Imperfections

From Still by Paul Sanders (page 129):

This approach involves accepting the fact that no subject is perfect and neither is any person. Our flaws and struggles, the dents and scars, are what make us unique. It’s never just the appearance of something that makes it beautiful; it is the story it tells that catches our heart, emotions and imagination, and like the shadow to light, it is the imperfections that tell the story.

The vase tumbled from the tray as I tried to rearrange things for a more pleasing arrangement. I swept up the pieces, lifted them with a dust pan, and tipped them into a small bag for recycling.

The next morning, I had an idea to honor the process of making the pictures for this project. The finished photographs look effortless and clean, but the process is very messy. We’ve been in the midst of a heat wave and my garage studio is hot; I am sweaty and sticky. I keep running out of room to put things, changing my mind on the fly, and taking lots of sketch photos with my iPhone camera. The work feels like a series of mini-explosions. There is a lot of luck involved and many surprises. Digging the broken shards of porcelain out of the recycle bin was worth the effort. The pieces remind me that not everything goes as planned, but I can often pivot and come up with new plan. The pieces are more exquisite than the vase was before the break.

Come What May

 

Without Expectation

Do everything as if you were
planting a spruce seedling
among stumps in a clearcut,
laying it gently in the earth
where it may or may not grow,
knowing that even if it does
you will not be there to feel
your footsteps cushioned by
its bed of fallen needles—
you will not be there to linger
in glimmered sunlight slanting
on a blanket spread beneath
to catch every inch of shade.
Silence the voices that say,
What if this comes to nothing?
and just keep doing whatever
brings you most alive.

—James Crews

A Sunny Disposition

A Sunny Disposition, Summer 2026

 

I’ve heard some version of this statement, you are too hard on yourself, many times in my life. And though it’s sad to acknowledge, it is true. I am hard on myself. The reasons that lie beneath this self-criticism are complicated, and it’s taken me years to make my way free.

This post, how to stop being hard on yourself, from milk and cookies by ayushi thakkar is incredibly helpful. Her suggestions are beautiful shifts in perspective. I’ve bookmarked this post to return to, especially on those days when I become my own worst enemy.

“the deepest change may be learning to measure growth by recovery rather than perfection. a good life is not one where you never disappoint yourself. that life does not exist, and anyone pretending otherwise is either selling something or filtering aggressively. the real question is how quickly you can return after the stumble. can you apologize without spiraling. can you rest without earning it through collapse. can you start again without needing a full personality rebrand. can you admit the truth without using it as a weapon against yourself.”
— ayushi thakkar

Morning Art Walk

I have done a pretty good job of setting up my Inbox with really good things like newsletters from creative folks I admire, while also limiting junk and more influence to consume and buy carelessly. I recently discovered the work of photographer Lee Anne White. Lee Anne lives in Gainsville, Georgia and I really love her work. Her recent post on substack, Art in the Garden, featured an eastern redbud leaf that had been chewed by leaf cutter bees. I don’t think I would even have noticed these same leaves on my morning walk if Lee Anne had not introduced me to this way of seeing. She is right. The shape is sculptural. And the walk was more joyful for the noticing.