A friend who is a potter said that the way to progress is to keep making the same form over and over. She applied the concept to her watercolor efforts as well, and painted the same shoreline repeatedly. She was pleased with the improvements. 

It makes sense. I know the first stars I made were more like potato chips than quilts. Convincing them to calm down and lay still was futile. Early in my quilting career I saw a slide show about funny mistakes, and one featured a star with seven points. Apparently the seamstress mislaid one. Getting seven points to lay flat is like trying to iron a bowl. 

One of Benjamin's wishes is to have an unblemished day. 

"I want a new July sixth," he sighed after an upsetting morning. 

"Ben it can be now. What would you hope this day to be like?" his sister asked.

Anne with an e used to revel in the opportunity. 

"This day is fresh with no mistake yet."

Much of life involves repetition. It is tempting to hold that as mundane, but what if we saw it as a chance to grow? A blank canvas. A wet slab of clay. A room full of air poised to carry words across the table. 

It's enough to make you want to leap out of bed and get your hands dirty.