The Ghost of Painting Past

"When she came to the boxes of her father's painting supplies, the artist's daughter opened each box.  The smell of the paint reminded her of sitting in her daddy's workshop as a little girl, watching her daddy paint bright colorful abstracts.  She remembers how her daddy would make up a story for each one, just for her."

So....things are going BET TER.  ...In The Studio.   I have kept my promise to paint everyday....no matter what.  And my flu is getting better.  The above is a tiny itty bitty detail of the painting that I'm working on.  I dare not show you the full image before the painting's finished.  I can't even stand the idea of my studio mate seeing it.  Each night when I leave I tuck my easel in my closet, painting first.

About a year ago, I bought a box of oil paints at The Harwood yard sale.  Every year, the harwood has this huge yard sale and lots of people donate stuff.  Some of it is art supplies but mostly it's just a hodge podge of this and that.  So I bought a box of oil paints for $20.  It was a hell of a deal.  There were over 30 tubes of oil paints....the big ones, not the tiny ones.  Some of them were trash, they were cracked or all dried up or in some way unusable, but most of them were good.  (Stay with me, I'm getting somewhere with all this.)

Some of them still had price tags on them....with prices so low, they couldn't have been sold in the last 20-30 years.  And although they were the same brands I've used before, they packaging design was totally different.  And the tops were encrusted on.  I had to use a pair of pliers to unscrew the tops.  Occasionally I needed pliers AND man power (by which I mean "Honey can you get this? It's too hard for me!")

So as I was painted tonight, I was using said paints.  (I should mention here that oil paints never "go bad."  As long as they're not dried up, they're good forever.)  And as I was painting I was thinking about these tubes of paint.  I was imagining that an old artist had passed away in the 1970s, leaving all his paints and supplies behind.  He had been a serious painter and had experienced some commercial success but had always felt that he had yet to make his best painting.  His masterpiece lay ahead of him.  He felt this way about his work until the day he died.

His paints sat in a box in his attic for decades, until his wife passed away in 2009, at which point his daughter and son-in-law took it upon themselves to go through everything in the house.  They threw out many things, mailed things to relatives they knew would appreciate it, and donated the majority to charity.

When she came to the boxes of her father's painting supplies, the artist's daughter opened each box.  The smell of the paint reminded her of sitting in her daddy's workshop as a little girl, watching her daddy paint bright colorful abstracts.  She remembers how her daddy would make up a story for each one, just for her.


Slowly she squeezed the squishy metal tubes in her hands, one by one, and thought "I can't throw these away."  So she takes the paints and all his other supplies to a local community art center and donates them.  Hoping they'll find their way to someone who will use them.  But they sit on a shelf in the storage closet behind downstairs bathroom for a few months and then finally come out to join the yard sale one friday in April.

And this is how these paints came to me.

And tonight as I shuffled around my studio, grabbing tubes and squeezing tubes and mixing colors and dripping oil and slapping paint onto canvas,  I imagined that old artist sitting in the corner of my studio right below my light, cheering me on.  "Yes!  Just like that!  That's perfect!  Oh that's the PERFECT color!"  He's delighted that I'm using his paints!  And I'm delighted that he's delighted!  And he's so proud of me!

The Confrontation

I mentioned yesterday that I had a rough night at the studio. I took some pictures to document my....my struggle. Documenting something...to me....makes it less horrible. It's comforting. It takes it out of the realm of reality and puts it into the realm of art. Everything is better when it's in the realm of art.

It was still day when I got there. I wasn't feeling so good. I also mentioned yesterday that I have the flu. But I was determined not to let that stop me.

I haven't worked on a painting that wasn't a commissioned portrait in about 2 years! Until last night.

Trying to start a painting is always a bit trepidatious. But lately I've been having real issues with painting. Every time I looked at my big white canvas I thought I would pass out. Maybe that was just the flu though.

I was so scared to get started. There's a very specific feeling that I've had before: it's when I start a new painting....and an hour or so into it...i just know it's wrong....and i know it can't be saved.

And the fear of that feeling, is ....well ...it's scary. I want this to go WELL. I don't want to cry.

But it may not. That's a possibility I have to face. But right now, there's so much potential.

The minute my brush touches it....everything will be different. I feel like I could throw up. But that's probably just the flu.

I wonder when Brenden's gonna be here with my tacos.

