Defying the perfect circle

From the archives.... the college application archives.  Because those things should be good for something other than getting you into a university you didn't go to, right?  I've grown and changed in a lot of ways since I was seventeen.... But in many ways, I haven't changed at all.  When I came across this college application essay, though I only vaguely remember it, as soon as I read the question I knew exactly what my answer would be.  And sure enough, from beginning to end this is exactly how I would answer this question if asked it today:

Essay Question: When asked by Pope Boniface VIII to prove his skill as an artist, Giotto (1268-1337) drew a perfect circle freehand.  What seemingly simple action would demonstrate your ability or skill, and how would it represent you?

My answer:

If Pope Boniface VIII, using his magical time-travel ability, were to interrupt an otherwise tedious evening of homework to challenge me to provide one single, simple action that would represent my skill or ability, I would be enchanted by his visit, but a little curious and perhaps even argumentative about his request.

It is an impossible request, I might tell him, because humans are too complex, and it cannot be possible to reflect all the nuance and subtle perspectives of who we are in one simple action.  Countering, he would likely show me Giotto’s perfect freehand circle and insist that the artist managed to convey much in one action.  Yet, from the first time I heard about that perfect circle in a sixth grade art class, I’ve been unsettled and unsatisfied with Giotto’s response.  A circle, after all, however remarkable it may be, defines a circumscribed, limited area, a physical and metaphorical suggestion of an entirely closed and ultimately repetitious world, bounded, defined, unyielding both to those on the inside and those on the outside.  It does not, I think, ultimately reflect the unlimited power and potential of artistic talent.

Further, I would argue with the Pope that absolute perfection, in Giotto’s circle or in life, might be a commendable goal, but it is not, ultimately, a good path for growing.  It is, I would tell him, when we take risks, experience life, and even when we make mistakes and then acknowledge and learn from those mistakes, that we can mature into contributing and caring human beings.  For that, we must break away from that simple circle.  Look at Michelangelo’s imperfectly proportioned David, Escher’s confusing staircases, Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan,” or a challenging Chopin Nocturne.  All are endlessly stimulating and thought provoking, reflecting genius and creativity... and all are a complex reflection of multiple facets of humanity that might defy the simplicity of the circle.

By now, the Pope would no doubt be losing patience.  Stop stalling and prattling, he might admonish, insisting that he came not for a philosophical discussion of life, art, or circles, but for one single, encompassing expression of my talent.

So I’d think for a moment.  Having studied ballet for a dozen years, I turn to the fluid grace of dance to search for a single skill that speaks for who I am; it must, I think, be far less limited than a circle, and make some room for joy and celebration.  I finally decide.  Moving back, I take a long, open leap into air, twirling, suspended for a moment.  It is that moment in the balletic leap, in unfettered flight, that reflects for me the endless possibilities for joyful movement, passion, and the unbounded potential of life.  That is, I think, my own “perfect circle."