The new studio is great: high ceilings, a huge wall of north facing windows and space enough for areas to paint, relax, stretch canvases, make tea, and do office tasks. The floor is spattered from previous tenants’ art-making, so there’s no need to worry about damage. The floor is also smooth, a necessity for someone who puts casters on nearly everything. It’s a big improvement over the large tiles in my last work space. Bump, bump, bump.
And yet...there are days when I drag myself in to this perfect studio, fiddle with photos endlessly, and do whatever I can to postpone getting down to work. Mama told me there’d be days like these? Well, no she didn’t and it wasn’t addressed in school either. How to find the door that opens to the garden of painterly
bliss--everyday.
I have a library of books on the subject. My current favorite is Art & Fear. I used to buy books as if the buying and reading alone will solve the problem. I don’t anymore because I have so many I can re-read my library and it’s all new.
But there have been days when I was up against the wall with a deadline, painting twelve hour days, and cross when it was time to quit. That golden carrot is what keeps me sticking with it, year after year. And those days only happen when I show up, squeeze some paint on my palette, and start making raspy strokes on a drum tight canvas.
I hate taking the advice I give my students.
And yet...there are days when I drag myself in to this perfect studio, fiddle with photos endlessly, and do whatever I can to postpone getting down to work. Mama told me there’d be days like these? Well, no she didn’t and it wasn’t addressed in school either. How to find the door that opens to the garden of painterly
bliss--everyday.
I have a library of books on the subject. My current favorite is Art & Fear. I used to buy books as if the buying and reading alone will solve the problem. I don’t anymore because I have so many I can re-read my library and it’s all new.
But there have been days when I was up against the wall with a deadline, painting twelve hour days, and cross when it was time to quit. That golden carrot is what keeps me sticking with it, year after year. And those days only happen when I show up, squeeze some paint on my palette, and start making raspy strokes on a drum tight canvas.
I hate taking the advice I give my students.
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