Go away perfectionism... Go....

Last week I started an installation project. I will hang plastic bags filled with water by a walkway where the sun hits. The water bags will interact with sun and wind, making them interesting to look at. As people walk to class, they will be flanked by these objects, making the walk itself more fun. I'm excited about it.
And, then I counted how many of the plastic bags filled with water I will need if I am to flank the whole walkway. The answer is 84. 84! I was still determined to make them all, until I started the process. So far, I can make and hang about 4-6 per hour. That means that in the next class period, I will be able to make and another 18 or so. That added to the 20 I already have up is a far cry from the final number I intended to have. What to do...
Making them in advance, doesn't really seems to be an option since they leak from the top when sitting on a flat surface. If I tie harder, the fishing lien breaks. Maybe I could freeze them at home, but for that I would need a much larger and emptier freezer than the one I currently have—and investing in a larger one is not part of the budget right this moment.
That leaves me with two options:

1. Make and hang more outside class time (84-20=64/6=10.7), which would mean about 11 hours to make another 64, which means 3 hours of class time until deadline plus 8 "studio" hours. I easily worked this many hours on the last project, so not impossible.
2. Let go of the initial vision, and be fine with the amount I can do in the 3 hours of class time between now and the deadline. I do like the project as it is right now, so from that perspective I don't feel that I'm slacking. When I think of what the project could be, then I do feel like I must put the effort to have all 84 up. 

I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll compromise and come in on Friday and see how many more I could add. If I work another 6 hours, that would add about 36 more for a total of 56—little more than half of the initial intention...

Letting go of the roller coaster...

Last week I had an unpleasant conversation.

She said: "I will not stilt anything because it takes too long. You need to tell your instructor to tell students not to glaze the bottom because I'm the only one who knows how to fire a kiln, and I won't stilt anything."

I said: "Ok, but would you please stilt and fire these (3) pieces? They are due Tuesday."

She said: "I won't stilt anything. I'm doing this as  a favor and it takes too long."

She might have been well within her rights to say these things. As I feel it to be within my rights to have gotten upset about it—for the following reasons:
1. She is not the only one in the department who knows how to fire a kiln
2. A few seconds to set down a few stilts, is not a long time.
3. To ask me to give my instructor a message, was inappropriate and unprofessional (in my opinion)
4. The perception that helping other instructors' students is 'doing a favor,' even if true seems loaded with arrogance
5. I practically begged her for help, and she simply said no
6. I can't afford my own kiln. I wanted to be able to just go buy one because depending on others is a very vulnerable position

As a result of being upset, this conversation kept popping back in my head throughout the day, thus the feeling of being in an emotional roller coaster. I was calm and relaxed until that conversation would come back up and make me upset. I would then work on letting go: maybe she was having a bad day; this is in the past now; there was nothing interesting or valuable in that conversation, so why think about it again?--I would repeat to myself. As the day elapsed it got progressively easier to let go of the conversation and of being upset about it.

Eventually, I let go, and the waters became fully calm again.

Source: http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-then-and-now-super-storm-sandy-slider-htmlstory.html

Still getting much practice in the art of letting go. A big platter I made with clay crumbled in my hands. Crumbled. Became a pile of smaller randomly sized pieces. And, it happened when I was at the latest stages of having it finished.
Repressing the desire to scream and/or cry (I was in a classroom after all), I focused on starting another one fresh and new. It was not surprising to me how upsetting it was to see my work fragment into nothingness. It was surprising, though, that I caught myself enjoying making the second platter—a lot. I was joyfully building it as if the mourning for the failed one had happened in a distant past. I think I like this working with clay thing more than I realized. I think I may also have found a way in supporting myself in letting go...

Source: http://cookieconnection.juliausher.com