Sometimes I wish I liked perfect art - art about idyllic places and art devoid of emotion, but just precise and beautiful. But I don't. I don't like canvasses that are made and mass produced because they are pretty, decoration. To me, art has always been an outpouring of an emotional soul. I connect with pieces that are individual, unique, and usually imperfect. Those pieces have character and speak of the difficulties and joys of life, life which is imperfect. I like volumes, and thick and rich oil paints slathered across canvasses - not always pretty, but that have meaning beyond the shallow beauty. I have a difficult time owning my aesthetic, because it's not popular, especially among those who aren't artists and don't connect with art on a deep level, who are just looking for decoration or see art as a reprieve from real life rather than its representation.
Imperfection is honest and raw and says, "here I am, a broken human." It leads me to reflect on the perfection that is only found in Christ who promised to heal up our broken places and put us together again.
