If you’re a regular reader of this blog (thank you!), you might know by now I’m a bit of a nutcase. In turns intense and unyielding in concentration, then goofy, silly and liberated.
I know it makes me a really good artist. The combination of the two – fierce focus and an unusual freedom – make for some interesting results.
I am not the Queen of letting go, even though this blog title suggests it. Painting like this is a wrangle; a fight. It’s so hard, even though it looks fairly simple. Just blobs of colour, right?
Wrong. It’s surrender, it’s turning off the brain and working with the heart, the imagination. It’s feeling. It’s *knowing* what colour where, yes, but it’s not listening to what you know, or a pre-ordained colour palette. It’s letting your instinct rule, and your hand mix the colour before your mind has told you to. Long hours of practice helps, for sure. Many paintings and much cursing must occur before it gets even slightly automatic, I’ll admit it. And even then, automatic is so deeply the wrong word, as that suggests easy, and existing within the building knife edge tension of a painting like this is anything but.
Is it like sex? Yes, maybe, a little. And I would be lying if I said it wasn’t (almost) as good.