A few years ago- five, six, seven years ago?- I went down to my basement dungeon art room in our old house and made several large paintings with wet, swirly acrylic and acrylic ink that I let flow and do what it would. It was an attempt to escape Christmas drama, and it worked. But I couldn't accept these paintings as "good" because... well I guess because I wasn't controlling the paint. They just didn't fit my idea of what a good painting (produced by me) would be.
The painting pictured here was one of them. The face in this painting, though somewhat buddha-like, struck me as looking like something out of a graphic novel, and to me that just wasn't good painting. I dunno- have you ever had an idea stuck in your head?
It went on display as part of my first ever solo show at Polychrome Fine Art, and although that could have conceivably elevated it in my eyes, I still looked at it askance. David wanted it to hang in his music room in the house we live in now, and I wasn't opposed. It actually looks quite striking on the gold wall. Now I look at the painting in the morning when I use the exercise bike, and I think about my pre-conceived notions of what good art is. I have come to enjoy looking at what the paint did in this one, and I try not to judge it too harshly. I've also done plenty of similar paintings since then. I'm attempting to be more open-minded with both my own and other works of art. Still working on it...
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