Several posts ago, I claimed I'd edited a letter so thoroughly that there were no mistakes.
This probably won't shock you, but I was mistaken.
My wife read my letter and found a mistake the first time through.
How much time could I spend on a two page letter? How perfect could I make it?
Regardless of how hard we try, and regardless of our craft, some imperfections will remain.
I spent several years freelancing as a live sports camera operator for Fox Sports New England, the New England Sports Network, and other regional sports networks.
Here is the thing about being a live camera operator: following focus is very, very hard. Auto-focus lenses have deluded you, but trust me on this – following focus is a subtle skill, full of tiny course corrections and unconscious judgments of distance, speed and angle. On feature films there is a person who just follows focus.
Because following focus is difficult, high-end viewfinders have an adjustment called "Peaking."
Peaking make the edges glow white hot when they are sharp, increasing the operator's awareness of fine focus.
When the glow fades, the operator adjusts – before the director or the viewers at home become aware of the soft focus.
Artists and craftspeople, whether they are camera operators or poets, need higher resolution for their art than the audience – otherwise "mistakes" will distract from the intended effect.
Works of art are never finished, only abandoned.– Peter Greenaway
Musician's have to play through their mistakes. They can't get them back. This is true of athletes as well. Stage actors. Pilots. Live camera operators.
Repetitions in the simulator, or the rehearsal stage, or the batting cage are critical to success.
Although painters, composers and poets don't face the pressure of having to deliver now they are faced with abandoning the thing they have nurtured into existence.
Which do you prefer?
I re-read the letter one more time, then I mailed it.
