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.
