The second painting of Samanda's face is completed and I can get back to the rest of the painting with an easy mind. I only have a couple of weeks left to complete it if I want to submit it for one of two shows next month. I lost almost a week here with this redo but it had to be done. I might spend more time in the studio painting if it weren't so dark every day! I prefer
natural light and there hasn't been much of that lately. By 4pm I can barely see in here. The colour corrected light definitely helps but it has a negative impact on my "looking" sense. I guess I should get over it. Meanwhile, I am struggling to finish up tax forms since Bob wants
to send his in soon and he is mostly done with his except for the part about my income and expenses, etc. I consider myself a reasonably intelligent person but income tax forms make me glaze right over. It's stupid, it's psychological, and it's my little way of protesting...all to my own detriment.
I am already anxious to move on from this painting. I can see so many flaws in the composition and the concept. I should stop looking at the work of other artists whose work is better than mine...except I still want to learn. It's a bit galling that these other artists I admire are about 1/3 century younger than I am. Then I realized that there is positive regard again for the realist schools and old masters ways of painting, which wasn't the case when I went to art school in the mid 60's. Then the NY School of Abstract Expressionism was God with acolytes following the headliners and the newer schools of Pop, Op, and Conceptual. I leaned toward Pop in order not to be completely ostracized but my heart was with Magic Realism, Art Nouveau, and Pre Raphaelites. I drank up Holbein, Van Eyck, and Botticelli. I took Graphic Design and Illustration rather than Painting Techniques (had to be practical) and over the years painted my own things struggling to find that which I could only know when I saw it. Suddenly there is a whole new school of fabulous young painters out there painting the things I envisioned (but vaguely) and had no encouragement for. Now at 65 I think I am just opening up to what has been inside all this time. Better late than never I guess.
Here are some of my favorite young painters: