Like everyone else stuck in pandemic hibernation, I’ve indulged social media more than I should. What’s worse, I know that Facebook, Instagram, and other social media platforms are time-sucking rabbit holes. Dark caves designed to swallow our attention indefinitely.

In my defense, there’s a purpose to my Instagram spelunking. I’m searching for answers to a creative and artistic malaise that burrowed into me months ago.

I reached a place where my creative work no longer satisfied me. My landscape paintings felt like tired cliches. Same old rocks, trees, and mountains.

My cartoon illustrations lost their sketchy spark. Where once I used to spend a lot of time fleshing out cartoons with detail, I began simplifying them. Mostly to keep up with self-imposed publication deadlines.

Two-post-a-day economy

Speaking of publication deadlines, the depth and content of my writing became another source of my creative angst. It’s no secret that writing online is different than writing for magazines or books.

Internet readers have shorter attention spans. If you don’t hook them with a killer headline and seductive subheadings, they’re likely to abandon you for some YouTube cat videos.

“I’m not happy that death is approaching because I like being alive but I’m glad I’ve escaped the two-post-a-day economy of contemporary journalism. Good writing takes time.” -Robert Christgau

No matter how much you want to showcase your inner Hemingway, you end up channeling David Ogilvy instead. After all, what’s the point of posting online if no one reads your work?

So, like a lot of writers online, I studied a bit of copywriting. I fashion my headlines to attract eyeballs. But, to look in the mirror and still call myself a writer, I read broadly and work hard to craft interesting, helpful essays.

It’s just that there’s a fine line between artful essays and derivative, clickbait drivel. I want to bend towards poignant stories instead of marketing content. Even the word “content” sounds less artful to me. Like something to fill a space rather than touch someone’s heart.

The point is that posting essays, stories, and articles online can change your writing, often not for the better. Writers turn to marketing experts, copywriting gurus, and other attention oracles to guide them toward more readers and subscribers.

The result is that we start relying on formulas, copywriting gimmicks, headline analyzers, and algorithm analytics to lure readers into our orbit. It all starts to feel so structured, predictable, and boring.

We begin to recognize, more and more, the same techniques, lead magnets, and Unsplash photos in everyone else’s online work.

I came to realize that what I needed, from my artwork to my writing, was a bit less structure and a lot more chaos. Less worrying about perfection and more acceptance of flaws in the pursuit of deeper self-expression.

Finding beauty in imperfection

My creative dissatisfaction and artistic angst led me to do some research. I happened upon some articles and videos about the 500-year-old Japanese practice of Kintsugi, which means “golden joinery.”

Kintsugi involves the mending of broken pottery with lacquer resin, dusted or mixed with powdered gold. The results often produce more beautiful pottery. Some people even break their pots just to have them improved by Kintsugi.

Kintsugi belongs to the broader Japanese aesthetic philosophy of wabi-sabi. An article in UTNE.com notes:

“Emerging in the 15th century as a reaction to the prevailing aesthetic of lavishness, ornamentation, and rich materials, wabi-sabi is the art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in earthiness, of revering authenticity above all.”

Reading about wabi-sabi struck a chord with me. I realized that I unwittingly had fallen into a kind of creative and artistic compliance. My creative work was playing it safe, following what seemed to work for others.

I had become too cautious, allowing my work to be too precious. Yet, ironically, the artists and creators I’m most drawn to, do just the opposite. They experiment with reckless abandon. They accept broken results along the path to more authentic personal expression.

The art of embracing damage

Expanding on the explanation of wabi-sabi, the UTNE.com article adds:

“Broadly, wabi-sabi is everything that today’s sleek, mass-produced, technology-saturated culture isn’t. It’s flea markets, not shopping malls; aged wood, not swank floor coverings; one single morning glory, not a dozen red roses. Wabi-sabi understands the tender, raw beauty of a gray December landscape and the aching elegance of an abandoned building or shed. It celebrates cracks and crevices and rot and all the other marks that time and weather and use leave behind. To discover wabi-sabi is to see the singular beauty in something that may first look decrepit and ugly.”

Western ideals often focus on symmetry and perfection, while some Asian and Buddhist philosophies focuses on imperfection and impermanence. In our quest for perfection, we steer away from chaos and the cracks in our lives.

Yet the cracks are part of our history. Part of our story. Maybe even the best parts, because they make us stronger.

A brilliant video by the vlogger Evan Puschak explores kintsugi in more detail. Watch below.

