The Thursday Painter has temporarily retired the “rock face” painting. It hangs in the house awaiting casual scrutiny of an evening. And then there were seven. Seven canvases at varying stages of conception: 2 that are of little interest – started and then ignored; 4 that are presently “on the go”; and1 that I try to ignore - a huge elephant sat just at the top of the ladder.
For a few weeks, there, I was on a roll: Werking away with the paintbrush, knowing almost intuitively where to pass each brush-stroke. Wednesdays and Thursdays here in this loft-space, I felt like an artist. Maybe it was the focus, and knowing I had deadlines to complete each of those commemorative date paintings by. Maybe I need more deadlines, something to aim for. I am feeling rudderless again.
Back from lunch, and tickling away at the sinister crow. It shouldn’t be like this. I am almost ready to give up on it completely, start a new painting – this was only really a sketch, a trial, an experiment – a small-scale maquette to see how it would work. To see if I could make it work. I take up a brush and go at it with conviction. I am happier with it now, still got some way to go, but definitely worth persevering.
Goodbye Crow, hello Ssshh. I just can’t seem to get this white neon to work for me. I don’t know whether to stay here and struggle on, or call it a day and go and do something else. If I clean my brushes, is that admitting defeat? I feel all cold inside. I feel like going in.
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