Perfectionism is Killing Your Potential

By Will Anderson.

In the 19th century, a remarkable invention was discovered. The photograph. This creation caused a seismic shift in how visual artists approached art. Previously, realism, a form of capturing a person's or a place’s likeness, was the main source of documentation. But within the age of photography, this job became redundant.  

What did the artists do? They experimented. Impressionism, Dadaism, and Surrealism. The goal of these movements was to create something only a painter could. Or to marvel at the sheer dedication, creativity, and exuberance on display. There’s an honest beauty in these works. In all the tactile brushstrokes and geometric landscapes. You know you are looking at a painting. But you know that a person had an idea and turned it into something. Most of all, you see the humanity beneath the symbols. So why are we now reverting to the realism playbook of perfectionism? 

We are in the midst of art becoming sanitised and “perfected” in all forms. Creatives and corporations are now trying to hide the brushstrokes and blemishes of art. Just look at the music and film industries, and how “perfect” they are. There’s no bite or grime; it’s almost inhuman. This sends a misleading message to aspiring creatives. Sure, you won’t see a boom mic or faulty audio in the latest Marvel movie, but this mechanical approach to filmmaking often neuters the substance of the art. This perpetuates the myth that everything you do must be perfect. That your script must be 100% foolproof, and that every take must have perfect continuity, rather than tell a nourishing, emotionally impactful story. Of course, I’d be a fool not to admire the amount of work and scrutiny that goes into these mega-budget spectacles. But the human condition is inherently abstract, so why would we want to neuter it by boiling it down to a science? So here are many examples of humane flaws seeping into art. To hopefully indicate why perfection is overrated. 

In the late 1950s, actor John Cassavetes crowd-funded his directorial debut, Shadows. Making it one of the first independent movies ever. As the budget was tight, the crew had to cut a lot of corners. One of these corners was filming a large chunk of the movie under a ballet studio. During the editing of the film, they heard all the ballerinas dancing upstairs. Making the footage seemingly unusable. Cassavetes spent years trying to soften the sound, but eventually caved in and sent it as is to film festivals. To their surprise, critics loved the raw and unique sound of the movie. Claiming they had never seen anything like it. If anything, even if it was incidental, Cassavetes innovated and allowed a whole generation of filmmakers to make movies out of a burning passion rather than clinical perfection. Cassavetes continued his guerrilla filmmaking throughout the rest of his career. His film A Woman Under the Influence was nominated for several Academy Awards. A rarity for a movie without any distribution budget. Cassavetes stands out due to his striking sensibilities towards the people he depicts. Most of his movies are about understanding love and the human condition. This earnestness surpasses his technical abilities, so his movies resonate to this day. 

His movies connect with so many in the same way that punk, grunge and alternative music do. Like Cassavetes, these movements were a direct reaction to the status quo of mainstream music. Punk was the antithesis of progressive and classic rock, and its raw three-chords-and-a-dream, anti-establishment ethos resonated. Many of these bands were not good at their instruments, but that only aided their influence. It taught a generation of teenagers that they didn’t need to be Jimmy Page to pick up a guitar. Alternative and grunge achieved the same effect. The common adage that Nirvana’s Nevermind changed the musical landscape is true. Misogynistic hair metal quickly became a fad, as many bands traded their hairspray for flannel jackets. While bands like Alice in Chains and Soundgarden flirted with experimental time signatures, the ringleaders were comparatively simple. Kurt Cobain admitted he knew next to nothing about music theory, while scoffing at the idea of any vocal training. But that doesn’t mean the songs he wrote weren’t effective. Like the Ramones before them, many bands bought guitars after hearing Nirvana. Yes, Kurt wasn’t going to shred a complex guitar solo, but in many ways, that endeared him to countless people. Especially against hair-metal’s barrier of entry seemed unbreakable for the common folk. He may not be a virtuoso, but his music speaks to countless people. Which is why they’re still listened to today, despite Cobain’s limited musical vocabulary. But sometimes even the greats aren’t always the greatest. 

