Embodying Flexibility in my Creative Practice
When I was younger, I was a proud perfectionist. I was that kind of student: straight A's, president of every club I joined, and well rounded across the myriad of activities I engaged in. This pressing desire to achieve the unachievable followed me throughout my youth and into early adulthood. It wasn't until years later that I recognized this aspiration to achieve perfection was damaging not only to my mental health, but also to my humanity.
During the fall semester of my freshman year at university I found myself struggling academically for the first time in my life. I studied music performance as an undergraduate and while some of the courses I enrolled in were academic in a traditional sense, many focused on building foundations within the craft. One of the foundational courses that most music majors complete is solfege (or ear training). In earlier courses, the assessments comprised of the professor playing two notes on the piano and the students identifying what the numeric interval was associated with the space between the notes. As the solfege courses progressed, students were expected to dictate entire musical passages after only hearing them played once (or twice).
While I had been studying the clarinet privately for years, I had never engaged in ear training prior to this course. And unlike traditional studying, it was very difficult to catch up.
After hours of practice with a dedicated tutor, I was able to pass the course and eventually obtained a Bachelor of Music degree. However, the drive for perfection that I once had was irrevocably altered.
Over the years, I have jokingly referred to myself as a reformed perfectionist. At first, it was difficult to accept what I believed to be "below average" and open myself to the risk of failure. Over time, I expended tremendous mental energy to reprogram my natural approach to completing work. Through these efforts I found myself becoming more flexible, which was essential as I transitioned from student to young professional.
My first career in non-profit arts administration required flexibility and learning to adapt quickly. Specializing in operations and event management provided the ultimate opportunity for a reformed perfectionist to practice their craft. Changing priorities, stakeholder needs and the unexpected adjustments that always come the day of an event, surrounded me for years.
Transitioning into UX only further aided in my growing familiarity with ambiguity and the acceptance that not everything goes the way you want. Balancing the needs of users, stakeholders, budgets, and organizational goals taught me that flexibility is not only useful, but a critical skill in order to survive in this industry.
I have applied this mindset to my teaching approach and within my own creative practice.
Recently, I volunteered to participate in a community art exhibition that raises funds for a local art gallery. 50 local artists receive a small square block and can create any work of art they choose. These works are then sold for $50 each as a fundraiser for the gallery. I've participated in the 50/50 exhibition in the past and always enjoy creating a piece.
This year I had high hopes for the piece I would create. In the past, I've produced a series of illustrations featuring women. Two exhibitions ago, I created "Stay Gold", which was a self portrait-inspired drawing featuring a woman battling the darkness surrounding her. These anxieties could not define her, as she "stays gold" inspired by the famous quote from S.E. Hinton's novel The Outsiders (and the song Stay Gold by Korean pop band, BTS). In the last exhibition, I created a work inspired by Joan of Arc, one of my favorite historical figures.
"Stay Gold" by Rachel Wilken, 2022 "I was born for this" Rachel Wilken, 2024
This year I wanted my piece to continue this trend, so I focused my attention on the Queen of Hearts. I spent hours researching and brainstorming strategies to bring the Queen of Hearts alive in a way that I had never seen before. I reimagined the character from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland in the context of a historically accurate monarch from the 1860's. Taking inspiration from playing cards, I planned to juxtapose two versions of the queen atop one another: one that represents the "real" woman from the 1860's and one that represents the fantastical, evil version of her from Wonderland. As a nod to the classic novel, I had also planned to incorporate real vs Wonderland versions of the rabbit and caterpillar.
While I still love this concept, I quickly learned that it would not come to fruition. Due to an increasingly busy schedule balancing work as a freelancer and faculty member at Indiana University, I have not had the time required to create art.
And like many creatives, I found myself waiting until the last possible minute to create my piece. With one day until the deadline, I began working on the project.
I drafted the first version of the Queen of Hearts and hated it. I miscalculated the size of the drawing and as a result had to adjust my vision to accommodate the size constraints. This miscalculation compounded with use of the wrong ink pen resulted in line work that was too thick.
After taking several moments to review what I had created and determine if it could be saved, I decided it would be best to start over. Initially, I expected to redraw the Queen of Hearts as I had originally planned. However, I no longer felt the allure.
In this moment, I found that I could follow two paths: I could be disingenuous and create the drawing despite my inner hesitations, or I could pivot by drawing something new. In the past, I likely would have chosen the former; forcing myself to create something that no longer aligned with my interest out of principle. But as a reformed perfectionist, I knew that this would not serve me and could ultimately lead to a crash out.
Instead, in this moment of doubt, I chose flexibility. I keep a Pinterest board of drawing ideas for when I need inspiration. As I browsed this collection, I found an idea: a cute frog drinking from a coffee cup. I was drawn to this idea and knew that it would be able to be accomplished within the timeframe I now had.
As I began drawing the frog, I found that the image flowed onto the page. But even with the ease of drawing, I still made mistakes. Some of the linework was wonky and in one instance I produced an expression for the frog that I wasn't going for. However, the exasperated expression conveyed by the frog drew me in and became the basis of the drawing. This "happy accident" led me to produce what I consider to be the best piece I've ever submitted to the 50/50 exhibition.
I didn't become a reformed perfectionist overnight and I'm certainly not finished with the work. There are still moments where I feel that I need to complete a task perfectly and do not want to settle for anything less. However, learning to be flexible and how to navigate and actively accept failure has grown my creative practice as an artist, a designer, and an educator.
Artist Statement: As the great Dolly Parton once sang, “Working 9 to 5, what a way to make a living; Barely getting by, it's all taking and no giving; They just use your mind and they never give you credit; It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it (if you let it).” Some days you wake to your alarm blaring and stare at the dark ceiling until you muster the strength to pull yourself from the depths of your comfortable bed. When you do, perhaps you make a warm cup of coffee and stare aimlessly into the void until there is no more coffee left. Is this depression? Or is this the American experience? In 2026, who can really say?
