Last night I had one of those moments. The kind where you feel totally lost, not really knowing even if you really know how or why you should paint. Like, what's the point. Been here, done that. Its in my head, so why do I have to actually put it on canvas. I know I can. It would just be wasting paint. Why not just savor the fact that I can if I want, but I'm not going to paint. I rebelled and tried to resist against having to actually say anything on canvas. "I'm an artist, I can do what I want" , I said.. .. but wait, ... maybe I'm chickening out here. Maybe I'm afraid I forgot how to be spontaneous. Maybe, because I don't have any tangible subject matter to rely on, I am trying to worm out of something I may fail at doing.
About that time, I got really pissed at myself for thinking like an amateur first year student. Then I realized, its doesn't mean anything. Paint, don't paint. I can if I want, or not. There is no bad art, there is just art that didn't happen because you didn't want it to.
So, with that thought in my head, .. I decided to start the process. With the first brushstroke it broke the doubt. I felt absolute certainty that I would paint despite my resistant mood. It was as if, the more I painted, the more that voice saying I cannot, got weaker and weaker, and faded into my artistic furor that now dominated my everything of the moment. It was total rejection of that idiot voice of doubt.
Now that I look back at it, I realize my getting pissed, is what pushed me on. I rebelled against uncertainty and I parted company with it. Wether the work I did is good, bad, or ugly, I could care less. It was the fact that I did it despite my mood. Mood does not dictate when I paint. I do.
Anyway, .. here's the piece.