This past weekend I had all I could stand of not being in my studio. It’s been months and I haven’t painted anything. Nada. Nary a drop of paint has touched a brush since sometime in May, I think. See … it’s been so long I don’t remember when it was. Damn. That's just pathetic.
The store, and life in general, has taken a lot of time and effort and there hasn’t been much left over for, energy-wise or creativity-wise, working on art. And lately there's been so much stress in my little world that I don’t want to do much more than crawl in the bed and sleep for three months. Since that isn’t likely to happen any time soon I realized I need to take a mind-break. I needed to find a space to retreat. For me that is painting. I’m not one of those artists who can multitask when it comes to working. I get focused on the painting and tune everything else out. It’s a kind of meditation for me. At least, most of the time it’s a meditation. This weekend it wasn’t.
Why? Three factors. One, the husband was home. Now, you might not think this would be a problem but it often is. I love to be alone when I paint, getting into the process, maybe listening to some music, burning incense, groovin’ with my paints and brushes. The minute I get into the studio and get a brush in my hand the husband invariably comes in to see what’s going on. It’s like the studio has become a huge magnet and he’s iron filings. Y’all, I honestly do understand a non-painter’s fascination with watching an artist paint or draw, but it’s still irritating. They want to watch up close, ask questions or engage in general chit-chat – which is completely distracting to me. It’s like being on display and it makes me tense and easily frustrated. I can’t get lost in what I’m doing, focusing on how the brush feels or how the paint moves across the paper or canvas. I can’t get Zen with the colors and the magic of how they blend together. In essence, I can’t get my groove on. And no, it’s not an option to ask him to not come into the studio while I’m working. I won’t even get into trying to explain the reasons. It’s just the way it is and we’ll move on.
The second factor is a bit more complicated, weird even. Given the fact that I’ll be the first to admit that I’m weird you’d thing it wouldn’t be a problem. Yeah, well. The thing is, and if you’re an artist you might understand this a little better, being out of the studio for so long has a psychological effect … fear of painting. How do you even begin to explain being afraid of doing something you love so much? I already have insecurities about my artistic talents. It’s not an uncommon thing among artists, trust me on that. We are our own worst critics. But the fear comes from this bazaar mind game of thinking about doing the work, craving doing the work, being unable to do the work for an extended period of time and when you finally get to do it, you freeze. You wonder if you can remember how. Like I said, it’s weird. Add a want-to-watch husband and it really compounds the issues, in spades.
The third monkey wrench in my painting works this weekend was a cat (Tuck) who has yet to learn the rules of being in Mom’s studio while she’s working, or trying to work. Creepy had been with me so long she’d learned what she could and couldn’t do. She’d come in, drink some water out of my water jars (preferably one I’d used to clean a paint brush in!), then find a spot and chill out. Tuck, on the other hand, wants to walk on the canvas while it’s wet, stick his nose/toes in the paint, pester me every 2.7 seconds for attention, chew on paint brushes, chase the brush across the canvas when I’m trying to paint, attack my feet, on and on and on and on. He’s cute as Hell but he’s relentless. Naturally, I'd try to be patient with him, be understanding that he’s still a kitten, hasn’t had time to learn the rules (and it hasn’t helped that I haven’t painted since he came to live with me), and of course, with both Creepy and Tesah gone he’s got no one else to play with except me.
Despite all the distractions, irritations and fear, I did manage to get some painting done. It was coming along reasonably well, all things considered, when the husband walked in for the bazillionth time and asked, “So, how does it feel to be back in the saddle again?” There I was, on the floor in the studio (where I like to work with acrylics and large canvases), feeling all bugged out anyway, and he asks me that. I had to stop and make myself breathe. I wanted to have a tantrum. Instead, I just paused, breathed slowly a couple of times, and then made myself say, “Fine.” He hesitated at the doorway for second then beat-feet it down the hall to the living room. I think he suddenly realized he’d just crossed a line.
Simple, innocent question, you might say. But if you know the husband you know that it was a loaded question. It meant he’s very aware of my lack of painting and he doesn’t like it. It was his way of conveying this, sugarcoated and mild mannered. And it really pissed me off. Excuse me, but I’m more aware than anyone that I haven’t been painting. To the bone aware of it. I don’t need to be poked and prodded about it. It’s not like I can pull ten extra hours a day out of my butt and be in the studio working. I do like to sleep sometimes. Anyway …
Back to what I did manage to get done. When I was last painting, I had started an abstract and had gotten relatively close to finishing it. I propped it against a wall and studied it for awhile. I kept getting that feeling that it just wasn’t complete as it was but I couldn’t figure out the best resolution. I tossed around a couple of things but they just didn’t work. So it lingered in the studio, frustratingly unfinished. I took it to work with me one day last week to get my art buddy/business partner Paul to give me his opinion. After some discussion we came up with what I thought was a pretty good idea. Later that evening I started implementing the idea. Halfway through I again propped the work up again to study it. That’s when it hit me … I didn’t like the painting. I didn’t like the way the whole damn thing looked. It didn’t flow, didn’t feel like what I’d had imagined and tried to convey. The colors that had seems so exciting a few weeks before now seem depressing and flat. It had no oomph. It just didn’t work for me.
God is an artist and that’s why he invented gesso. Hail gesso! An artist’s best friend. I got out my big jug, a big brush, and painted over the entire canvas. Granted, it still had the texturizing medium I’d put on it for the abstract but hey, I can live with texture. That canvas was nice and white and clean again. Ready for something new. I feel the need for something light, something less abstract, something like An Ocean Of Time. So that’s what I’ve started. Only it’s a butterfly instead of a sea turtle. Blue’s and lavender’s and magenta’s and yellow’s and green’s. We’ll see where it goes. And you can, too, because I’ve been taking pictures as I’ve been working so that I can put it on my web page, The Wet Brush. I think it’s sucked pond water that I created the page and haven’t had a good chance to use it. I hope to get the images I have thus far up this coming weekend. I’ll let you know.
For now, it’s late and it’s time to get some sleep.
Namaste, y’all …
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