Meet Pink. You may not see the resemblance, but Pink is part of me. And I believe he is a boy, though that is not obvious either. I made him in second grade. His legs are uneven. So are his ears. He has fallen and been glued back together. He is imperfect yet you know he is an elephant. Many a perfectionist, or even an older version of me, could improve on his proportions. But why? Where does this desire to perfect everything come from? Should art be perfect? I'm stuck on that fence sometimes. Certainly in music I like notes to be in tune. Most people like proper proportion and symmetry in art. We don't like one pant leg shorter than the other or a floor that slants. So the question becomes where do you draw the line? (literally) How do you "get better" without losing your uniqueness? Pink reminds me I was born to be an artist. Maybe not a sculptor (then again, NO!), but my heart is in art and always has been. Caring friends invite me into their grids and I feel loved but I am not inspired there. I like the whimsical, the unpredictable and most often the nonsensical. I guess I look through Pink-colored glasses.
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