I'm a perfectionist though I always fail to be the one.

I have not been able to draw a straight line. Although I constantly checked myself on the way to the end, it was tilted. There were always people who were proud of their gifted hands wherever I went, I was never one of them regrettably.

Was I disappointed in myself, or was it the slanted line that I despised?

My current practice has been influenced by reconsidering the innate meaning of flaw. The process of comprehending properties I used to detest makes me question my initial perspective towards dichotomies in the systematic society;

success or failure
intention or accident
superiority or inferiority
balance or imbalance
order or disorder

; if there is such a thing as perfectly intended righteousness in the first place.

In the surface of my work, mistakes harbor with a sense of presence amidst of a seemingly well-ordered structure. Most of the times they are too timid to be detected by the viewers while they are too apparent for me to think it's almost intentional sporadically.
There lies my conflicted comprehension on methodologies. I heavily depend on them even though they smother me, leaning on and whining about them simultaneously.
Same as the repetitive labor that I designate to myself for anxiety terribly bores me.