A Pointless Endeavor

I was reading "The Fountainhead" today, and I was visited by a familiar feeling. I feel that I am generally capable of appreciating the better things, whether they be art, literature, or even food. This talent, although useful at times, is a double-edged sword in the sense that I am able to recognize the flaws in any work that I create.

They say ignorance is bliss, and I believe that this is true in a sense. My lack of ignorance on the part of my inability to create flawless art inhibits any attempt to put forth effort in the pursuit of such works. When I can look at a painting which is exponentially more beautiful than anything I can make, a book which makes any story of mine trivial and crude, or a song which makes my musical meddling sound coarse, the state of affairs becomes truly demoralizing. How can I work at bettering myself, when there are examples of greatness all around me? If someone has the answer to this question, I would like very much to hear it. My future endeavors would benefit greatly from the support of a goal which is not hollow or false.