as promised, pink

A long time ago, I promised I would paint in pink.

My palette has been so murky for so long, it was positively shocking to use pigment straight from the tube.

I've been diluting the paint with turpenoid to do these block-y color washes. No canvas is being spared.

With the paint so thin, they dry quickly and I've been able to do lots of layers one right after the other.They're all evolving dramatically, good practice in not staying too attached to any one layer. Except this one... I'm too attached. 

It's terrible -- the ones I like too much, I unintentionally stifle by protecting them.

But it's good, too, to see that. To work in batches, and evaluate which ones are successful and why. Often it's the ones I don't like that change the most and pull ahead in the end. Not that I have any idea where the end is.

To the process! To color!

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heave, ho

Move your limbs. Open your ribs like blinds.

Reach, keep reaching. Accept that you will never get there.

THERE is an ego destination.

Do not think too much about blogging. Blaaahhhhhggging. It is quicksand.

Let the words fall out; quit with the editing and sorting. There isn't much in there, it seems, but sometimes you miss things during the first round. Go, look again. It could just be that you're tired. Or forgetful!

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Everything feels like I'm holding back, like a wide space that I can't quite enter. Thoughts are jostling, constant, but none among them has any substance. The real words, the real painting, the real expression, is just beyond the periphery. I'm distracted, insisting on diction when the real meaning is in the melody.

Ten days ago the blizzard Nemo sculpted fantastic drifts in our back lot, and we went out with shovels to build. The snow was pristine, elegantly scooped out under trees, rising in smooth waves along garage walls, arriving at perfect ridges. Something about those shapes was so compelling, so inviting: I took Isla's hand and we charged in, needing to be part of it. But of course, as soon as I entered that space, I changed it. My wanting it, ever at odds with my having it.

So it is with painting.

I worked on a new portrait the other day, and I could tell that it wasn't going to flow. So, some days it does not flow. Do I push through, clunking? Or do I clean my brushes for the day, and sew instead?

I pushed, I fussed, I made some kind of progress. Is that progress, the fussing? Is it only progress when I like what I've done? It's hard to let it be unfinished.

The cure for self-conscious markings: more markings. I can't untrample that snow, but oh, how perfect that drift was, and how it pulled me.

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brother, sister

I painted this brother & sister pair in December, commissioned as a Christmas gift for their mom:

I love doing these as gifts, they're such a unique and meaningful surprise.

And dad got amazing-gift-giver status of all time.

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girl with a pearl

More experimenting... this time with a cool palette. I wanted to emphasize the pale skin & bright blue eyes of this little pixie. What I love most is that candy-pink pout, though, just look:

I mixed some soft grays for my darks, and cool beiges for the lights, even though I was worried they'd come out too chalky. It was good to push myself beyond a straight rendering, into a more interpretive color scheme. I feel silly that this is such a challenge for me -- it's easier to paint EXACTLY WHAT I SEE. But that's also where I get very rigid and perfectionistic, so, maybe easier isn't the right word.

I've realized that my power as a painter is in deliberately omitting things. I'm striving for simplicity, efficiency -- how much can I strip away? -- but also an excitement & vitality in the colors themselves. I want something unexpected but still harmonious.

It's amazing how much practice goes into doing less.

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orange you glad

I'm learning to be a little more bold.

Ha!

That's so fitting: A little bold.

I tell myself I should do boldness is one grand gesture, but usually it's the accumulation of small moments of daring, adding up over time. I'm profoundly annoyed by this.

 I found the artwork of Ruth Shively, and the gears in my mind went clink clink clunk and I've just been staring at her portraits for weeks now. I'm so inspired.

A little blue here, a little orange there: gradually my palette is opening up, becoming more interpretive.

My mantra: do the work now, tell the story later. 

I want to hole up in my studio and just keep charging ahead, I have so much more to try.

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peas in a pod

I did a couple of portraits for some good friends recently. I made a conscious effort to get back to the loose brushwork of earlier pieces, and to stop perfecting every minuscule detail. I was so relieved and pleased with how they came out that I had to dance around the house a little bit.

I had to remind myself constantly to work quickly and to stop dab-dab-dabbing in order to get it just right.

Instead: commit. Then let it be. Doing less is so much harder than doing more.

But I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of it, and these two did a lot to restore my confidence.

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palette

When I was struggling with the portraits of my cousin's daughters, one thing that helped me break out of my funk was The Quick Study.

I've been doing these all along, to test out my colors and get a feel for the composition or facial expression. Mixing colors is time-consuming and kind of mind-boggling, but when I get the colors right I don't have to fight with the painting so much. Jason says he prefers the studies most of the time -- and I'm starting to see what he means. They're looser, fresher, uninhibited.

While I was working, I wrote on that page: make paintings the way you make sand castles. 

In other words: Quickly. Without attachment. Fill the bucket, turn it over, start again.

I like that these pages represent the struggle, too -- they show HOW MANY times I mixed colors, trying to get them right, trying to match what I'd mixed before. How dark, how light, how purple?

I toyed briefly (and jokingly) with the idea of just selling the palette pages. This is your child's face, in essence; abstracted, rendered in pigments. Maybe when I'm rich and famous. But I did sign this one, just in case:

(Only kidding, I was just practicing my signature. Yes, I have to practice everything)

The months I spent wrangling with those three paintings were kind of agonizing, because I just wanted to get it RIGHT, and I knew I could, so why was I tripping up so much, and why was it taking so long? 

Now I see how important the practice is.  Being impatient and perfectionistic, I'd rather not take the time to do that, bothersome practice. I'd rather be great right away. And every time. Sounds silly when I write it out, but that's the unspoken belief I carry whenever I approach my paints. And that's why I get scared and anxious and full of doubt.

It's this: I want to know before I do. But more often than not, I do, and then I know. 

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