Roving dunes, ripples and scribbles

Welcome to the new digs @ AnalogAnsible.com, now powered by beehiiv! I meant to sum up the past six months—oh hey, it’s DECEMBER, when did THAT happen— but first I want to talk about something important. Not all artists/creative people are perfectionists, but I’m willing to be a fair amount of you are. Are we sitting comfortably? Let’s begin.

Confession time: I am a lifelong perfectionist. This should surprise nearly none of you.

The last few months, I’ve been slowly reading The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control by Katherine Morgan Schafler , and I can’t recommend it enough, it’s explained so much of my childhood and my LIFE, as well as different types of perfectionists, and different forms of maladaption perfectionism takes. (This was the most eye-opening for me. Behaviors I wouldn’t have previously linked, reactions I might not have questioned, all coalesced into one bright, painfully clear picture. Oh dear.)

One thing the book covers is the societal misconception of what perfectionistic behavior entails (no, it’s not always being rigid, or expecting everything to be exactly “right”, or having runaway OCD.) I’m a blend of the “messy” and “procrastinator” types, with a dash of “Parisian” (because deep down I really do still want everyone to like me. But I have that more or less under control.) It also introduces the concept that perfectionism can be wielded as an asset, not a negative thing. No need to describe oneself as a “recovering perfectionist”. Don’t recover; figure out which parts you’re using in a negative way towards yourself or others, and work on those.

A hallmark of the procrastinator perfectionist is reluctance to start a thing. In your mind, it exists in a perfect state, and as soon as you try to draw that out of the ethereal and into the physical world, you mess it up. (Also, the creation of a thing invites criticism, which all perfectionists AND artists secretly fear.) I would say I have this aspect partially under control, but it’s medium-dependent, ranging from well-controlled (metalsmithing, let’s goooooo lol it failed) to moderate (art, proceeding with trepidation at times) to poor (writing, fiction or non, crippled by the blank page. It has taken me weeks to start this newsletter.)

I’m still working on accepting that it’s okay to make mistakes, they are learning experiences, they don’t have to be negative, and sometimes they’re oddly productive (HA! See last newsletter.) What comes of a mistake can be better and more beloved than what it would have otherwise been. For example:

I’m very grateful to Nate, Adam, and others for encouraging me to roll with it and finish the piece. Now that I have it side by side with the original photo, I feel pretty good about the rendering! (Another lesson from the perfectionism book: it’s okay to feel good about the work that you do! You don’t have to shred it to bits every time.)

One of the more maladaptive aspects of my perfectionism is remembering every mistake I’ve ever made and flogging myself mentally about them years or decades later. In freshman and sophomore years of high school, I was in the county spelling bee. I won the freshman division, but lost in the next round. Can I remember what word I won on? No. The losing word was “awkward”. (Sophomore losing word was “kaleidoscope”.) Why do I remember the losses and not the wins? Because that’s how my maladaptive brain works. It sucks.

Fast forward to a recent example. I had a finishing ink-pour in mind for my most recent work, RIPPLES OF BARSOOM. I spent a lot longer on the underlying ink work than planned—it got more and more detailed, and when I was done, part of me was definitely pumping the brakes on the whole “let’s pour vivid magenta and peach sparkle inks across the whole thing and see what happens” idea. But without that, the piece, while admirably rendered, was rather plain. I could have done a light wash of watercolor—maybe that would be better? or safer?—but in my heart, I knew this was what I wanted to try. So I pushed past the hesitation and did it.

Looks more interesting, no? And then I tucked it away in a drawer. Why? Because I still secretly fear I ruined it. Also, because I had a brief blip in my otherwise-reliable geology brain, which caused me to both title and post a write-up on this piece that was fundamentally flawed. Cue lifelong embarrassment.

You see, I went through this whole process of illustration admiring the aeolian features in the flow channels—modern dunes in an ancient river on Mars. I planned to call it DUNES OF BARSOOM. I was writing up the text explanation to go with my posts, and went back to the HiRISE photo to re-read their write-up. Uh-oh, no mention of dunes! Had I misinterpreted this entire piece? And panic-brain grabbed the wheel, declared these features ripple marks, and whew! Aren’t I glad I figured that out before I posted WRONG SCIENCE?! How EMBARRASSING would THAT be….

Except of course, I was 100% WRONG. Should have trusted my gut instincts. The patterns of dunes and ripple marks look broadly similar, as seen below:

The issue here is scale. As seen on the left-hand example, there is a clear footprint crossing the marks. The shapes are similar, but the size is wildly different. Something like ripple marks simply isn’t visible from orbit. Aww shucks, it was Dunes All Along!

And naturally, as soon as I’d posted the piece, I got a comment from an Actual Planetary Scientist, who kindly corrected me. I hurried to correct my written copy and alt-text on every social platform I’d posted on (because of course, this happened just after I’d finished posting it everywhere.) I had already retitled it from DUNES to RIPPLES OF BARSOOM, but I decided to keep RIPPLES as a reminder to, well, not overthink everything.

And now, I will finally go over to The Art of Planetary Science’s 2025 submission form and fill it out, instead of agonizing whether or not that piece is “good enough”. [eye-roll]

As for that update I alluded to earlier:

One thing I changed in the back half of 2024 is completely redoing the shopping portion of my website, and moving it to Shopify. I also adjusted my pricing on most things, including originals. (Adjusted it again on 12/7.) I was lamenting on Bluesky that there’s really no One True Pricing Metric, it’s all arbitrary, but I hope the new numbers better honor the patron’s pocketbook (that’s you, I hope) as well as honoring the work and time that goes into them (that’s me.)

Plus I got a spiffy new domain: PlanetaryArtist.com (ooh, ahh.)

2024 hasn’t been the best for art-making. Lotta stress, mostly job-related. Some health issues resulting from that, very frustrating. Suffice it to say, I reached a tipping point in late July, exchanged my high-stress job for a low-stress one, and spent the fall doing a lot of mop-up work on my health and my life. The work is ongoing. (How boring! But necessary.)

It hasn’t been my year for artistic output, or reading, or writing. A lot of my free time, since July, I spend on our new businesses, under the umbrella of 2 Nerds LLC. Nate and I are both graphic designers, we both love rocks, and we’re launching multiple ventures, including a rockhound-oriented merchandise line; selling specimens, aforementioned merch, intarsia (stone inlay) and rough rock at our local gem show in March; custom laser-engraved items, for sale online and also on-site customization at aforementioned show; and expanding our graphic design/sticker empire. It’s a lot, and I’m coming to terms with having very poor work/work/life balance. It’s not forever, it’s just the startup phase.

Anyway, still here, with a recommitment to writing more regularly, and getting more art made, even if it’s quick stuff. I’ll leave you with a new favorite, and a quick piece from Spacetober: a Mars rover-selfie, courtesy of Curiosity.

PS: How about a discount? ANSIBLE2024 gets you 20% off your order. Click through that link and it’ll apply automatically. Happy holidays!

xoxo Danielle