One thought: Why am I even working on this painting?
There was some smidgen of intent when I started, a smidgen since forgotten, with disappointing results. Last week, hankering for some neurographic stress relief, I figured maybe this ignominious start could serve as backdrop.
Well, maybe. But it was no slam dunk, I'll tell you that much. The neurographia relaxed me, but the painting, as a painting, then elicited a whole bunch of fussing and striving that only enhanced the visual language up to a point. A point falling short of satisfaction.
Hence the thought: Why am I even working on this painting?
Then, yesterday morning unfolded with a laugh-out-loud text exchange with Meg, some eye-catching energizing splashes of color on Instagram, and a heart-opening conversation with artist MaryAnn.
Another thought: You have permission to wreck this painting!
Alrighty then.
Here's the up-to-a-point work in progress:
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work in progress ~7 x 7"; acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on sketchbook page |
