Failure Can Also Be Beautiful

I was at the thrift store when…

I was in the mood to do a puzzle. Is that a universal feeling? There’s just something so satisfying about placing that final piece, seeing an image coming together bit by bit until it’s complete. Get a puzzle of a famous painting and it’s almost like you painted it yourself—or at least that’s what gets me into a puzzle.

Looking back, I’m not sure what I expected looking at all the rich black in this image. She’s emerging from some shadow, a symbol of inner clarity to me, I suppose paralleling the important realization I came to when working on this mixed-media art piece.

When I opened the box, I was surprised to find that the previous owner had completed all of the subject of the painting, leaving all the full-black parts in chaos. The only highlight of this realization was finding some stationary that had been used to transport the pieces. The paper feels like a paperback printed in the 60s with some sans-serif font that makes me feel like this is a real-life time capsule.

“Surely all the black pieces are different at least, so maybe I’ll finish this is three to six years,” I thought. But, no. No, dear reader, no. I started with the edge pieces, thinking because I only needed to worry about three sides instead of four that they would be a perfect starting point. I discovered there were two varietals among the edge pieces and I tried every permutation only to discover that some sections I had completed worked perfectly on other parts of the perimeter. It was chaos. The puzzle sat on my kitchen table for weeks where almost all visitors to the Flytrap gave it a go, to no avail. I was fully and completely discouraged, but then something came together. Figuratively, of course.

This was very much not an authentic representation of the original painting by Johannes Vermeer, Girl with Pearl Earring. At best, it’s a way to make classic Western art more accessible, but at worst the whole puzzle is just an attempt to cash in on Vermeer’s recognition. So why was I in any way devoted to perfection? It dawned on me: It was Nancy. While I have no way of knowing whether Nancy Kondo was the one who lovingly packaged the puzzle for someone else to attempt, I felt like I had to complete it to make both of our efforts feel meaningful.

“But if I complete it,” I rationalized, “then Nancy is gone. I’d have to find a creative way to combine her… stationary… with the… puzzle…” etc.

This piece is called “Failure Can Also Be Beautiful”. I hate to sully a blank mind with the artist’s intent, but I will, because I’m the artist. Sorry?

I cast this in resin and used Nancy’s stationary to fill in the gaps. The use of resin has given it a mirrored affect making it almost impossible to get a good photo or a good look at it. You have to look at yourself as you look at the piece allowing you to really steep in the failure while also looking at your own beautiful visage (and you’re verifiably beautiful regardless of how you may feel at the time).

Art is therapy. This piece was cathartic for me in a way. It allowed me to experiment with some challenging concepts, like contentment, pride, success, and choice. It was also a great way to use some aging resin.

Thanks for reading, see you soon.