One of my favourite things about living in Sydney is that I get to commute by train instead of sitting in traffic on the highway between Pretoria and Johannesburg. Aside from falling asleep on the shoulder of a handsome random stranger now and then (yes, I have!!), it allows me time to think and wake up gradually before I tackle my day.
This morning, my mind wandered to the time I spent in Florence a few years ago on my “Shirley Valentine Trip” to Europe after my marriage ended. It was probably one of the most defining and empowering emotional journeys I have ever undertaken. For many years prior to that, I was desperate to visit Europe so that I could see and explore the buildings and cathedrals and admire the art I had studied as an undergraduate student in History of Art – my additional major. Florence is the ultimate Renaissance city and the Quattrocento is my favourite period of the Renaissance.
At the time, there was a fascinating exhibition of Leonardo da Vinci’s work which I visited more than once. He was a painter, a sculptor, an architect, a mathematician, a mechanic, an astronomer, an anatomist, physiologist, botanist, geologist, physician, a philosopher, a musician and a writer. I remember seeing the Mona Lisa in Paris for the first time a few days later and marvelled at how it continues to inspire so many people today but found it ironic that Da Vinci was not satisfied with this masterpiece and considered it incomplete.
I recall reading that he started painting the Mona Lisa in 1503 in Florence and laboured over it for 16 years before he finally sold it shortly before his death in 1519. In fact, in his notebooks, he lamented this dilemma and asked “Tell me, tell me, has one ever finished anything?” Isn’t it ironic, that Leonardo Da Vinci, probably one of the greatest minds of all time, felt inferior at times? Surely after 16 years of labouring on this painting, he would have perfected it? Does practise really make perfect?
I think there is a bit of Da Vinci’s dutiful perfectionism in all of us. It occurred to me that a lot of my stress stems from guilt-driven “demandingness”. In a sense I guess there is an inherent moral principle ingrained in me that compels me to feel guilty if I do not demand perfection of myself. How many of us feel that we may not fail because if we do, then we are somehow a lesser person? It is almost as if there is a compulsion or a moral obligation to strive for perfection.
It is a sobering thought that I worry and beat myself up emotionally out of a misplaced sense of guilt. There is this internal conditioning that plays in the background which says I have to be the perfect mom, I must not let bad things happen, I must always maintain control…. Failure to comply with these self-imposed imperatives leaves me feeling guilty and I realise that sub-consciously I condemn myself for being less than perfect. This in turn leads to stress and worry and feelings of self-recrimination. I think that is true for many women I know….
Sometimes we tend to measure ourselves against almost unattainable standards of perfection imposed by others. But as I realized in recent years and months especially, the plumbline of perfection which is set by others is an ever-changing, ever-shifting measure which becomes almost impossible to follow and ironically one which these individuals do not apply to themselves. For too long I have attempted to shape-shift my being and evolve to the measure and pace set by someone else. It is an impossible feat to shape-shift my soul to meet someone else’s obscure notions of perfection which seem impossible to pin down and delineate exactly. It is very difficult when there is a double standard or the goal post keeps shifting. This begs the question of whether perfection is ultimately desirable?
I am beginning to think that imperfection is more desirable because intrinsic to imperfection is a measure of freedom. William James contended that "Freedom in a world already perfect could only mean freedom to be worse, and who could be so insane as to wish that?...Surely the only possibility that one can rationally claim is the possibility that things may be better." Therefore, in a so-called perfect universe, the positive will already have been achieved. In an imperfect reality, we have a chance to make things better and to effect some positive change. So perhaps the key is not to strive for perfection but to strive to make things better than they are.
I for one, need imperfection. I need to see opportunities to better the world, to attempt to break new grounds of excellence. I need to have the space and the freedom to recognize that what I have done is not necessarily perfect, and may be flawed. But the flaws and imperfect bits are where I can grow and it is precisely those flaws which make me who I am.
Da Vinci attempted to capture not only the body but the personality and soul of the subject. He used “sfumato” and “chiaroscuro” to do this. Chiaroscuro (“light-dark”) is a painting technique which is characterized by using contrasts between light and dark, usually bold contrasts affecting a whole composition. It is also a technical term used by artists and art historians for using contrasts of light to achieve a sense of volume in modelling three-dimensional objects such as the human body. By using chiaroscuro, Da Vinci accentuated the mysteries of the work and he believed that “plunging things into light is plunging them into the infinite". Rembrandt was also famous for his use of chiaroscuro. And although it is beautiful in itself, the style seems to communicate light from darkness, truth from lies and life from death. It gives a fullness to the reality.
I think on a metaphorical level, we should aim to live life in chiaroscuro. I need to learn to embrace the light and dark in my soul – it is what gives me dimensionality, roundness and fullness of being.
Today, I realized again that too often I allow my self-confidence to take a battering because I face up to my flaws severely and frequently. Too often I allow it to become my main source of concern. I tend to focus too much on what I am not instead of seeing some of the gifts and blessings I do have. I am no Rembrandt, but I paint and sketch and sometimes my sketches are less than perfect. I tinker on the piano, strum a guitar and caress a violin and I do sing, admittedly not too badly but I do not proclaim to be a songbird of note. Admittedly, I am not a perfect specimen – far from it. I may not be a self-proclaimed solipsistic guru of wisdom or a concert pianist nor do I assume to have all the knowledge and experience to presume to tell others how to lead their lives or insinuate some self-devised psycho-babble bullshit to be infinite truths. I am simply a mother, an earthly woman, a career woman, an academic and yes
I am very much an imperfect specimen.
But I am perfect in my imperfection.
There is only one of me.
I have become very good at subjecting myself to a rigorous examination of my short-comings and defects and especially those which have been highlighted by someone else’s measure of perfection. Despite the flaws and the dark bits, I have light in me - I have many gifts and blessings in my life. I realized again today, how often the very yardstick against which I have measured myself is inherently flawed and egocentric to someone else’s notion of who and what I ought to be.
I have been mulling over this all day. Like Da Vinci who agonised over his paintings and sketches, I realised that I am too sensitive to the value judgements of others and too harsh in my sense of self-recrimination for being imperfect – a human being. I guess too often I have considered these value judgements to be valid because I have not trusted my inner sense of knowing and value and elevated some individuals to a status which allows them to pass judgement on me.
As Da Vinci may have discovered at the end of his life, perhaps practise doesn’t make perfect at all. And maybe that is a good thing because it means there is always room for improvement. Perhaps Da Vinci had a point when he said that perfection is not attained when there is nothing left to add, but rather when there is nothing left to take away. It’s about distilling my sense of self to my essence – to that core of what it is that defines me. Perhaps it is about stripping away all the superficial layers to reach the heart. That is what matters most.
I can only set my compass to my own True North. It is the only definition that should matter. I need to embrace the light and darkness in me and to relinquish the obsessive desire for maintaining control at all times. Sometimes, it is good to lose it a bit. I guess Einstein had a point, when he said “In order to form an immaculate member of a flock of sheep, one must, above all be a sheep.” ….And damn it, I am no sheep.
