Introduction
Equine realism is a brutal taskmaster. Demanding, merciless, and with a target that’s constantly moving, you can spend an entire lifetime ardently chasing after it, never to come quite close enough. Indeed, it’s fundamentally an impossible task, isn’t it? Because really, only Nature can create a technically correct horse, right? Only DNA has that infallible power, and we are merely flawed human beings. But oh, how we try! We try so very hard, sometimes twisting our emotions up into knots to push ourselves ever further out on that limb. And it can really pay off — when we come so close to grabbing that impossible brass ring, it makes all the stretching and straining worth it because what we have in our hands is an end result that's much closer to our dreams.
But it can also be wholly destructive, too. We can push too hard, demand too much of ourselves, to the point of compromising our enjoyment, even our mental health. That fear of failure, of inadequacy and errors, is a very real thing to many artists working in realism as their hellbent drive for perfection whips them forward. This kind of myopic, maniacal focus can turn an already cruel taskmaster into a rampaging monster. When we inevitably pull up short then, holy buckets — the fall out! We can chastise ourselves in the meanest ways, biting right into our selves for our supposed failure. Some have had to take long breaks after such an outcome…sometimes very very long breaks. Thinking they’re simply lacking in the talent or skill, they’re reluctant to take up tool ever again.
This is tragic…and unnecessary. Our niche art form needs its artists, and it needs them happy, creative, and productive for this art form to remain vibrant and evolving, and to keep it from degenerating into something homogenous and sterile. So in this art form that so easily entails so blasted much so blasted fast, we need balance, we need the weight of something powerful on the other side to tip the scales into something a bit more fair and rational, more natural and paced. So how do we counterbalance this kind of perfectionist tunnel vision? What’s a good countermeasure for our unrelenting demand for absolute technical perfection?
Easy — imperfection.
The antidote to perfection is imperfection. In this way then, an advanced artist working in equine realism is really a creature of two minds: One concentrating on technical accuracy and one concentrating on chaos. The two can coexist, the two can work together, the two can bolster each other — and the two can actually create better work together. But how is this possible? They’re so fundamentally opposite! Well, in the spirit of easing up on ourselves while still reaching for that shiny brass ring, let’s talk about it!
Perfection
Now I’ve written about perfectionism ad nauseam so I’ll leave it largely at that. But in a nutshell, perfection is a tough thing, for sure. It can be paralyzing, intimidating, frustrating, and so even prevent some folks from ever arting in the first place. It can be that powerful. But given we keep all that in control, and we know how to harness this drive more productively, perfectionism can actually drive our art form forwards in ways no other approach can. By compelling every artist to strive that much more, we all inch ever closer to that grail prize, don’t we? It cannot be denied that more technical perfection over the last twenty years has caused the art works of today to attain a level of accuracy unthinkable back in the 80s, for instance.
Perfectionism also provides us with clear goals to aim for and tells us when we’ve hit an important milestone in our development. It’s more objective, more fact-based, and with that we can gain a lot more clarity in the directions we’re going than if everything was willy nilly. It simply provides a more solid framework to build our work on so when it looks right — because it is right — our piece looks ever more realistic, our goal. That’s a pretty nice thing, too, that instant feedback. And the more advanced you get, the better at interpreting this feedback you get. Indeed, get it wrong and you know, but get it right, and you also know, pretty much instantly. Quite handy!
Imperfection
Even so, even if we know how to manage perfectionism pretty well, it can still seem be a real challenge to our sensibilities and experience. Really, it can be exhausting to push back on the fact that you’ll always get it wrong! And no matter how great your attitude, it can get discouraging and intimidating at times even so.
So this is where our embrace of imperfection comes in! Right to the rescue! Through our acceptance of imperfection, we can learn to let go and loosen up, chill out and relax in our work, and that has a huge benefit for our mental health and sense of accomplishment. Perhaps even better, we’re now far more open to all the happy accidents that happen while we work that perfection would have us wipe away but imperfection inspires us to protect. Because it’s those happy accidents that lend so much mercurial life and magic and realism to our work in ways we could never engineer or anticipate. But the trick is recognizing them for what they are so we can cultivate and protect them throughout our process. Yet it’s only through our compliance with imperfection that can embrace them at all.
