Untitled
20.5" x 15"
Acrylic on wood
20.5" x 15"
Acrylic on wood
SOLD
Yikes! It's been over a month since I've posted. What a slug I am. It's been a busy month. I worked on the show "Monk" for a week, we traveled to San Antonio and San Francisco visiting friends and family, I injured my back which laid me up for about 2 weeks... whew!
I was thinking today on my run. My work, (painting) recently has felt forced, and uninspired. I'm not sure why. I don't know that I've tapped into that sense of melancholy/inner rage for a long time. Is that what makes "art"? What the hell constitutes "art" anyway? Do I have to feel all this in order to paint something worthwhile? I don't know if it's because I'm getting older, and mellowing with age, perhaps it's because I feel less inclined to feel depressed/angry, whatever, because, well, frankly, these days I'm pretty happy. It sounds corny, but wife is the best thing to ever happen to me. Period. I'm a very lucky man, and maybe that reflects on the work. I definitely think my work has gotten lighter since I've known my wife (that, and a comment from a friend who buys art also helped me lighten the palette.) Can a painter still do worthwhile work when he's happy? God, I hope so. Must be. I still can't refer to myself as an "artist". It seems self-serving. Do I feel that way about other people calling themselves artists? No, absolutely not. Double standard? You bet. But, it's the way it is.
Which brings me to this painting. It elicits little emotion from me. It's for a show I'm hoping to have in November. It was supposed to be next week, but with all the time I had to take off, I had to push the show a month. I've begun work on a diptych. I'll keep you posted. Thanks for checking in.
Yikes! It's been over a month since I've posted. What a slug I am. It's been a busy month. I worked on the show "Monk" for a week, we traveled to San Antonio and San Francisco visiting friends and family, I injured my back which laid me up for about 2 weeks... whew!
I was thinking today on my run. My work, (painting) recently has felt forced, and uninspired. I'm not sure why. I don't know that I've tapped into that sense of melancholy/inner rage for a long time. Is that what makes "art"? What the hell constitutes "art" anyway? Do I have to feel all this in order to paint something worthwhile? I don't know if it's because I'm getting older, and mellowing with age, perhaps it's because I feel less inclined to feel depressed/angry, whatever, because, well, frankly, these days I'm pretty happy. It sounds corny, but wife is the best thing to ever happen to me. Period. I'm a very lucky man, and maybe that reflects on the work. I definitely think my work has gotten lighter since I've known my wife (that, and a comment from a friend who buys art also helped me lighten the palette.) Can a painter still do worthwhile work when he's happy? God, I hope so. Must be. I still can't refer to myself as an "artist". It seems self-serving. Do I feel that way about other people calling themselves artists? No, absolutely not. Double standard? You bet. But, it's the way it is.
Which brings me to this painting. It elicits little emotion from me. It's for a show I'm hoping to have in November. It was supposed to be next week, but with all the time I had to take off, I had to push the show a month. I've begun work on a diptych. I'll keep you posted. Thanks for checking in.
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