I am back to slinging paint. I still don’t know what I’m doing, but that has never stopped me before, so why should this be different?
It’s true that I had a burst of painting the week before surgery, but I haven’t done anything since. That’s almost three months of inactivity. Kinda long! I don’t remember making the decision, it was just one moment I had a brush in my hand. It is still strange for me, coming from 35 years of digital work. Make a mistake? Hit undo. Make a mistake in paint? Make it work!
So, I suppose I’m not done with the tribute paintings to Vincent. I’ve got at least seven sketched out, one is mostly finished and three are with significant paint. I’m pretty happy with the one result, and there is potential for at least three more.
So, how is it going in painting in my style? I don’t know what that is. I’m mostly focused on not messing up the sketch when I put paint down. I’m happy with my sketches, I’m learning to be happy with the painting part. The problem is that my sketches don’t reflect any particular style, so how can’t the painting? I think often of my friend Bob, who just threw paint on the canvas, like he was cleaning his room. I want that freedom and confidence.
Which brings me to a thought. What would it look like if true encouragement was active in your life? Would you do more, or would you take a break and bask in the emotion?
I’m certain that lack of encouragement is the root of many evils. I can’t imagine a depressed person filled with encouragement. I can’t imagine an angry person, a bitter person, or a sarcastic person who has been richly encouraged.
If you had the cure for cancer, would you apply it to friends and strangers? The answer seems so obvious, but people suffer every day from the lack of encouragement, and each of us can find some good to download, while we are able.
Yet, so much is unsaid… which creates so much that is undone.