(“Bleah!”)

Pouring rain? On ice? On snow?

But enough about the weather.

Nor being perfect, I mean.

Who said it would be. Ever? I remember when I spent a week on this utterly gorgeous mountain top above the Sonoma Valley in California and the weather was… yes… perfect. I thought to myself: I could never live here. It’s like having dessert all the time.

But there are moments when I HAVE felt as if everything was perfect. And would always be that way: when my first child was born, she was perfect. She was always going to be perfect. Everyone who came by to see her told me that, too. Until a good friend surprised me with these words: “You are a mother now. This is the beginning of mistake after mistake.”

Mistake after mistake? Shocking words. But anyone who has been a parent will vouch: so true. And to be told then, to take the “perfection” out of the equation right away, what a gift she offered me.

Those words. Those words should preface every art piece I make. It’s not going to be perfect. And there’s the beauty. That’s why I love art.

I love that human, imperfect touch.