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Puschak notes that “Repair requires transformation.” Sometimes the shape of us is impossible to see until it’s fractured.

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places.” -Ernest Hemingway

Ever notice that the most interesting characters in novels and movies have quirks and unexpected flaws? They may or may not be brilliant or beautiful, but it’s the shortcomings and quirks that make them human and more relatable to the reader or viewer.

Think about your idiosyncrasies and flaws. They make you unique. Different. One of a kind. How can you leverage them more in your life, work, or art? Doing so helps you and your creative work stand out from the herd.

The darkness that exists in others

Exploring our brokenness and flaws isn’t easy. It takes some courage. Maybe even professional help, especially if we have unhealed past wounds.

Yet, if we get comfortable with the chaos within, we can open a door to greater authenticity and uniqueness. Qualities that will enrich our artwork, creativity, and personal expression.

Sarah Vezina, writing in octopiedmind.com, eloquently observes:

“We are afraid to look within because the shadows of our own minds are harder to navigate than the darkness that exists in others. This is why it’s easier for us to fill our days with distractions like television, food, social media, work, and hanging out with friends than it is to be alone in silence. We are always trying to get away from ourselves one way or another.”

There is messiness in our lives. As much as we try to present a perfect exterior, beneath it all, we know the truth. Life is seldom perfect like our arranged and filtered Instagram feed. Real-life has some chaos in it. Relationships aren’t always perfect.

“Embracing of messiness and understanding its contribution to the creative process is something that writers and creative types, artists, whatever have got to cultivate, have to learn to be comfortable with. Because it goes against a lot of our kind of instincts and training as kind of educated people.” -Malcolm Gladwell

A touch of chaos

There are several artists I turn to whose work makes room for a touch of chaos. When I study their efforts I get inspired. I realize that beauty and uniqueness are found in the seemingly broken.

Consider the amazing, figurative charcoal drawings of the UK artist Shaun Othen. Where many atelier trained artists create academic figure studies, Othen injects a bit of chaotic abstraction to cacoon his representational work.

Then there is the Gonzo illustrator Ralph Steadman, whose bold, chaotic illustrations seem to leap off the page in their one-of-a-kind presentation.

Another favorite artist of mine whose work employs a bit of abstract chaos is Carolyn Anderson. Her unique, singular style is poetic and instantly recognizable. All because she stayed true to her own vision, and allowed a touch of chaos to intermingle with her sharp eye and painterly execution.

All of the artists above no doubt began with the rules. Proper proportions, anatomy, gesture, etc. But somewhere along the way, their dance with chaos began. Just a bit of deconstruction was allowed. Some exaggeration.

This is not an argument for anarchy or abdication of standards. Rather, it’s a commingling. A truce of sorts. Order and rules continue, but chaos is allowed a little room to play in. The result seems to reflect life more honestly.

Soothe our orderly minds

A little bit of chaos takes the edge off. It acknowledges that not everything in life has to be manicured and perfect.

Sometimes a few rough edges, like deconstructed Restoration Hardware couches and chairs, soothe our orderly minds. We’re given a moment’s relief. We celebrate the mended, golden cracks. Amidst the march toward perfection, we can breathe a little. Celebrate our own mended cracks.

I don’t know where my chaotic art choices will take me. Probably not as far as Jackson Pollock’s paint drips, or Wassily Kandinsky’s odd yet pleasing constructions. I’ll probably land somewhere in the middle. Representational subjects enveloped in or emerging out of a chaotic start.

Isn’t that more reflective of life? We are all fully formed at birth, yet emerge from a chaotic start. Then the rest of our lives we fight the good fight, pushing like Sisyphus against the boulder of compliance and uniformity.

How about you? Are you bored with perfection? Exhausted from trying to comply with all of life’s little conventions and expectations? Maybe it’s time to allow a touch of abstract goodness? Grant a few askew pieces, just to shake things up.

Order, structure, and perfection have their place in our lives. But so do our little imperfections, quirks, idiosyncrasies, and chaotic embellishments. Some of the most unique creative work is born from a touch of chaos.

Yes, there is bad chaos in our lives. When things fall apart, plans are shattered and dreams delayed. We must constantly fight to overcome the bad chaos. But sometimes the chaos is good. An unexpected blessing. It shakes things up, opens new ways of seeing, expressing, and living.

May you find the uniqueness within your brokenness, and celebrate the good chaos in your life.

Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I draw cartoons, paint, and write about life. Get on my free email list here for the latest artwork and essays.

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This post was previously published on Medium.

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