What it is to be prefect...

I am not and never will be, perfect. The spelling in the title of this blog was a genuine mistake, which I left to kind of prove a point - I have spent my life being let down at crucial moments by dyslexia, which is a bitter pill for someone who loves writing. I did once famously write in an A level History practice Essay about the Tudors ‘Mary Tudor’s attempts to restore Catholicism in England were largely thwarted not by lack of support, but because her reign was so shit,’ to the amusement of all concerned, appart for me of course. (Short, it was meant to be ‘short’, in case you were wondering, and my argument was that there was not a groundswell of support for the change, and the vast majority of people would have done whatever meant they didn’t get arrested, as they have always done.)

I doubt these days that many people even contemplate that anything much in life would ever be perfect, not in any meaningful way, but perhaps that’s just as well. As such flawed beings, what place would there ever be for us in such a system? It’s not that we shouldn’t strive to make things better, but perfect? I think that’s a pretty dangerous obsession.

The quest for the perfect is intensely subjective, and of course the ultimate act of othering. Those of us who seek an ideal by definition recent everything which is not the ideal. The internet is full of people trying to project their own image of perfection, be it the perfect cookie bake, the perfect Christmas, the perfect body, date, life and so on. As a result,the rest of us can fall into the trap of comparison and in that comparison, lose the good which we do have. When people decry that women ‘only like bad boys, or men with six packs and a six figure salary and not me,’ what they mean is that the kind of nearly fictional female they have come to regard not as a person but as a trophy, a confirmation of their own worth, the sort that looks like whatever they think of as perfect, isn’t dating them. This is both because those women, those people, don’t exist, or aren’t actually (shock horror) perfect because they are human, but the pursuit of them, means that people disregard the potential people out there who would actually be good to be around, muffin tops and bad hair days notwithstanding.

I have been reflecting on this when it comes to art - every artist is in their own way seeking perfections, it’s just that every artists’ ideal of perfect is so subjective, it’s almost intangible. Artists both make art for themselves and for others, it is almost impossible to make it solely for yourself, and I wonder if this is because you don’t actually know what perfection is, rather you have a far better idea of what perfection isn’t. Because of that, you are always on uncertain ground, and you feel the need for a second opinion, be that from your partners, friends or the world at large.

Sure, you can make art which is well received, but is it ever perfect? You can make art which other people like, love, even, but you will never make art which everyone likes or is perfect. Once it’s out there, your art becomes buffeted by the perfection requirements of everyone who looks at it, it is no longer yours. Perhaps it is only ever close to being perfect before it is done, before anyone else sees it, rather like Shrodinger’s art work before someone else sees it, your art is both totally perfect and utterly imperfect, even if instinctively you kind of know it will inevitably lean towards the latter rather than the former.

But what is really odd, is when someone else does think your work is perfect, or at least perfect for them. You are flattered and happy, but then also a bit worried, a bit upset. You kind of want to say they’re wrong, that this isn’t perfect, this is only a step on the way to it. You sometimes want to say they’d be better off waiting for the next one, or the one after that, and are they sure it’s what they want? Because it’s quite a burden, you know, that shining, perfect thing which, once you look at it, you almost can’t quite believe you created it.

Don’t worry, I have never created anything perfect, and I’m quite glad about that. Perfection is a dead end, when you think about it - it’s the answer to all the questions, it’s the full stop at the end of the sentence, it is nothing more to be said on the matter. How sad that would be, how wretched to have done it all.

sophie.jonas.hill

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This is currently perfect, I am about to ruin it with love!

Happy New Year!