The Habit of Perfectionism and artistic Hoarding
“Let’s throw some stuff at the wall and see what sticks.”
In hindsight, the version of me from roughly a week ago who wrote those words probably did not have what happened the following week in mind. I have, at this point, written a total of four different “second” blog posts. Each post starts with a topic I want to talk about, and then quickly peeters out as I grow unsatisfied with the prose and begin nitpicking the flow of the writing.
The other topics I planned on writing about (and WILL write about in the future) are a bit more upbeat and relate to areas I feel I have made great strides in. However, when I finish a project, I have a bad habit of never quite feeling satisfied with the results. I still struggle with it to this day, despite being–and probably partially because of being–a highly trained professional artist. Perhaps it is fitting then (if a bit ironic) that the ACTUAL second entry on this blog discusses my issues with perfectionism.
First, I feel it is worthwhile to talk about my YouTube Channel. While this might seem like a weird place for self promotion, it can’t really qualify as promotion at the time of writing this. You see, I have a grand total of two public videos on my channel at this time. Both of which are from the first ever performance by my duo project with Daniel Crisp, CoDa Percussion Duo (back when we were actually a trio that included a friend of ours, Daniel Muse). Both of these videos are also only here because the other people in the videos really wanted them posted at the time. Otherwise, there is a chance I would have NO videos available publicly.
However, if you were to look behind the scenes, you would see I actually have a little less than 80 videos on this channel, all “unlisted” or “private”. Granted, a few of these are prescreening videos from my “auditioning for graduate school” days, but a good number of them are performances or full on recording projects I made.
Not only that, but my hard drive has no less than 25 completed compositions that cannot be found anywhere else (aside from backups) and now I have added four blog posts to that collection. I am hoarding projects that no one will see.
So why can’t people see them?
Well…some of the videos are actually on my website (most of which are from my school recitals) but even so, many of them are not available on either platform. Why are they unlisted?
The internet is a scary place where far too many critics can see my work? That answer doesn’t feel quite right. To be honest, I am jealous of even the low quality performances that can sometimes be found on YouTube. While I might be able to legitimately say “I think I can do that better” at least that individual has the strength to actually put themselves out there. In many ways, I wish I was like these people who confront what I consider the most difficult of the process head on and WIN! Furthermore, I know what the comment gremlins are like and I am not new to hearing criticism (legitimate or of the gremlin type). I am capable of taking in the criticism I think would help me and ignoring the noise that wouldn’t.
If not the fear of criticism, then what?
Its not what others will say that scares me into never sharing, it is what I already am telling myself. From what I hear and read, this issue is actually quite common:
Austin Kleon has this diagram in his book Steal Like an Artist that speaks to this issue directly. While I do not wish to post the image itself, an over simplified summary of the diagram is that every project begins with “I have an awesome idea!”, transitions downward into “this sucks” territory, begins to rise back up again with “It would be good to finish this thing”, then ends with “It's done and it sucks but it's not as bad as I thought.”
I feel like this image of a slow decline into “this sucks” territory with a small incline at the end that never quite matches the level of enthusiasm I held at the beginning is an apt one. I, and many others like me, build up this complete image of the project at hand (whether it's a recital, or composition, or blog post) and we imagine the end product as something that just isn’t attainable. When I imagine a performance of Temazcal by Javier Álvarez, I hear every note perfectly (in articulation, dynamics, groove, etc.) and see the imaginary video of my own movement as this wonderful visual accompaniment to the performance. In reality, live music rarely (if ever) breeds this kind of performance. No performance I have ever done or likely will ever do will match that image in my head.
Recently, I read James Clear’s Atomic Habits (which I will likely mention a few more times throughout the runtime of this blog) and near the beginning of the book he talks about being system(s) oriented rather than being goal oriented. In this way of thinking, you talk more about who you are/who you will become throughout a project rather than what the end goal looks like. To be clear (all puns intended), he doesn’t say not to have goals, but rather to use them as a setting of course, which is followed by maintaining the system operations of the traveling ship. The goal simply creates a starting trajectory and allows for course correction when you are clearly getting off track.
Talking about creating an ideal system for the work also seems to me like it would lead to more satisfaction with the result. My goal for Temazcal earlier has a quite narrow range of success. Hitting all the notes perfectly really doesn’t give much leeway in terms of having results I am proud of. Talking about a system means that when measuring success, I speak more about who I am as a person and a performer, rather than the performance itself. It's more about identity than the small details. “Was the performance true to myself, not to my image of a perfect run?”
I hadn’t even heard of Clear’s work until about a month ago, so I have not had a chance to put this into practice yet, but in the example of Temazcal from earlier, I imagine the identity-based conversation might look like this:
I wish to be the kind of performer who conveys the meaning of the work (in this case Temazcal)
I want to be the kind of performer who is mindful and considerate of his articulations, rhythms, phrasing, etc. to create a compelling performance.
I strive to be the kind of performer who puts his feelings, thoughts, and emotions out into the world, and exposes his mind to others.
All too often, it's REALLY easy when working on a project to get stuck in the weeds. It's really easy to simply say that I did not accomplish that goal of the performance in my head and say “I can’t make this public”. I am still really bad at it, but I desire to be the kind of artist and human being who puts himself out there for the world to see. The video of my performance of Temazcal on my website isn't note perfect (or visually perfect…or even free of fairly obvious mistakes) but it accomplishes being the kind of performer I wish to be…well save for one:
I want to be the kind of person who makes things and more importantly, I want to be the kind of person who shares the things he has made. (If a percussionist performs Temazcal but no one hears it, does it make a sound?!?)
So maybe, it's time to make it public and maybe it's time that I stop repeatedly and meticulously editing this post, and time to put myself out there. Its going to take time to break this old habit and truly ingrain a new one, but it needs to start somewhere…so why not here?
- Dr. Colin Williams