Precious

Scott Burkun, author of several books on creativity and design says, “Being precious means you’re behaving as if the draft, the sketch, the idea you’re working on is the most important thing in the history of the universe. It means you’ve lost perspective and can’t see the work objectively. When you treat a work in progress too preciously, you trade your talents for fears.”

So. Like. Don’t be precious. Sounds simple enough. It’s not. This idea of ‘preciousness’ goes hand in hand (for me anyway) with the Imposter Syndrome and it’s all darkly rooted in fear and control or lack of control. Yet another one of my core issues.

Dear reader, step inside my mind.

Fear number one: who do I think I am and why would anybody buy anything I’m selling?

*Cue cash register sound because somebody just bought what I’m selling.

Fear number two enters the chat: OMG people are buying what I’m selling and now I don’t have control of this thing I made because it’s going out into the world and these people are not going to be able to put this precious pillow cover on their regular pillow the way that I did in the photograph. They’re going to mess up the corners and not diligently tug the pillow deftly into the corners like I would, and now I’m doomed because who do I think I am anyway, which will take us right back to fear number one. It’s all so exhausting.

My pillow covers, after all, are precious tiny works of art that should just stay with me and not journey forth, right? This is bananas (speaking of bananas, have you seen the banana tree pillow covers I’m slinging? They’re so cute, and I have sold nary a one). All of this just goes to illustrate how complex we are as creatives and as beings who want to be liked—or have a pathological need to be liked—and who want to share, maybe need to share, what we’ve been up to and it should be perfect. And if it’s perfect wouldn’t it then be precious?

Burkun goes on to say, “Perfection is a prison and a self-made one. Whatever you’re making, it doesn’t have to be perfect. Perfection is an illusion.”

Martha Rich, a Philly artist who I greatly admire and whose work graces several walls of my tiny condo, said, in part, in an Instagram post yesterday, “Make stuff that makes you happy, tell a story, crack yourself up, make nonsense or whatever. Do it for you. Others may dig it or they might not. Either way it’s not the be all and end all. The cool thing is you made something! That’s excellent.”

Maybe that’s the opposite of Precious, and (maybe ironically) everything she makes that I have purchased feels precious to me. Including the piece of art that hangs predominantly in my workspace. The art is comprised of words painted on that lined handwriting paper they’d give you in third grade so you could practice your cursive. Carefully. In the lines. And the words Martha Rich chose to emblazon on the lined paper—well outside the lines—is the phrase EVERYTHING SUCKS. All caps. And those words are surrounded by pencil drawn smiley faces and smiley face stickers. And looking up at that piece of art hanging on my wall after sewing a persnickety seam across a swath of velvet inspires me, however ironically. And it always makes me smile. Because it’s totally Precious. And Perfect. And Sucks. All at the same time.

Cheers from the bright side.

Tracey