In our never ending pursuit of “perfection”, we leave behind a trail of discarded ideas and objects deemed “imperfect”. Oddly enough, I’m drawn to this detritus. I seem to have an affinity for the slightly soiled. Maybe it’s because I have come to terms with the inherent futility of perfect, with flaws inevitably springing from yesterday’s perfection because humans are never satisfied. More likely, it’s a personal identification with the imperfect, realizing that one too falls squarely in that category.