In Tangled

In Tangled. It is the name of this painting, but it explains so much now. I am entangled with this painting. I mean that. I am not only wrapped up in this painting, but I may be entangled in it in Quantum terms. The changes, the spin, the intent of this thing, this canvas, is some part of me, is it this from afar, mysteriously as Einstein might have suggested. I walk away but it changes in my head as I see it on the canvas and as it changes in the studio. It changes on its own now.
I have been working on it longer than ever anticipated. More than I hate it at times, I appreciate it. It is becoming sentient it. I am only helping it now, not creating it. I am helping it reach it’s own conclusion, I merely facilitate. It’s Ok though, this part too is a part I love. I want to move on, but can’t. Not yet.
This end of the image, this stage is what I think making music must be like. You play your instrument, but you get to a point where your fingers remember riffs on their own and your breathing anticipates passages. Together something original happens, something new. This is where music or the brush becomes your lucid dream, your creation you are riding, your movie being shot, the track you are laying down as you listen. You are in the audience of your own concert. This is no autopilot, it’s experiencing what you are working on, it’s active and passive, transcendent.
This may be the experience, or even the wine, but this guarantees nothing, namely quality. That argument begs debate, but over drinks with friends and maybe in another blog. Suffice it to say, getting to this point with a painting delivers a lot of satisfaction.
Is it done? No. When? No idea. When it speaks up I suppose.
I’m glad I got to paint tonight. Tomorrow is 19 hours of work straight and Saturday is at least 12-16 hours without rest with 4 hours of sleep between. That should effectively eliminate Sunday for anything. I have found welcoming Monday is more than tough, but I must trudge forward. Monday and Tuesday are painting nights so I have to come up with energy and positive vibes from somewhere.
I worked in Burnt Sienna Deep, Burnt Umber, Ocher, with a spit of Flake and a brush of Prussian for depth and primarily on the background.

Time to Paint

I painted this weekend, somehow. It was a busy weekend. Due to a fairly thorough sub layer Saturday night (Brown Madder, Yellow Ocher, Prussian, and Flake) I had to walk away from finishing the whole upper layer as planned. It was too wet to continue in the time I had. I had hoped to catch that tacky stage for finishing some complimentary highlighting, but was unable to get started on time. I was ready too. That has become a thing in fact. More on that later.
Tonight IS a pre-designated painting night however and in that vein, tonight I paint! I prep for the final skin with some revaluing of shaded areas. I will tackle the compliment highlights tomorrow. There is a chance I could throw it off with tonight’s grays the other way around. My recent color adjustments have prompted tonight’s revaluing, but when executed, this adjustment in value will lend itself well to establishing the form of the final layer of skin I hope to tackle tomorrow. It depends on how carried away I get tonight. The fun part is, tonight is relatively monochromatic and generally just shading. It *should* be pretty straight forward and relaxed though there will be a lot of ground to cover. I have a lot of area planned and a unifying warm gray, but this gray will have to dial up and down over the variety of under layers I will be addressing. This will be tough to do correctly, but I love this kind of straight sword fight on occasion. There is less calculation and more fight.
As for the other thing, starting on time is tough in an active household. My painting is regularly deprioritized, but the fact that it has any priority at all is a testament to my perseverance for its importance. This type of struggle is historically common in the arts. I don’t intend to suggest that it is justified in any way because it is common. I won’t even argue that though most successful artists, whether musical, written word, visual, or performing artists, have experienced this priority struggle, that it is even then justified. Hell, I’m not even trying to justify it. There is no reason for that. What I would like to point out is simply this; until one experiences great success in something creative, other elements in life will attempt to unseat those endeavors claiming they are a waste of time or that they obviously are not contributing to the bottom line, the bills, or whatever. No, there is no justifying the creative endeavors because that would require that they are compared to success, time spent wisely, the bottom line, bills, or whatever. There is no comparison because those things exist to support creative endeavors, not the other way around and are not to be compared as though equal or competing.
I am fully aware only now, that not all people understand this distinction. It is an important one. The people that do not understand merely see the above observation as only moving words around while their personal interpretation remains intact. Those that understand the distinction are just nodding, hopelessly. They know the difference and know it is hopeless to explain. In a nutshell, art is life and all that we do is but a servant, obediently struggling to carve out enough time to live it.

