I had a realization last week. I hated the painting on my easel. It wasn't finished, but there was no way that would ever happen as long as I continued to ignore it.
|Ignore the glare. I grabbed a quick shot before irreversible artistic impulses|
I had shot a pretty good roll of film, and secured a show of recent photographs for September, BUT I was not painting. So. Last Saturday, I decided I would do something to this painting, because it couldn't possible get any worse. I had no plan, but I covered the oil painting completely with an extremely watered-down layer of cheap-o, white acrylic paint. Refusing to mix with the oil, this watery white beaded and puddled on top of the painting. I didn't know what it would look like when it dried, but I felt better.
Three years ago, I made this thing.
You might consider it a painting. I don't. It's on canvas. It's got paint on it, but it's more of an experiment or a sketch. I made it, but didn't like the result. It kicked around my studio space, and enough other people reacted positively to it that I kept it and never painted over it. Recently I changed out the small paintings in my bedroom. When I first moved, I hung some tiny landscapes at the foot of my bed. Those got exchanged for some of my experimental oil sketches, including the thing.
When the white acrylic paint dried, I looked at the thing with fresh eyes. It's nothing special, just a rubber cement resist with black oil paint that varies in how thinned out it is. I went out to buy some rubber cement to see what it could do to this painting. This is what it looks like right now. It's still not done, but I'm a lot happier with the way it's turning out.