Perfectly, or what?

[nancylebov]

In a recent email, someone mentioned that she thinks about making each letter perfectly when she does calligraphy.

I'm pretty sure I don't. I think about making each letter well. It should be legible and well-proportioned, fit the style, and be the right letter--but I don't know what the perfect letter looks like.

I also don't know whether the two different approaches lead to different outcomes, though I expect I get more variation (hopefullly harmless and interesting) than she does.

Anyway, when you guys are working on something skilled, do you aim for perfection or excellence or what?

Comments

[pocketnaomi.livejournal.com]

I generally don't try for perfection, but that's partly because most of the stuff I do that's skilled or artsy is editable. I try for pewrfection in the tinkering process afterwards. One of the reasons I gave up on trying to learn calligraphy was that I get frustrated too easily when I make a mistake halfway through that would require starting over from the beginning.

[nancylebov.livejournal.com]

How can you tell when a piece of writing (or whatever) is perfect, or at least perfect enough?

In calligraphy, you can at least choose a work you admire and decide to aim at it, but in writing, you're creating something new.

[pocketnaomi.livejournal.com]

Not unlike calligraphy, I imagine, I aim for consistency and flow. In the first drafts, the big reworkings, I try to make it go basically where I want it to go; in the wordsmithing process, I basically try to smooth over anything that sticks out as a snag. A word that jars, a phrase that's awkward or unclear, a piece of rhyme or scanscion that's a little rough (if I'm doing something with rhyme or meter in the first place)... I'm trying to get rid of those, replace them with details which make the work move as a single unit, with nothing specific that draws attention away from its progress toward where it's trying to go.

When I can put it away for a few weeks and reread it without having my eye snagged by anything, and other readers I trust don't see snags that catch their eyes either, it's finished. It may not be the best tht could've been done, but it is perfect in the archaic meaning of unmarred, as in "a perfect circle." If I also think the basic purpose for which I was writing it (i.e. saying something humorously about how Xes react to Y) has been met, which is addressed more in the rougher phases, I consider it done, because the likelihood is that any further work I do on it will only accidentally *create* snags that catch the eye when there weren't any.

I should add that "eye" in this case can and, for my work, usually does, include other senses. I write for sound as much as sight, een when I'm writing prose; it has to sound smooth as well as look smooth. But the process is the same.

[redaxe.livejournal.com]

I strive for perfection, and knowing it's almost never attainable, maintain a standard of excellence. This lets me keep working to improve, while still not being disappointed in not achieving an impossible goal.

[nancylebov.livejournal.com]

What do you do? How did you develop your idea of perfection? Has the perfection you aim at changed?

[redaxe.livejournal.com]

If the piece is visual, I will have a picture in my head, and work toward that. It may change with the progress of the work, as new ideas come through, or I realize the impossibility of creating precisely what I had in mind. Generally the approach to completion is asymptotic; I'll get to within a decent amount of being satisfied, then make teeny steps towards finishing. I have six or seven pieces that someone else might declare finished that I haven't; the slowness of the last bit is why I tend not to complete so many pieces.

With songs, it's similar except that I have a MUCH harder time being satisfied with even the rough work. I know it's complete when, in singing the song, it's reached a point where everything is smooth and, if not easy, not begging for changes. (That would be something like awkward phrasing, impossible melody shifts, etc.) One note here: I will and have taken suggestions for changes once a song is declared "finished", and audience feedback has also sparked changes. I'd say music is a much more fluid, much less easily finalized endeavor than is anything visual, although it's easy to distinguish excellence because of the much greater amount of feedback available.

[nellorat.livejournal.com]

To me, in some jobs it's appropriate to strive for perfection, but in most it isn't. I include among those in the latter category anything that could be done equally well in a number of different ways--definitely including writing (fiction, nonfiction, poetry) and jewelry making. The former category tend to function by more definable rules and to have more set parameters. For instance, in proofreading, given the original copy and the instructions from the publisher, there really isn't that much variety in how "a good job" is defined, and perfection is a reasonable goal. Scrubbiong a floor might have a goal of perfection (or some percentage of perfection), while decorating a house or a room would not be a job that was appropriate to define that way.

