When I was a kid, my mom gave me motherly wisdom as most mothers do: “To have friends you have to be friendly; if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all; you have to get messy to make art.” All true statements and all not readily absorbed, especially the first and third ones. To the first, I was a shy kid who struggled to make friends, and, to the second, I hated to get messy. I loved art, but I hated to get paint or glue all over my hands. Perhaps I already was exhibiting an inclination toward perfectionism.