I have a strong affection for all things and people flawed.
This goes back to my artist mother’s sensibilities, who always declared to me “I don’t like symmetry.” Symmetry was a word I learned early from her, and out of that I constructed an image of flawed representation. I grew up with her representations of her art, and she often pointed out the flaws in her pieces to me. I quickly ignored her because I was enthralled by her beautiful paintings and decorations.
A little later, I would learn the value of seeing my own flaws in my work when I became a concert flautist and always strived for perfect rendition of a piece. Back then, at the age of fourteen, I had the courage to stand solo in a packed auditorium of 2500 to play my heart out to the audience in my own flawed yet perfectly moving pieces.
Soon after I stopped performing in concerts, I taught myself how to let go of the sheet music and play improvisational jazz on my flute, which freed me to be an artist. At least in my borrowed philosophy of symmetry, I no longer was bound to meter and notes on a printed piece of paper. I looped my compositions so that they could begin and end at any point I wished and repeat with changes to pitch, melody, and breath for as long as I wanted to play. I usually played for six hours a day to my own pleasure.
No longer a throng of applause and standing ovations, but a deeper sense of myself and my creation through being a musician.
I have let go of my flute to favor writing. One day I will pick it up again and start the long road back to the improvisation which so fulfilled me and moved me.
I have had a very flawed past with very flawed people in my life. Thank goodness I have them still.