Mistakes are not mistakes
Last week I visited the Sherbrooke Community Centre in Saskatoon, which houses elderly and disabled persons in need of long-term care. Immediately upon entering the building, I could sense that this place was different than what you’d expect of a long-term healthcare facility. Sherbrooke is modeled on the concept of a village, and includes a greenhouse, village store, cafeteria, daycare—pets, plants, animals, and babies abound in the bright, colorful corridors. The most amazing feature of Sherbrooke is their art studio.
I was there meeting Patricia Roe and Jeff Nachtigall, an artist who set up his studio at Sherbrooke and has invited the residents to explore their own artistic voice. The results have been so incredible that the Mendel Art Gallery, a well-respected public gallery, recently hosted an entire exhibition featuring art created by the residents of Sherbrooke.
When I was there, I was getting a tour of the art studio and met Dennis Anderson, a resident at Sherbrooke who had his artwork shown at the Mendel. I interrupted Dennis creating a set of prints for the volunteers at Sherbrooke, and the three of us (Dennis, Jeff and I) engaged in a really interesting discussion about art that I’ve been thinking about ever since.
Dennis started describing his first forays into art making at Sherbrooke. He would intend to draw a certain line or shape, and then an uncontrollable muscle spasm (part of his physical condition) would send his hand and brush in a totally different direction. His first reaction was always that of frustration, as he considered his work in progress ruined by these spasms. But eventually, he realized that these unpredictable lines and “mistakes” were part of what made the paintings unique, distinct, and even beautiful.
Jeff elaborated on this idea, explaining that we all know how to make a “proper” straight line, using a ruler for example. But if we let ourselves go free hand and draw whatever we think a straight line should look like, the results will be different. The difference may be great or subtle, but the results will be different nonetheless and reflective of our individual expression.
The conversation totally mimicked an experience I had in Swift Current a few weeks before, when I was working with a student who was recording a cover of a song that he loved. We were in the studio, and he hated the sound of his voice and performance. In small town Saskatchewan where the radio sticks pretty close to the safe side of Top 40, this student had never really heard the VAST recordings of voices (indie, low-fi, slightly pitchy but in an endearing way) that sounded like his. He just knew that he didn’t sound like the voices on the radio, coming from the Top 40 bands—therefore, he sucked. Dave Lang (the engineer and singer/songwriter also involved in our project) played the student song samples and references that eventually (hopefully) convinced him to hear the beauty of his own sound.
When I left Sherbrooke, I thought about my guitar playing (which I’ve never been very confident in). MOST of the time when I think of my guitar playing, the mental monologue goes something like, “I should practice more” or “I need to start up those lessons again” or some other form of self-abuse. I will always work at getting better on the guitar, just as I still take vocal lessons because there is always room to grow and improve. But what if I also accepted that the way I play guitar is different than all the players I know, and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. What a concept!
Perhaps what we often think of as “mistakes” are simply experiences that differentiate us from norms or expectations. In this sense, our mistakes should be celebrated as creative expressions of individuality. And I’m totally intending to embrace all my future mistakes as exactly that.
I was there meeting Patricia Roe and Jeff Nachtigall, an artist who set up his studio at Sherbrooke and has invited the residents to explore their own artistic voice. The results have been so incredible that the Mendel Art Gallery, a well-respected public gallery, recently hosted an entire exhibition featuring art created by the residents of Sherbrooke.
When I was there, I was getting a tour of the art studio and met Dennis Anderson, a resident at Sherbrooke who had his artwork shown at the Mendel. I interrupted Dennis creating a set of prints for the volunteers at Sherbrooke, and the three of us (Dennis, Jeff and I) engaged in a really interesting discussion about art that I’ve been thinking about ever since.
Dennis started describing his first forays into art making at Sherbrooke. He would intend to draw a certain line or shape, and then an uncontrollable muscle spasm (part of his physical condition) would send his hand and brush in a totally different direction. His first reaction was always that of frustration, as he considered his work in progress ruined by these spasms. But eventually, he realized that these unpredictable lines and “mistakes” were part of what made the paintings unique, distinct, and even beautiful.
Jeff elaborated on this idea, explaining that we all know how to make a “proper” straight line, using a ruler for example. But if we let ourselves go free hand and draw whatever we think a straight line should look like, the results will be different. The difference may be great or subtle, but the results will be different nonetheless and reflective of our individual expression.
The conversation totally mimicked an experience I had in Swift Current a few weeks before, when I was working with a student who was recording a cover of a song that he loved. We were in the studio, and he hated the sound of his voice and performance. In small town Saskatchewan where the radio sticks pretty close to the safe side of Top 40, this student had never really heard the VAST recordings of voices (indie, low-fi, slightly pitchy but in an endearing way) that sounded like his. He just knew that he didn’t sound like the voices on the radio, coming from the Top 40 bands—therefore, he sucked. Dave Lang (the engineer and singer/songwriter also involved in our project) played the student song samples and references that eventually (hopefully) convinced him to hear the beauty of his own sound.
When I left Sherbrooke, I thought about my guitar playing (which I’ve never been very confident in). MOST of the time when I think of my guitar playing, the mental monologue goes something like, “I should practice more” or “I need to start up those lessons again” or some other form of self-abuse. I will always work at getting better on the guitar, just as I still take vocal lessons because there is always room to grow and improve. But what if I also accepted that the way I play guitar is different than all the players I know, and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. What a concept!
Perhaps what we often think of as “mistakes” are simply experiences that differentiate us from norms or expectations. In this sense, our mistakes should be celebrated as creative expressions of individuality. And I’m totally intending to embrace all my future mistakes as exactly that.
posted by Carrie Catherine at
9:40 PM
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