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Every good picture leaves the painter eager to start again, unsatisfied, inspired by the rich mine in which he is working, hoping for more energy, more vitality, more time – condemned to painting for life.
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As I get ready for the upcoming West End Gallery show, I am nearing the point that artist John French Sloan describes above. In the weeks just before an exhibit there always seems to be a point where that rich mine of inspiration is finally reached. The work flows easily and before one work is off the easel, another is forming in the mind. It’s a time that is invigorating, brimming with the energy and vitality that Sloan mentions.
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Intoxicating.
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And like anyone with an addiction, taking away the intoxicant induces a form of withdrawal. That’s where I am now. The brushes must be put down and other parts of the process– framing and such– demand attention. I do it but all the time I am wistfully looking at the empty canvasses and the tubes of paint.
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That deep mine still has a lot to yield and I want to go back in before I forget exactly where it was and have to start digging all over again. Yeah, I am that condemned painter. And I am thankful for it every day.
Redtree Times 