There were many descriptors used by the various and sundry modern day art critics. Some called it vividly beautiful, while to others it was sophisticated and detailed. It was hailed as a painstaking labor of deep devotion and love, a priceless piece of art whose colors shone bright enough to cut the eye and textures that soared and dipped like no other painting ever created.

But I was apparently one of the unwashed masses because all I could focus on was the tiny, dark patch on the canvas that no one ever mentioned in their discussions on the masterpiece. Surely it was a mistake or an imperfection or the result of mishandling during transport but why would everyone choose to ignore such a thing?

“It was intentional,” a woman’s voice whispered behind me.

“Excuse me?’ I said, turning around to be face to face with the artist of the piece, whom I recognized from the art exhibit brochure.

The corners of her mouth lifted in a slight smile and she pointed past me at the painting. “The spot you were concentrating on, it’s not an accident.”

Was I speaking out loud before? I didn’t think I was but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. Sometimes thoughts became words and managed to escape unintentionally.

“I realized as I was painting this that it would have been impossible to create something so universally beautiful that everyone would appreciate it,” the artist continued. “So, for those who choose not to appreciate and look for the beauty in it, I created a flaw to focus and dwell on. My thinking was if you were expecting the worst, you won’t be disappointed.”

And it was at that moment that I finally began to notice the beauty that surrounded imperfection.