September 13th, 2003

breeden

(no subject)

Working on a painting. Another real painting. I just sold a big piece, for rather a lot, (and once Mr. Check arrives, I will be able to pay a number of Mr. Bills, like VISA, and Ellen, and the Dark Angel of Rent) and after I was done dancing around the house whooping, it occurred to me that I hadn't done a larrrge piece for awhile, and that my stock of acrylic originals had taken a plunge in the last month or so. So more or less on a whim, I pulled out one of the 24 x 36 canvases in the closet and started slapping paint at it.

My normal method of doing a physical painting is pretty damn anal. I do a digital sketch, get it all laid out, transfer the sketch to a canvas via projector, then build it up in a set of glazes. And it works pretty well--it's how I'm doing the Frogscape, for example, and it's good for commissions because the client knows pretty much exactly what they're gonna get.

This one, however, I had a vague notion that maybe I wanted to paint something with tree bark. And that was all I knew, so I picked up a pallete knife and just started slathering paint on, alternateing Payne's Gray and Titanium White. It was a much more spontaneous sort've thing than usual--for example, I wound up flipping it over when I realized that the part I'd been thinking was the sky had to be the tree, because I'd gotten all these bark textures in the drips. In a way, it's almost like the megascribble thing--alternating dark and light, without much of a plan, and just building up out of whatever happens. And I got a weird little composition going, and then I decided to add a Raw Umber wash, and that's how I found myself finger painting, which I hadn't done for years, Painter 7 not being conducive to such things.

By the time it's done, assuming it doesn't get abandoned partway through, as it occasionally the fate of paintings, I'll probably return to anal detail again, but it's always fun to just slap paint around occasionally.
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breeden

(no subject)

Today in my inbox, I got a very polite letter from a nice Christian person (with a suitably adrogynous name that I cannot speculate as to appropriate pronouns) who politely disagreed with my long-ago rant entitled "Art is Hell" which I wrote in one of those moods a few years back, and wrote about it at some length. Very politely.

And I never know what to say. They obviously meant well, and they took the time to write, and yet the arguments are all premised on a foundation that I simply don't accept, and so there's no point in going through and refuting them--it's like arguing cosmologies with someone who has well-constructed, logical beliefs about unicorns. They may be marvelously logical beliefs, but it won't change the fundamental fact that I don't believe in unicorns, and thus there is no point in us discussing whether or not unicorns would prefer daisies over tulips. (I should note, here, that I don't think Christianity is quite on par with belief in unicorns for inherent silliness, but since a flat earth and crop circles can be demonstrably proven to be false, unlike heaven and hell, unicorns were the first unprovable I could think of off the top of my head. Sorry 'bout that, gang. Wish I'd found a less condescending metaphor.)

If you refuse the basic tenet, then it doesn't really matter how good the rest is. My mind cannot be changed by discussion of Christianity, because I simply do not accept the basic tenet. And yet I feel badly--here's someone who took a good amount of their time to think out what they wanted to say, and who means well, and who was very nice about the whole thing and never called me a godless infidel or anything, and said a few nice things about my art, and yet I have nothing much to say. It's a poor repayment for the amount of effort they expended to simply say "I disagree, but thanks for sharing your viewpoint," although that'll probably be what I wind up doing.

Once upon a time, I might've gone and argued simply for the sake of arguing, out of my pent-up hostility towards the religion of my youth, but those days are past, and those angsts largely mined out--I have to put on the Nine Inch Nails and read up on witch burnings to regain that kind of bitterness, and I have so much better things to do with my life, it's not even funny. And nice people who e-mail me meaning well, and saying what they feel impelled by their moral code to say, and saying it nicely, and like my art even if parts of it make 'em uncomfortable, don't deserve that kinda crap from me.

Unless they start spouting 7-day Creationism, in which case there is no mercy, and I'll go crazy like a constipated howler monkey on 'em. But c'mon, that almost never happens.
breeden

(no subject)

Dear god. Has it come to this?

Am I really contemplating using...Mars Black acrylic?

Madness!

I have used more Iridescent Bright Gold acrylic than Mars Black! My tube has not been touched since my student days! I don't know if the cap still comes off!

Someone hold me. I'm scared.
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