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One foot in front of the other, like models in a high-paced fashion show. Two things on my mind: bills and a vintage lamp. What runs through their minds during the show? Fashion shows, with their meticulous attention to detail and seamless blending of past and present trends, often mirror the aesthetics we choose for our own spaces. Every piece is an essential part of the art we live in, and lighting, though a small detail, can have a big impact.

What is art if not a mistake? Or learning to appreciate mistakes? Don’t we artists fumble into the unknown, finding something worthwhile? Not all the time, not every time. Can we create a diagram showing how this relates to our self-perception, our “mistakes,” and most importantly, our flaws?

I have various little ticks and over-analyze myself and others. Blame it on being an Aquarius? How mundane. I want to understand, to see if I can change, to understand why I see these things and allow them to cause such mischief in my head and body. That favorite shirt, usually hang-dried, once sent to the steam dungeon, emerged like a prune. I try to pull it back to its original length, every time.

Vintage – modern. That’s how I’d describe my apartment. Concrete ceilings, black window frames, neutral tile backsplashes in the bathrooms and kitchen. Every piece of furniture or decoration recycled from vintage shops.

The lamp – a fine delicacy with a tall peach-toned lampshade, copper in disguise, and a blue-grey marble centerpiece intertwined. What a beauty. What a find. But I didn’t know it. While I hid a ‘reserved Tiffani’ item, the lady packing my new-old plates and lamp scrubbed away with a metal bristle. “Get out before he charges you more,” she seemed to say. I thought, how could she do that? She ruined my lamp. These scratches, even if revealing something underneath, weren’t my choice. They tell a short tale, a mistake from another. It’s not how I found the prize, it’s how it was given to me 15 minutes later!

I pondered, torn between disbelief and curiosity. How do I fix it? How do I find the treasure underneath? Knowing my ticks and false need for perfection – in items, in material, in myself and my emotions – the scratches grew as I stared. They consumed me. Why did she do it? How can I make it shine?

But those scratches revealed a mystery, a beautiful copper shine beneath oxidization. Suddenly, I was conducting a science experiment in my kitchen with lemon and Himalayan salt. Boom. Wow. What a beauty. What a find.

“That’s a whole new lamp,” I said softly, gazing in awe. Proud, I placed it back in my room, switched it on, and stood mesmerized. I could now sleep, think. She was right.

The next morning, eager to see it again, I appreciated its mysterious beauty, giggling inside about its journey to me. Then, my brows cringed. My mood… conflicted. I spoke aloud, why did I do that? I should have left it. Why did those little scratches bother me so much? Why did I become so curious? Some things are better left as found – aged, mysterious, untouched. No one should see their flaws, or magnify them. It looked like an old dirty penny, not completely covered, with a few shiny spots. Dirty, but readable. What did I do wrong?

My memory was foggy. Was it really dazzling last night? Did I want to believe it was shining? How could my mind be fooled so deeply? Then it hit me: Perhaps I hadn’t cleaned it enough?

I took it back to the kitchen and tried again. Wow. What a beauty. This time, I cleaned it properly, rinsed it with water, dried it with a towel. It got me thinking. In that moment of doubt, my body rushed with conflicting feelings. Before my epiphany, I tried to come to terms with my obsession, to accept its flaws.

The lamp is like us humans, or any art process. We are found one way, usually hiding our true selves, our flaws, scars, and mistakes. As others pick at us, chip at our lives, we reveal parts of ourselves. We are like this copper lamp – oxidized, cleaned, and somehow tarnished again. The only time we are fully covered as we once were is when we are found anew. I convened with self-talk, appreciating the lamp’s flaws and mistakes. If I didn’t, I would never appreciate my own, nor accept myself or others. Or the process of creating art.

In that moment, I realized the lamp was a mirror, reflecting my own journey of self-discovery and acceptance. Its flaws and scars, like mine, are part of its unique beauty. But damn, it feels good to know it worked after all. Its true essence revealed. It’s not evenly coated in oxidization like before, nor unevenly tarnished. It reflects how the artist intended – with flaws, scars, and mistakes, yet shining and valuable.

What a beauty. What a find.