting; you’re supporting wildlife conservation efforts. It’s a way to give back to the earth that inspires us all.

What’s one imperfect thing you’ve done recently that you’re secretly proud of?

Drop a comment below; let’s celebrate the cracks, the splatters, and the glorious, unpredictable messes that remind us we’re still learning to paint our own skies—even when they’re gray.

Thank you for reading. Go check out some of my other articles below.