Hanging Imperfection on the Wall
A therapist’s lesson from paint and dance.
Recently, for several reasons, I decided to redecorate my office, where I provide therapy in person. It was time for a refresh, and interior decorating is something I enjoy. Deep down, I’m still a 15 year old girl suddenly inspired to rearrange her bedroom in the middle of the night. So, I painted the walls, ordered a new rug, and picked out new furniture pieces.
That’s my coworker, Owen, on the couch
The most challenging part was deciding what to put on the walls, especially behind the couch where my clients sit. The wall is large and needed something that would fill the space without being distracting. I wanted it to feel warm and cohesive with the rest of the room.
Not wanting to spend a gajillion dollars on a piece of art, I timidly got creative and painted something of my own, for a fraction of the price. Inspired by Francesca Ramsey and her wall paper designs, I freehanded squiggly lines without much planning. I simply went off vibes, trying to stop overthinking and just having fun.
Am I happy with the results? To be honest, not really. Once finished, I saw every flaw - the uneven brushstrokes, wobbly lines, and color choices I’m still unsure about. Immediately after completing the piece I recognized ways I could have made it better. But I needed something on that wall, and this was what I had, so I hung it up prepared to replace it later with something more “worthy.”
Every day I have to sit across from and look at my imperfect painting. And every day I notice a new detail that bothers me. Despite my annoyance, I’m trying to embrace this painting as an opportunity for me to expand my capacity for discomfort, remembering that in the grand scheme of life, it’s ok to have an imperfect piece of art hanging on a wall. I may want to change it, I can change it at some point, but it’s also ok for me to simply sit with the discomfort of not liking the painting on my wall. Internally, I’m challenging myself to quiet the perfectionist voice in my head that is eager to name everything that is wrong. Daily I coach myself: What is wrong with visible brushstrokes? This isn’t a museum, it’s an office, it’s ok if it’s not perfect. You tried something new, and you learned along the way, that’s enough.
