Vincent van Gogh didn’t start painting until his twenties. He produced about 900 paintings, and then he died at thirty-seven. I’d say, he was fucking prolific. In my book, that’s obsessive painting over the course of a couple of decades.
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Bygones be Back
Bringing up this particular painting is a touchy subject, not just because of the process I experienced in making the thing or what it means to me on an emotional level, but because of the physical piece itself. Honestly, it’s become a haunting albatross around my neck. One reason is the size. It doesn’t fit into any car. Anytime I want to move it, I have to rent a truck. Plus, I can’t enjoy it for what it is anymore. It causes me too much anxiety.
Continue readingSorting Through
I’ve been remiss on painting and went back to writing for a little while. Well, wait, that’s not exactly true. First I procrastinated completely.
Continue readingSlow Like a Tortoise
Like I’ve stated before, things are going slow around here, but I managed to finish that painting, which I titled, Sprout. It seemed appropriate at the time. I usually title things right when I finish them and forget about it from there on after, kind of like the title of this blog post.
Continue readingToday-ah
I’ve finally been back to painting. Little by little. I haven’t really been able to work for more than two to three hours a day, but at least that’s something.
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