What’s more, we can come to fully acknowledge and seize upon wabi-sabi, the Japanese concept of accepting the beauty of imperfection. Now that is a critical step in our process that will do us a world of good in so many ways! Why? Because it gives us license to be human again and, even more, it allows our work to be human, too, to be exquisitely imperfectly perfect as only we can make it. When you sit back and think about it, that’s such a beautiful thing, isn’t it? It’s a recognition of a frail, vulnerable, fallible human being trying their level best in great love and determination, and while still pulling up short in their expectations, is still proud and joyful in their result all the same. I can’t think of anything more beautifully human than that! And it’s through wabi-sabi that we can celebrate that magical moment with them, too!
Perfect Imperfection
Together then we have Imperfect Perfection or Perfect Imperfection — you pick. Either way, it’s a lovely thing. We have our freedom to push as hard as we can paired with the permission to go easy on ourselves when we inevitably fall short. In a very real sense, we’re not so focused on what we should be arting (perfection) or what we could be arting (our pure vision), but instead on how we are arting (the process inside the imperfect moment). In other words, when we stop with “I should I should I should” and just let our process be what it is, our work will flow out much more naturally and not only will our experience improve, but so will our work. It’ll appear much less forced and contrived, more natural and organic, much more like a living horse.
This is because horses are imperfect, too. In other words, they aren’t perfectly delineated, smooth, tidy, symmetrical anatomy charts are they? Nope. They’re organic, messy, fleshy, and amoebic. They have goo and hide, bone and horn and hair, all with different textures and qualities far removed from a static anatomy diagram. In this, wabi-sabi acknowledges this organic imperfection of life in that it exalts all that is imperfect, impermanent, and curious or unconventional. In a sense, wabi-sabi believes that nothing is perfect, permanent, or finished, and it values wear and tear and the patina of life as only the passing of time can imbue. Overall then, wabi-sabi focuses on the process, the journey, the story of something being made, and the state of its being as it is on its own terms, enveloping all of that with the appreciation that none of it is permanent or perfect. In turn, wabi-sabi encourages the artist to embrace what their art is on its own terms rather than what they want their art to be, to accept it as it is.
Along those lines, in wabi-sabi there are no mistakes, no right or wrong way to make your art, there is no win or fail…there’s just making your art. Now for our equine realism, however, we certainly have a right and a wrong way to create our art! But you can see perhaps how wabi-sabi can still apply? That even within the confines of our art form, there are many ways to interpret flesh, hair, hide, and horn with no one way being the “correct” way?
So creating the wabi-sabi way, even in equine realism, allows us to be more present in the moment during our process, letting our tools and materials participate in where the outcome goes — those happy mistakes again. It doesn’t dictate our style or our outcomes, but asks us to experience the beauty of the moment during creation and not obsesses over a future “perfect” product when we’ll finally be “successful.” Rather, appreciate your journey right now and where your art is right now — savor the impermanent, imperfect moment. Now this isn’t a lazy, ball-dropping way to create art. Nope. It’s more like accepting the journey, participating in the process, and embracing the moment to make your arting experience more complete and full.
This is in sharp contrast to Western ideals. Here we find a myopic focus on the outcome, the perfect product in which the process takes a backseat to the perfection of the finished “proper” piece. Western ideals also emphasize progress and growth, more worried about how things should be rather than as they are. The west demands that the artist drive their work to perfection, to strive for progress and improvement and to prioritize the finished piece over the process. We’re also encouraged to create “correctly” and “accurately," often according to procedure, formula, or habit. And rather than reflect inwards, we’re expected to be “better” than anyone else, to individually succeed and strive so that we arrive on top, always on top.
Applying Wabi-Sabi To Your Arting
But like with all things, balance is necessary, isn’t it? There needs to be an equilibrium to strike the right outcome between what is correct and what is chaotic, what is disciplined and what is enjoyable, and between what is technical and what is natural. We need some good ol’ chaos in our mix, that dash of imperfection that adds so much life to our clay, pigment, and experience!
So first, savor the process rather than fixating so much on the final product. Learn to love the making of it just as much as the finished piece. Because, hey, your art is impermanent and transitory, but what you learn from making it is eternal and timeless. These unique enjoyable moments of arting are fleeting and transitory, and will never manifest again just as they are right now — so savor them.
Create patiently and humbly. Slow down in your making and learn to love your art as it is, not only how you want it to be. For artists then, learn to love your unique voice and the art it makes through you. Allow it to unfurl authentically and honestly. And absolutely, be humble at the foot of our subject. Come to appreciate equines as they are rather than how we think they should be. Quit objectifying so much. Respect their agency and autonomy as sentient beings and render their likeness with respect and dignity and fascination and, of course, oodles of love. Appreciate them for all that they are, imperfections and all.
