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?