Perfection is an interesting goal. I as an artist am puzzled by it, it is the thing needed in art. It is an absolute, layered fulfillment. Question is is there something behind perfect? Does it end something when found? To define perfect is to leave out something. Perfection and beauty, culturally bound liking and appreciation. It is to find something whole and solid to fill every possible desire, to become content, find and conquer, achieve and win. It is satisfaction and thrill. Thought is, it is good to be perfectionist, like something to prove. But whose perfect is in question and for who do we seek to be perfect. Perfection, the idea of perfect, is wanted when there is a show going on, when there is something precious to gain. It is to stand out and be special, make an impression, give an awe.

I am little annoyed by perfectionist way of doing things. There is something missing there, but it is not neurosis nor compulsiveness, nor obsession, despair and unhappiness, fear of failure that is lacking. They are there like knives, like guilt and shame, fear of abandonment. Perfectionism is full of those things. It can be predatory and loath against making mistakes, which can prevent from trying. Prevent from being different. Special fades from narrow perfection, so does originality.