[nancylebov.livejournal.com]

I've realized that I've conflated two concepts--trying to make your work match a pre-existing idea of what it ought to be, and aiming at perfection. You could have a pre-existing idea, but still think it's only as good as you can make it rather than thinking it's perfect.

[fidelioscabinet.livejournal.com]

With needlework, for me it would have to be concentrating on flow and balance. It doesn't matter is each stitch is perfect if they don't meld well together; of course, making them even is part of achieving good balance and flow, but it's amazing how a small error in a single stitch will vanish as long as the colors, design, and so on are right. I think that's the mistake a lot of people make; they are less concerned with making sure the components of the design are right to begin with, and put all their energy into execution. Jewelry works the same way; it doesn't matter if each of the steps is flawless, if the original choices of materials and the basic design aren't right when I begin.
I do try to do the execution as well as I possibly can, of course, but I find that worrying about each individual stitch often makes it harder to get into that flow state where the piece builds smoothly. I have friends who spin, knit, make lace, and so on, and they say the same thing--at times, too much conscious concentration on the work gets in the way of doing it well--one ends up fighting the materials, instead of working with them. The very little calligraphy I've done seems to go the same way--if I'm too worked up over each letter, I can't do any of them right.

[dglenn.livejournal.com]

It depends. Not only on the medium/art, but on the context, and sometimes on the particular work (and a little on my mood).

Partly it depends on whether I feel it's something where perfection is a) possible/meaningful, and b) attainable by me at my current skill level.

If I tried for perfection in an essay or a story, I would get stuck in a brainspin. But I sometimes try for it in a poem (don't hit it, but I aim for it). On stage, it depends on the tune I'm playing -- some tunes demand perfection, others are simply amenable to the attempt, and others don't have a "perfect" but do have lots of "excellents"; in the recording studio, I'm much more likely to try for perfection, even if it's just a perfect take of the particular excellent interpretation in my head at that moment (after which I'll drive myself crazy second-guessing my choices). Computer program: usually perfection unless it's a first draft that I know will be discarded, or a "use twice and forget" tool. Brass carving: start out trying for perfection and at some point realize that's beyond my skill and adjust my expectations. Etching: excellence (so far). Photo: excellence, unless the subject really shouts "do me perfect" at me. Web page: perfection (within the context of the level of control I think it's reasonable to expect to have over someone else's browser).

[madfilkentist]

I can think of two senses of perfection: (1) Freedom from any actual error or defect, and (2) a state in which no further improvement is possible. (1) is difficult in most things, but may be reachable in some efforts. It's almost always worth aiming for. (2) is hardly ever reachable, and aiming for it is bound to drive you crazy.

[pariyal.livejournal.com]

I don't think it's perfection I strive for so much as fittingness in context; but that's because the most skilled thing I do is choir singing, and that's a collaborative effort. Also, the choir singing is in church so it's not about personal excellence or outstandingness; it's about giving people an incentive to pray, along with what is sung.

Bread baking, cooking, web design, translation, fiction writing, those are all ultimately utilitarian pursuits. Striving for perfection only makes me ever more frustrated anyway-- I'll never be more than human.

[firecat]

I aim for a result that I think is worthy of my skill level, a result that I am satisfied I took reasonable care over. If I'm still learning, I aim for a result that is an improvement over my last result. Sometimes I aim for a specific goal - e.g., in knitting I might aim to maintain my pattern and fix mistakes I make rather than saying "oh well" when I make mistakes in the pattern. I rarely aim for perfection for a whole result - only for small quanitifiable chunks. (E.g., this post is perfectly spelled but my novel-in-progress probably isn't; I can knit a row without any mistakes but not an entire garment yet.)

[cathyr19355.livejournal.com]

I've long since learned I'm too damn impatient to try for perfection. How much effort I put into doing it well depends on what I'm doing and what the end product's going to be used for.