Discomfort

After many conversations about life, practice, process, the role of the artist, perfection, fear, discomfort, choices, compassion, and hope, Sarasota artist Cassidy Garbutt and New Jersey poet Gabriel Cleveland selected the theme “embracing discomfort” for their AICP collaboration. 

Cassidy’s statement: “Choosing Compassion” is part of a larger series of thank you cards I made for hospital workers, physicians, and nurses who cared for a loved one who passed away from Covid-19. For me, these cards were my way of "embracing discomfort" and providing hope / light in a difficult time. They are also a reflection on process as a way of coping, understanding, and dealing with difficulty. While some of the moments in this work are more visibly uncomfortable than others, each mark was created in and with an energy that strongly aligns with my interpretation of our theme.

Gabe’s statement: At a certain point, if left unchecked, the drive toward perfection becomes indistinguishable from the drive toward self-destruction. If you’re never enough, the warped logic reasons, why be anything at all? This is why I say Perfection rides a glass horse: like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (Conquest, War, Famine, and Death), the trap of perfectionism suggests that the utter annihilation of the individual is an acceptable outcome to a life that will never measure up to “perfect.” Read on for the full poem by Gabriel Cleveland.

Perfection Rides a Glass Horse

I am in remission from perfectionism, but often think of 

the crystalline horse I used to ride, travelling far on its back, seeking 

success and strangers' affirmation. 

          Its legs s p l i n t e r e d at a trot, shattered

at a canter. Every mistake sent me hurtling 

           to the ground. Still, 

       I lived 

envious of scripted, limitless worlds on television and of babies 

with their rigid, unslouching spines. 

           How I wished to be faultless,

but the times I felt 

       the wind in my hair 

  were fleeting 

as a laugh.

There was never enough to feed it without starving my own heart,

picking m

    y

      s

       e

         l

           f apart for each and every flaw, so at long last,

I've begun to give it up. 

    Accepting my shortfalls is a vast, uncharted land

and I travel on foot, mapping mistakes like rivers, 

         mountainous pain,

places I wouldn't have dared explore for fear of failure. 

      In the heat, 

scars emerge from hiding, 

        blossom across my skin. 

On my walks, 

the smell of lavender drifts from a sprig hanging out of a dumpster. 

Really, 

it's the best I can hope for.