Because no horse is “perfect” so stop with this objectified demand that they should be to have value. We heap enough such baggage onto women, for instance — why visit that nonsense onto something you profess to love? So come to appreciate the imperfections in every individual equine for the points of individuality that they are. Each of us is unique, imperfect, and asymmetrical, and so are horses. Likewise, learn to embrace the imperfections in your own art and value the mistakes as learning opportunities, moments of insight, rather than times of failure. "We don't make mistakes, we have happy accidents," as Bob Ross would say...and he's absolutely right. And here's another unexpected outcome...when you learn to embrace the imperfections, you learn to work with them, creating more moments of those happy accidents that actually lend so much more realism to your clay or pigment. How curious! Chaos is such a great thing for realism!
Ease up on your focus on the outcome and your future success. Value and participate in the moment you’re in right now. Seek exploration, sure, but be fully present in your creative moment as well. Indeed, each piece is an opportunity for meditation, introspection, reflection, pondering, and wondering — don't miss that moment. And the curious thing about process-immersion is this: Your work morphs into something better, closer to your potential than if you were simply fixated on the final product. How does this happen? Well, when we open ourselves up to the love of the process, we open ourselves up to its mercurial nature and ultimately, that injects a lot more organic chaos into our mix, amping up the realism in ways a "tighter" product-focused can fail. So let go a bit...allow the moment and serendipity of the process consume you and you'll find not only a lot more happy accidents, but a lot more organic realism, too.
Embrace your voice, your artistic intuition. Place it above what others say how your art should be or must be, or what they think is right or wrong. You can certainly follow along with anatomy, for instance, but take a more intuitive, natural route rather than one so fixated on the “correct” tidy delineations of a chart or diagram. Seek life, what is natural and amorphous, happenstance, organic and messy over what is formulaic or habitual. Because never forget, those anatomy charts aren't necessarily complete expressions of reality so if we lean too far into them, rely too heavily on them, our resultant pieces will be incomplete, lacking life, lacking chaos, lacking the transitory.
Practice a lot of art play through maquettes or sketching or loose paintings. Savor what is unfinished or incomplete like a sketch and appreciate the profound beauty of your play art for what it is: A celebration of you and your voice in it’s most wabi-sabi form.
Immerse yourself in you as you work, uncover, unearth, and reveal. Explore your subject in the same way, revealing more about their nature and qualities to come to appreciate equines on their own terms more. In turn, embrace artistic evolution as you learn more and expand your understanding and accept the mistakes you’ll make as you apply what you learn in your art, free from anxiety, expectation, and the need to be perfect. A kind of perfection is to be found in the making, too.
Ultimately then, come to find peace and serenity in the process of art making and know that you come to grasp yourself, your subject, and your art through the process of the making, not through the static nature of the final product. Your arting can be a meditation, a journey, and a moment of sanctuary and reprieve in this crazy, lunatic world. Breathe, make, reveal, savor, repeat.
Conclusion
As artists in the pursuit of creating evermore realistic sculptures and paintjobs, could we not also re-commit to this perfect imperfection? Imperfection has it due place in our realism, side by side with technical perfection, indeed. There can be no life in our clay or pigment or even our understanding without chaos, without imperfection, without the moment. Absolutely, imperfection is the single most potent ingredient to our brew aside from technical accuracy. These two opposites actually work together to push our art form forwards in ways they cannot on their own. So embrace it, learn to love it in practice and in your materials and in your compositions for it will free you in wonderful ways.
Perfectionism has its place in our art form, but it also needs a proper pairing to truly be brought to life, a pair with its imperfect opposite. But unlike matter and anti-matter that cancel each other out, here one amplifies the other, complements the other, augments the other into a far more splendid whole. Truly, what’s life without a dash of imperfection to add interest, flavor, moment, and novelty? You can strive for perfection in your work all you like, but just remember that imperfection is the necessary factor in that equation, too. You’ll simply never come to express an actual living quality in your work without it. Imperfection is life itself, in this sense, the potency and power of life made by our hands and heart. To truly capture the essence of horses then — in all their vitality and magnificence — we need chaos in the flesh, in the moment, in the making, and in the spirit, don’t we? We need messiness, transitoriness, wear and tear, and resonating vibration of actual life. Bring things back into balance then by embracing wabi-sabi in your realism. You’ll find no better energy to inject into your work that the actual vital force of transitory life itself.
“Pare down to the essence, but don’t remove the poetry.”
— Leonard Koren