How am I going to do this painting in a week? Have I ever done a painting in a week?

Okay I need some music. What the right song to begin a painting to?

Ok...Lykke Li...Melodies And Desires.....okay here i go BIG STROKE OF BLACK AHHH!!!

Chug Chug Chug Puff Puff Puff I think I can I think I can

so...i don't know how well tonight went.  i'm just so exhausted all the time it's hard to even sit up.  i had planned to do this painting in black and white and i started tonight.  i did start.  and then i took a break because brenden came and brought me tacos.  and as i sat there on the couch staring at my recently begun painting it just looked so chalky.  it made me think of chalk and then i thought of chalk in my mouth....like chalkboard chalk....and that made my teeth hurt.   and i mixed a whole palette full of grey paint....and now i don't even want to do it in black and white.  and the idea of going back into the studio tomorrow makes me want to turn into a puddle of mylanta.  so now i'm just in this impossible head space where i need to take more action desperately to get out of this head space but i can barely gather the strength to stand up.

The Fear Of Painting

I didn't go to Las Vegas.  I have the flu.  You know that one that people get the flu shot to avoid getting...that one.   I began falling ill Thursday night.  I've eaten enough ibuprofen in the last 5 days to kill a mule.  Nevertheless, I am TRYING to get to my studio today.  I have a painting that I need to make and it must be done by this saturday so that it can be dry and ready to hang by thursday in time for the Harwood's opening on Friday.

This afternoon as I lay in bed feeling helplessly stuck in a body that won't cooperate and I thought "Why?"  Why?  Why did you get the flu Juliet?  What was happening Thursday night that made you want to get the flu?  

Do you want to know what I was doing?  I was painting.  I was in my studio, lights off, high wattage clamp lights on, lighting up this little canvas where I was half-heartedly (1/9th heartedly, let's be honest) painting a dog.  It was a commission.  And I was miserable.  But I was strong.  I held my brush and my palette and put paint to canvas and did it again and again until the underpainting was done.  

And then I drove home.

Then then I got home.

And I felt like a creature made of a hard yet brittle substance.  Like some sort of bug that could be squashed under my black payless boots or be eaten by my cat.  And  don't I hate it when she crunches those things in front of me.  And I can hear her crunching.  I really hate that.

And I opened my laptop and opened pictures on my hard drive and plotted out my painting for the show at the Harwood.  

And all the while, from somewhere hidden, this voice said "Why do you bother? This is a waste of time.  What are you going to accomplish with paint?  You're gonna be miserable.  It won't come out the way you want it to.  Oh Lord, Here we go again?  Why can't you just quit painting and stick to it!"

I don't know who's voice that was.  Maybe it was a demon.  AN INCUBUS!!  (watch the movie ink if you haven't seen it yet!)

So, I realized today that I'm terrified to get back into my studio and paint.  This is what I wanted and I'm terrified.  So terrified I contracted the flu.  The best ever excuse not to go paint.

About an hour ago, I had a conversation with Painting.  Don't ask me what I mean by this.  

Ok fine!   I was sensing a being who was the representation of the art of painting.  It was a she?  And I sensed that she wanted me to paint.  So I decided to talk to her directly.  I asked her if she had something to say to me.  And then I wrote down her answer.

She said to give her a chance.  She said I had to go to my studio everyday and put on my gloves and open my tubes of paint.  She said I had to try.  And that I could doubt myself but not to doubt her, just show up everyday and try.

So it's 4:15 pm and I'm lying in bed wrapped in towels, doped up on flu medication, and feeling like I'm at the halfway point between dead and alive.  But I'm going to get dressed and I'm going to get in my car and I'm going to go to my studio and try.  Don't wish me luck.  There's no such thing.

I will be in Vegas until Monday night....on a secret mission.

YAY!!  the new business cards are ORDERED!!  I'm so excited!  oh they're gonna be soooo bangin!

wait till you see....a work of art.  designed them myself.  took me FOREVER.  but it's DONE!

I bought "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron today.  A book I told myself I'd never read.  Because so many people had told me to read it.  I read the first 10 pages today and I LOVE IT!  DAMN IT!  I really tried to roll my eyes and act like a too-sophisticated/hipster/know-it-all but instead I ended up all wide-eyed and giggly, underlining away, and having the subtle sensation of a small child-like angel tickling my face with goose feathers.