Many many years ago someone by the name of David once exhaled these immortal words: “He said the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmaments show forth His handiwork.”
I’ve been a designer for 3 years now. People see my work and they know me. I haven’t left one name in any poster, book, or advertisement. I sign my work not with signatures but with extents. But my extent is not infinite, and I cannot lay claim to perfection. It’s something I strive towards knowing full well I’ll never get there.
But then again I am as imperfect as any human, and I only edit to the extent the audience can perceive it. If I’m more anal I go to the extent that I myself can perceive. Different people can go to different extents, but who can lay claim to perfection? There are always limits to whatever we do.
And yet, when we look at human art it is precisely the imperfection that convinces. No one actually doubts imperfection.
In fact people will only doubt if it looks too good to be true. We doubted Kyle Lambert when he painted Morgan Freeman because they didn’t believe he could finger paint to such precision. Yet it took another software to prove its imperfection — only then did (some) people believe it was human made.
Why is perfection so hard to believe? Perhaps it’s because life is so imperfect and imprecise, that we find find perfection so oddly strange; there is nothing within our capabilities to (re)produce, but there it is staring at us in the face, screaming its own existence. It takes faith to believe in God because we are not perfect.
We trust imperfection, because it represents what it means to be human, to live. If there was something perfect we probably won’t believe it. But if imperfection points to humans, perfection shouldn’t belong to us. Then whose is perfection?
I believe David said it best.