A fictional parable by Peter Pickering.
A gentle morning light. Grasshopper reveals a portrait, glowing with artificial flawlessness.
Grasshopper (grinning)
Sensei! I have removed every blemish, smoothed every pore, brightened every eye — behold! She looks divine! Almost… doll-like.
Sensei (tilts head)
Yes. Divine… like a wax figure in Madame Tussauds.
Grasshopper (beaming)
Exactly! She’ll be thrilled. There’s not a wrinkle in sight.
Sensei
And not a soul either.
You have not made her more beautiful, Grasshopper. You have made her anonymous.
That mole near her chin? Her grandfather had the same.
Those smile lines? Etched from years of laughing through pain.
The texture of her skin? That was life, not flaw.
Grasshopper (frowning)
But she wanted to look perfect.
Sensei
Perfect? Ahh. Even the moon, so beloved, wears craters with pride.
To smooth every curve, to erase every history, is to say: “You are only worth loving in edited form.”
Would you paint over a Rembrandt because the brushstrokes were too raw?
Moral of the Scroll:
In chasing flawlessness, you often lose the face you meant to honour. Beauty is not in perfection — it’s in presence.
