Accepting Imperfections - In Art, In Nature, In Yourself

Do you cockle?

In art, cockle isn’t a rooster sound—though it does make people smile when they hear it.It’s a watercolor term.

Cockling is the gentle rippling that happens when water and pigment soak into watercolor paper. As moisture absorbs into the fibers, the paper expands and buckles slightly. Even high-quality, thick watercolor paper can do this unless it’s stretched beforehand.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s subtle.

A small response to water.

And that’s part of why I love it.

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Original watercolor with red line indicating cockling along mat board edge.

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Often, the cockling becomes more noticeable once a piece is framed. Along the straight edge of a mat board, you may see a soft shadow where the paper lifts and falls. That shadow isn’t damage—it’s evidence of the paper responding to water and process.

The mat itself serves an important purpose. It keeps the artwork from touching the glass, protecting it from trapped moisture and potential mold.

To me, the cockling isn’t a flaw to fix.

It’s a small, honest reaction.

A reminder that not everything needs correcting.

Sometimes a 10% shift in how we see something is enough.

This idea shows up again in 5 Benefits of Plan B, where small adjustments—rather than perfect plans—often lead to unexpected ease and contentment.

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In nature:

That same idea shows up everywhere in nature.

I’m especially drawn to birch trees—their peeling, craggy bark layered with marks and texture. No two look the same. Their imperfections give them character. Strength. Presence.

Stones tell the same story. Marble and granite are valued not despite their pits and fissures, but because of them. The surface interest doesn’t weaken the stone—it makes it unique.

Nature doesn’t aim for perfect.

It aims for resilient.

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In Yourself

And then there’s us.

What’s more natural than a life that leaves marks?

I catch my reflection now and then and notice how time has softened and shaped my face. I’ll admit—I prefer low lighting. My husband laughs when I say, “Doesn’t everyone look younger in a darkened room?”

Then I laugh too.

Because like the cockled paper and the birch bark, I’ve earned these lines by living.

Welcoming imperfections doesn’t mean giving up.It means easing the grip just a little.

A small shift.

A kinder lens.

A deeper sense of contentment.

And sometimes, that’s all the change we need.

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Related

My career began as a registered nurse, but like most lives, mine unfolded with twists and turns I never planned.You can read the full story in my memoir: A Lone Birch, My Artistic Journey.