I have tried several times to add these pictures in the correct order but blogger has decided it isn't going to happen that way. I like a nice, orderly story. Not all choppy. But I'm going to make the best of this and not try and download the pictures a fifth and sixth time with no improvement. So---let us begin. I decided to paint today. I haven't painted in several years even though I love the process and loose "time" when I paint. Has that ever happened to you? You get so involved in the work--time passes without you even being aware of it.
Anyway, I decided to paint. So I dug the paints out of the closet, got a dessert plate as palette, and choose colors to match my "model".
My model had once been selected to be my lunch. Today it was too pretty to eat. Red and ripe with golden overtones it begged to be painted. The photograph doesn't do the "model" justice--mainly because the photographer must have wiggled a bit as the picture was snapped. I hate when that happens.
The painting itself far exceeded my expectations. This is not the way I have painted before. It just "happened". I have to also admit to giving the small painting away as a gift--little knowing --until I saw this photo--that it was this nice. So round. So joyful. Do you think I should ask for it back?
I still have the "model" so it is possible to try and "do it again", but the next painting will be different in some small way-like a snowflake. I will be interested in finding out if this new way of painting is a certain thing. Do you think the quilting I have been doing since I stopped painting has somehow changed the intuitive nature of my technique? Is that how it happens? I was never taught how to paint--it's just something I have always known how to do. Not well. Not perfectly. Not prize winning quality. Nice, joyful and satisfying.
I have been reading Melanie's blog and she is searching for the "new" in her work. It also seems that she may be searching to add more depth of meaning to her work. Someone once told me that we change our view of our work every seven years. Sort of a "seven year itch" so to speak. We decide we like different colors, different styles, techniques, processes, etc. Sounds like we are shedding our skin as we grow into a more mature version of ourselves. Perhaps that is what I see in my "Pear". A more mature version of myself.