A bane called perfection
In some cultures, the process of giving one’s best is celebrated whereas in some cultures, its result is singularly celebrated. Through the lens of 21st century, we find ourselves somewhere in the middle: we don’t underestimate the significance of trials while we refuse to overestimate the impact of errors. Being socio-economic beings, we precariously tread on the edge of madness. Deep inside, we seek perfection but deeper inside, we are fully aware of our inability to ever achieve it. This constant yo-yo of a reminder is what keeps us going ahead to a rather directionless future.
Since we started with culture, let’s take a Japanese detour. Going by the definition of ikigai, everybody should aim to achieve happiness from their respective activities. What this endeavour entails is a fulfilling occupation — not just on professional scale but also at a spiritual angle — to whoever bothers to wake up in the morning. Somewhere hidden in the fine prints here is the ceaseless pursuit of perfection. Even if you are chopping onions, your wrist and the knife should move in a gorgeous rhythm. While doing this, you not only make yourself useful but also raise the tempo of your actions. All things said, the attempts are made to bridge the chasm between being efficient and being effective.
Perversely, there are cultures where it’s alright to not lick the patina of perfection. Working in a paddy field all day long and going home at sunset to have dinner before slipping into deep sleep leaves little scope for highest order of utility. In this case, you obtain moments of relief from the drudgery of life precisely when you manage to hit the jackpot in weather. What’s the point in ploughing perfectly and seeding perfectly and irrigating perfectly only to find that the clouds aren’t showing up for the grand party? As a result, you end up believing in the power of now and leave little to the power of then. Perfection doesn’t hold your thoughts when you don’t know how the final scene is going to be like.
In simpler words, to each his own struggles.
Let’s move a bit away from cultures and shift a bit in to the basement of a painter. Every stroke matters here. Every choice of shade has a meaning. Be it sunlight or lamplight, its purpose remains steadfast. After hours of work, when the easel is ready, does the artist see what she wants to see or does she see what she wants her viewers to see? Such gaps of knowledge redefine perfection in our modern world where iteration doesn’t dangle on the threads of survival. By any measure of conduct, art is best left to misinterpretations. Now, can we allow the same leeway to bare essentials like food and concrete?
