I wish someone had told me a long time ago that happiness is not the gauge by which I measure my success.
By now I should know better, but I still expect painting to make me happy. And if, as the hours tick by, I am not happy about what I'm doing, I become unreasonably grumpy and start looking for something to blame.
I have a hard time letting things stay in an undefined, in-between state. I start most mornings with the sole motivation of pushing the paint into shapes and strokes that make me feel satisfied, finished. Happy.
I want to say, yeah this turned out ok, but you should see what I meant to do.
I came across this quote, by Dr. Spock of all people: "The trouble with happiness is that it can't be sought directly. It is only a precious by-product of other worthwhile activities."
I need to revise my entire approach to painting: it's all experimentation, it's all practice, and any finished piece that comes out of that is a happy accident.