To create art is to risk failure. It’s that simple. Some people can’t live with that reality. They want their work to come forth fully formed, Athena emerging from Zeus’ head.
Art isn’t like that. Art is messy. It falters. It breaks. You falter; you break.
Perfectionism is a constant companion. It can be quiet for days, weeks, sometimes even months. It’s biding its time, waiting to strike. When it does, it fights dirty. A kick or punch to the kidneys. An elbow to the center of the back.