Sometimes when I am making a painting I am so sure of it. I think, ‘Wow, this is me,
this is me!’ When I am painting I think of the people I love because they are part of me.
But then I look at the same painting at a different moment or mood of the day, and I
think, ‘Oh no! This is not me. This is this person and this is that person! What have I
done? Where have I gone?’ It is so strange, it is almost embarrassing. I begin to have a
love/hate relationship with it. I see all my strengths and insecurities.

Maybe I am a perfectionist. I have always hated that term and what it implies, but now I
think I understand it on a new level. I have always thought being a perfectionist implies
imperfection because it implies obsessive un-satisfaction. I worry about not being myself,
losing myself in others, being overly influenced. Perhaps the goal is to be the Perfect
Perfectionist, in which there is no insecurity, or where there is acceptance of insecurity.
Perhaps Perfection, for me, is expressing through painting, the balance in my soul
between my loved ones and myself, and accepting myself as a combination of one and
all.

I think, ‘I am you! I am me! Alas!’