black dress

I haven't posted in here for awhile, so in some ways it feels funny to- like what is the point? Does anyone even read this blog? I feel a need to post about this one though.

I learned a lot from this painting.. the experience, really.

I felt an urge to paint tonight and if you know the circumstances of where/why we are where we are right now, it would make sense that I shouldn't paint. We are back, for a short time, from a long road trip, visiting with family and getting some things in order.  I don't have canvas. I don't even have a paint brush.  I have a few small tubes of paint, but everything else is in storage for now.  So it really didn't make sense to paint; but I did. 

I sat outside, under the shelter of a screened-in porch, plugged in my headphones and listened to my music as the rain fell.  I painted, in black and white, and felt oddly pleased with how the painting was coming along.  I struggled over the details...her face, her hands. This has always been a troublesome spot for me in paintings.  As I debated how to move forward, a large gust of wind blew my cup of icky paint water over.  It fell over the canvas, and myself, and if you know anything about acrylic paint, you know that it is water soluble and therefore when met with water, tends to spread.  Immediately I was frustrated and wanted to just give up.  I dabbed the water off the canvas, and the paused to look.  I was taken aback by how much I  liked this version of the painting even more actually.

This painting speaks to me in a child-like way.  The way this girl dances- so bold, so wild, so undignified. And yet, there is such mystery about her.  Although there is obvious sadness, there is also obvious freedom.  And that, I can identify with.  

So- not at all the experience I would envision with painting, but it is the process itself that makes art.  

The process is everything.