4 Paintings this Christmas. "Everyone loves something handmade" I said to myself, the cheap justification, the real reason is that nobody I know needs a bloody thing and I'm kinda broke, we're all at that age where if we want it, we have it, gifts are merely the token junk that simply cycle through our hands on the way to the thrift shop, the obligatory commercial spirit of Christmas.
I can do better than that. I'll make something.
The dogs, 1 to my brother, 1 to my sister, My brother, he was polite and looked interested, promised to hang it on a spot on the wall. There's an art to gracefully recieving the handmade gift and he's got it down. My sister, probably no less graceful but fortunate to be out of town this Christmas, she got lucky in that she can pull a wider variety of faces when she opens hers, I won't be there to see. I wish I was there to see.
Now there's 2 paintings left to finish, Christmas has been postponed at the restaurant, for my friend Milan, until I finish these 2 paintings, and I'm running out of time, out of excuses.
Procrasturbation
There's a sale at Kensington Art Supply
Npw all I need is a palette but I'm paused at the idea of saving money, I need some more acrylics and the prices are good and even better on sale...
It's a tiered sale, meaning the more you spend, the more you save, 10% off to $50.00, 15% off to $100.00, up to 25% off at $200.00, You'll save the most if you don't spend a thing but most customers tend to forget that. It destroys the fun.
Now really, I have more paint and supplies than I'll probably use in a year so with great effort I just purchase the palette, and check (furtively) when the sale ends; maybe I can come back...
My Way
Every artist has their own way of doing things. Me, I look at my subject, count the number of Noses, Eyes, Mouths, Ears, then use that to build up my painting. Not that that's the right way or the wrong way, it's just my way. Every artist has their own way.
Now I notice that the owner's daughter's eyes are crooked. I should have noticed this a long time ago. Still, she has 2 (and here I check my notes: yep, 2 eyes), and even if they look a bit like they're speeding towards her nose (1 nose, yep, it's right in my notes) he should be happy.
Except.
Except that the girl looks like his daughter if she'd been converted into an inflatable sex doll and then painted by me. I removed all the wrinkles, creases from the face, blended the colors into a homogenous mass because that's what little kids are like, all pudgy and blobby and now the painting looks as if I've painted an overinflated sex doll. I make a note, that should be a different series of paintings. And they're cheap models and fun to party with after.
Now there's Milan.
The colors grow muddy on the palette. Bright colors lose their lustre, blues and red mix and form irridescent puddles of purple, at certain moments, when I squint and turn my head from the canvas and catch it out of the corner of my eye I can see a resemblance, but it vanishes when viewed head on. A friend that looks sortof like a friend but mostly like a feared enemy or a red-indian - too heavy on the Cadmium Red, I think, and I take an old sock and begin to rub things out.
In the meantime I think of alternate titles for it:
"Definitely not Milan" and I try to gloss over it's many imperfections with lines like "It sure took a lot of paint" or "I'll bet you don't have anything like this" but I have a feeling those just might be his lines as well, and I've got to leave him room for something to say.
It really shouldn't need this much explaining.