This adage is clear when anyone listens to The Beatles’ 1968 self-titled double album, commonly named The White Album by fans. While I’m not a huge Beatles fan, I am every time I give this record a spin. The lyrics are either evocative and strange or personal and intimate. The two shades of the band I love most. The White Album is the sound of the band falling apart. Tensions were at an all-time high, and they produced an album that reflected that. It’s disjointed, messy, ugly, yet alluringly arresting. While hearing songs like the abrasive “Revolution 9” or the agony of “Wild Honey Pie” can be frustrating. These moments make songs like “Julia” feel all the more impactful. Even the “best band in the world” can create dreadful music. Which, as an artist, is inspiring. The White Album is an unflinchingly honest and somewhat self-indulgent affair, but many consider this one of the greatest ever recorded. 

But sometimes less is more, though. Such is the case of Elliott Smith’s career. After touring with and releasing albums with Heatmiser, Elliott started experimenting with acoustic songs. In between releases, he started recording solo music with a cheap microphone, a four-track, and later an eight-track recorder. The sound of both Roman Candle and Self-Titled is someone baring their soul. Elliott is someone who wasn’t forced to create something; in fact, he didn’t even want to release Roman Candle. But he needed to. As if he’d disintegrate if he didn’t. This urgency and immediacy were also part of the guerrilla production methods. Both records were recorded in seclusion at a friend's house with cheap equipment. Due to the limitations of his microphone and recording space, Elliot’s voice is hushed. Like he’s whispering something from the depths of his soul. While some tempos on certain songs shift. There’s a push and pull that reflects Elliott’s themes of dependence. Take his song “Clementine.” The guitar sounds gruff and grimy, yet somehow equally ethereal. The production is so intimate that you can hear Elliott’s fingers glide across the fretboard. This contrasting sound was caused by the cheap guitar they used. One that would frequently de-tune mid-take, which creates a dissonant tone that every other cover lacks. Hell, if you listen close enough, you can hear the producer’s dog breathing. On “The White Lady Loves You More,” Elliott plays cello and makes multiple mistakes in the take. But if anything, this creates an eerie atmosphere that reflects the subject matter of substance abuse. These are flaws that only make the songs more effective. While I adore records like Either/Or and XO, I can’t help but feel like a hint of the magic is gone. Even if Elliott’s production value only increased. With more instruments, tracks, and money. The limitations of these early records, to me and many other fans, humanise the man. Sadly, Elliot fell prey to his demons after garnering critical and commercial attention, after many of his songs appeared in the 1997 movie Good Will Hunting. He had a gnarly drug habit and a long-noted history of depression. He died at 34 from two mysterious stab wounds. During his last days, he was working on a double album that eventually became From the Basement on the Hill. Elliott wanted to create his masterpiece against his demons. But sadly, that album remains unfinished.  

Although the trope of the tragic artist is prevalent, the rampant quest for perfectionism is universal. How many of you have failed to do something out of fear that you’ll do a bad job? I know I certainly have. From our childhood, our work is graded on a level. We all know the shame attached to doing poorly on an exam or assignment. Shame cultivates and festers, and very rarely encourages you to get better. This cultural fetishisation of perfection and the effervescent pursuit of greatness perpetuates the cycle. We want to be great; we want to transcend ourselves, but often get so hung up on potential shame that we don’t do anything. 

With the discipline of shame, our generation has its own seismic invention: generative AI. Within this discovery, many don’t feel the need to seek out knowledge if they can merely write a prompt and receive it immediately. Moreover, short-form content inundates viewers with useless knowledge to give the illusion of productivity. When, really, you’ve been lying in bed for an hour and a half. But the natural counter to this is to try to seek out knowledge and learn. Part of the creative process is dissecting an impulse or interest and figuring out if it was valid. So‌metimes you create something that seems good at one point, only for you to cringe at it months later. But the truth is, that impulse you had caused you to create something. Even if you’ve created something you deem terrible, you’ve still created something. But you will never get better as a person if you do not try, if you do not fail thousands of times, or if you give in to the shame instilled in us all. The truth is, as people, we only see so much of other people. In art, we only see the things most artists want us to see. We will never see the endless sea of cut content and revisions. The stupid ideas, the edgy jokes, the mistakes. We must remind ourselves that the people we admire aren’t gods. Neither are we, and there’s a beauty in it all. In making something horrible, but learning from those mistakes. To adapt and grow. Who knows, you may make something you actually like. Which will motivate you to continue. 

Perfection may be an ideal, but it isn’t a goal. Especially when the substance, or output of your creations, is suffering. So don’t be afraid to make mistakes or let perfectionism get in the way of creativity and experimentation. Don’t be afraid to make art that no machine or tool could replicate.