Snake's Alive

I was right, I started hating this painting. Tonight I painted, now I like it again. There is much work ahead, but the direction is clear and the finish nearly as much so. Once again, I used the intimidation of a more difficult task, or at least one with heavier consequences, to my advantage. Knowing I had to lay down the final skin layer for 'In Tangle' and nail it, I decided instead to aim for lower fruit, the snake and some glazing. It paid off. I was relaxed and open. As a result, I have to keep looking over my shoulder because the painting is creeping me out. I will post it soon, perhaps this weekend if I get the chance to work on it again. I need to harmonize the color in her final layers for it to visually sing first.
It is this act, this forming a picture from thin air, causing an emotional reaction, on a previously blank canvas that really gives testimony to the power of imagery, imagination, and how these things color reality. And by reality I don't mean practicality or prudence or maturity. I mean reality, our surroundings and our results when we interact in it. If you were to walk into my studio right now, you would find me nekkid typing at the computer and drinking wine, then you would see the wet painting just behind me and you would have a reaction either internally or something externally/more expressive. I'm kidding about the nekkid thing, but that imagery caused a change in your chain of reality as well. That change may have lead to a memory or a story or a gag reflex, but whatever the reaction or even lack thereof, your reality altered ever so slightly. This painting would do something similar, maybe even the gag reflex. Reality is chaos really so this implies the butterfly affect = a butterfly flaps it's tissue wings, changing the air around it which passes change on until eventually it chains to a typhoon in Japan. My point is, this painting came from the ether of my mind as imagination. Empty head jokes aside, this imagination can lead to a typhoon of change and in this studio I'm flapping my wings like crazy.
Tonight I worked with Cad Yellow Medium, Burnt Sienna Deep, Golden Alzarin, Burnt Umber, Yellow Ocher, some Flake and some Prussian, but just a swipe.

Tonight was mine

Tonight, I made headway. I cannot claim victory yet, but the changes I made fit my vision, improved the whole, and revealed new things. What more can you ask for? What was the secret formula? What series of events lead me to progress? What guide, what Sherpa joined the party? Well, nothing that exotic, I simply had more important work to do (a portrait) and chose to put it off for tonight. That gave me the freedom I needed to experiment with an idea. The sex beforehand on this very floor, wine after that, and funky online radio station playing some sort of Latin rap/Maori Tribal chants during the session helped a touch, and the fine cigar for post analysis rounded out the picture. All day I was in a funk, but tonight was a measured electricity. It was probably the sex.
I'm reconstructing the InTangle piece. It shouldn't be long now. I can't wait. Though it has proven interesting as I have now worked with new elements like animals, in this case a snake, I am ready to push forward... and, yes, at some point finish that portrait too.
Tomorrow is a painting night as well. I do not anticipate the same formula at the ready, but I should be flying high enough from the relative success I found tonight. Of course, as often happens, I could wake to the realization of total dread. I could look back on tonight's formula and find that maybe the sex was right, but the wine clouded my clarity (it is red after all), the music skewed my soul (kinda felt like that anyway), and the cigar poisoned the whole affair (it was a nice Rocky Patel though?). That would be Ok because I know the day after that I will appreciate it again.
Worked in Prussian, Burnt Umber, and Flake tonight.

Bah

Bah, I knew I jinxed myself once I said the word completion. That latest painting has evolved and now eats at my head as it will do until I do actually finish it. What happened? I left it up, on the easel, in view. That is what happened. Much like a crooked picture on a wall or the tiny stain on your shirt, though actually insignificant, it will eat at you until something is done. I saw one thing that begged attention until it became two things and more. Now I find myself embroiled in a struggle to bring the painting to some unforeseen conclusion, its life or death hanging in the balance. What started as a one night stand has now become some sort of obsessive codependent weekly rendezvous, complete in its confusing slurry of clear intentions and warped desire, like hormones to the innocent.
I was out of town last week and the break helped clarify a few things I want to do in paint. It’s always helpful to take a step back or to step away. What’s also helpful is to never look at a painting again. I have found that a couple of things satisfy this requirement such as fire, a short trip to the dumpster, banishing them to facing the wall, or selling them away. It is important to note that the decision on how they live or die must be made well in advance of a possible ensuing buzz. All decisions after inebriation usually end incorrectly.
The latter choice on the list, believe it or not, is the hardest. Selling a painting is certainly less satisfying than terminating its existence in a flurry of paint and quick stabbing motions with brush handles that culminate in a twisting wrestling match out to the trash bin. That only happened once, but I still think of that fondly to this day. No, selling a painting feels so final and irrevocable and almost like abandonment. I know it will be out there somewhere, sold away as if to a for profit adoption agency. And yes, I embrace this agony as a living. What is art without pain?