11/30/2022 0 Comments Black paint canvasI cannot say that there weren’t a few quiet tears that emerged as I painted, it’s just become normal now any time I take a step forwards again. The colors surprised me by how collectively dark they were, as I’m usually a bright-and-saturated-happy colors kind of person. Keeping my palette simple and my concept simple, I dipped my brush to canvas, and placed thick daubs of paint throughout the canvas, and the image in my head vaguely emerged, final so I could confront it visually and face it. So, I chose four colors – ivory black, dioxazine purple, cobalt violet, and white. I couldn’t specify exactly at the time what the image was, but I feel like the darker colors may have been influenced some by the sadness and grief I had been experiencing vividly every day. It was of a canvas transitioning from black at the top evenly to a cool purple at the bottom, in the rainy style, but with a burst of white at the bottom right quarter of the canvas. Over several weeks in March 2021, I kept having a recurring image stuck in my mind, an idea for a painting for when I returned to painting. The canvas is covered in first coat of dots.The first paint stroke is the hardest part. The quick mark making and timed sessions helped to break down some of my hesitancy to even work with paint again, and it filled my studio with the smells of active oil painting again. To loosen up, when I taught one of my adult art students, we did a collaborative painting exercise, in which we would each make paint marks on individual canvases, abstract, and then switch canvases after every 4 minutes and do it again. Not just like learning to ride a bike again, where muscle memory takes over, but learning to ride a bike with square wheels – not going anywhere very fast, even if going through the motions. When I finally did start to paint again on my first painting, it was a little more difficult than I expected. After his death, my grief snatched my paintbrush from me, and anytime I even so much as walked into my studio, I would be reminded of my father. In April, I picked up my paintbrush again, almost reluctantly, but necessarily.ĭuring his care, I didnt have any desire to paint, only to take care of him to the best of my ability and spend as much time with him as I could, as we could as a family. I hadn’t painted a thing since my father’s cancer diagnosis and experiencing the mourning of his eventual death. In April 2021, I decided I would resume my art practice.
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