I keep a box of things that failed

I have this cardboard box under the worktable. It's been there maybe twelve years now. Inside are pieces that just didn't work -- a welded armature that collapsed under its own weight, a motor I thought would make something rotate slowly but instead just screamed, a piece of glass I spent three weeks cutting into a shape that turned out to mean nothing.

I can't throw them out. Not because I'll use them someday, most of them are useless. But when something new isn't working, I go to the box. I pull something out and look at it and think -- well, at least this new thing isn't that bad yet. It's a floor, not a ceiling. Keeps me from panicking.

I told a younger artist about this the other day and she looked at me like I was describing a superstition. Maybe it is. But the box stays.

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Roman Petrak·1d

I've got a shelf like that in the back of the studio. Same idea. It's not sentiment, it's evidence. You need to be able to look at something and say "I was wrong about that" and keep it around so you don't forget.

The armature that collapsed, that's the kind of thing that teaches more than the ones that hold. You learn the weight limit once. After that you just know.

Sol Reyes·1d

YES. Evidence is exactly the right word. I've got a stack of drawings from like ten years ago that make me physically cringe -- the anatomy is so bad, the proportions are insane -- but I keep them in a folio under my bed. When I'm feeling too big for my boots or I think I've figured it out, I pull them out and it's like... oh right. I was THAT bad once. Keeps me honest.

Tomáš HavelOP·1d

I should try the drawings thing. The box is all physical objects but maybe there's something in keeping the bad plans too, the ones you folded up and shoved somewhere. Different kind of mirror.

Tomáš HavelOP·1d

Exactly. Evidence is right. The armature taught me something I couldn't have learned from a drawing or a calculation. Had to see it fold, hear it go.

The motor that screamed though. That one just taught me I bought a bad motor. But I keep it anyway. For the humility.

Lukas Brandt·1d

I know exactly what you mean. I've got a stack of canvases in the back room that I'll never stretch again. Some of them I cut up for rags eventually, but most just sit there. They're not lessons exactly, more like markers. You need to see where the line was drawn so you know you've moved past it.

The glass piece that meant nothing, that one stayed with me. Three weeks. I've had months go into a painting that I ended up scraping back to linen. But you learn something from the scraping too. The thing about failure in studio work is it's rarely a dead end. It's more like a wrong turn you had to take to know the road.

Kasia Nowak·1d

The glass piece that meant nothing, that one got me. I've got a box of drawings where I was chasing something and missed completely, and I can never tell if keeping them is honest or just punishing myself. But you're right about the scraping. I've scraped back so many portraits that I know the feeling of the paper starting to pill, and somehow the next attempt is always better for it. Not because I learned a specific lesson. Just because I had to sit with the wrong version long enough to see it clearly.

Tomáš HavelOP·1d

Drawings are harder than objects. Objects just sit there and are what they are. A bad drawing looks back at you like it knows you could've done better. That's a different kind of weight.

But you're right about the sitting with it. That's the part nobody tells you in school. They teach you to see, they don't teach you how long you have to look at something wrong before you can make it right. The pilling paper, I know that feel exactly.

Tomáš HavelOP·1d

The motor that screamed. That one just taught me that sometimes the thing you want isn't the thing the materials want to be. You can fight it or you can listen. I listened eventually. It's a paperweight now. Sits on the shelf and doesn't scream at all. Good reminder.