For some reason this particular painting, which I began in August, 2016, challenged my faith in that process. Questions of my inherent ability arose as days and then weeks of small amendments didn't really advance the work.
In early October, I had to admit I was totally stuck. There seemed to be no way forward that would satisfy and I was struggling more than usual to eliminate parts of it. This painting hung there taunting me. I didn't have a clue how to proceed.
|Stuck, after several weeks.|
By December, wondering if I should just paint over the entire surface and begin again, I realized it wasn't just a painting anymore. It was a metaphor for my own uncertain, unsettled self. I began working on it again in earnest.
Eventually it started to greet me with less hostility. We were sharing true communication. In the final stages of any of my paintings, I go over every inch of the surface to make sure there are no marks, spaces or colors that disturb me. Then, standing back, if it lifts me up, I experience the satisfied joy of completion.
For this painting, there was extended, distressful floundering for clues, for progress and for affirmation. As difficult as it was, I am proud of myself for working through the dark thoughts of giving up. More than that, to come out on the other side, in gratitude, the long process truly a deep listening.