Sunday, April 22, 2012

to be continued

photo: jetheriot

This is what the side of the barn looked like after my mom and I painted it black, but before we traced the wave forms onto it and painted them on in white. We got about halfway through the painting before the sun started to set, then drove back to Houston. I originally planned to return this week to finish painting in the clouds, but the project, halfway completed, just didn't look right.


My first reaction was that I hated it, that it was hideous. This is not unusual for me. I always hate whatever I'm working on. I genuinely despise it. In the middle of a project, I'm always thinking of how quickly I can just paint over everything and make it go away, to remove the eyesore I've created. Weird, I know. I think it's because when my idea, an idea that I've turned around over and over in my mind, finally becomes a reality, it's always a little different than the way the plan looked on paper. I have the idea in my head so clearly, and then when it's a reality, the mismatch is hard for me to reconcile. Usually the hatred subsides. Knowing this, I waited a couple of days, thinking that this would happen like usual, that my hatred for the painting would melt away. It didn't.

And so I'm headed back to Weimar tomorrow to paint over everything black again and start fresh at a later date. I've lost a day's work, and it sucks to start over, but I want to be proud of the painting. I want it to be amazing. And this one just wasn't up to par if I'm truly being honest with myself. In the big scheme of things, one day is nothing. Jean-Baptiste Chardin, a Baroque painter, use to paint the same painting over and over again. There is a painting of a bubble blower that he painted five or six times, until the way the sunlight hit the soap bubble was just right. He must have spent weeks on each oil painting. He was committed to making the best painting possible, and if it meant putting in the extra hours, it was worth it in the end.