When a perfectionist accepts the imperfect…
Art plays an equally crucial part as music in my life. So when the opportunity of learning Batik painting came, I took it seriously. I got ready for it with care, hoping that everything would be done productively and under control.
It was good when I conceptualized the painting in a way that visually reflected my three-week stay in Ubud. I was able to have a fairly clear picture of the painting in my head while I was on my way to the gym (it is always those long walks that bring you exciting, creative ideas).
It was also good when I put my mental image on my notebook. I tried to simplify it for a few times, considering the lack of possibility for me to master those Batik painting techniques in such a short time. The sketching process was by no means environmentally friendly though because I wasn’t able to buy any pencil anywhere nearby.
It was even better when I finished sketching on the white fabric within 30 minutes in class. Every line, every shape, every pattern turned out to be exactly how I wanted them to be.
It wasn’t until I proceeded to the crucial steps of applying wax and dyes to the fabric that I came to the realization that Batik painting was the exact opposite of productivity and control.
It encourages you to enjoy the process.
Seated right next to a small wax pot that contained heated wax, I was asked to use a pen-shaped tool called Canting to scoop wax from the pot and slowly apply wax to cover the lines originally drawn with pencil. It was a time-consuming process in which I had to refill the Canting every single minute.
As increasingly more melted wax started dripping on my hand and everywhere on the fabric, smearing the once clearly drawn patterns of gendèr bars, coffee beans and flower petals on the girl’s hair, I noticed that I was gradually losing my patience.
Luckily it wasn’t long after a tinge of self-dissatisfaction started showing on my face that my instructor passed me a paintbrush and saved me a lot of hassle.
It asks you to accept things that you have little or no control over.
Aside from orange and yellow dyes, you wouldn’t be able to know in what shades blue, green and pink dyes would ultimately turn out to be before the fabric was washed. What that means was that I basically had to apply the dyes to the cloth without knowing whether or not these colors complemented each other. That to me was probably one of the scariest things in painting!
As the three hours’ worth of insecure moments flew by, the fabric was detached from the wooden frame and washed by cold and boiling water respectively.
When the painting was finally unveiled, I was relieved, or more accurately, thrilled to see that all the colors turned out to be much more vibrant and inviting than I had imagined. More importantly, all those lines smudged by wax surprisingly added a touch of liveliness to the painting.
When the instructor asked me if I wanted him to remove the residual wax from the cloth, “Please just leave the wax there. I actually like it better with the imperfections,” I replied.
I was waiting for my flight back home in Jakarta Airport later that month when a book called Love for Imperfect Things by Haemin Sunim caught my eyes the minute I set foot in the airport bookstore.
“Compassion for ourselves is equally, if not more important than compassion for others,” as advised by the Buddhist teacher, “which entails accepting your own shortcomings and imperfections."
The Universe does bring you what you need when you need it.