Thursday, May 20, 2010
The Agony of Defeat
Well I've been working on a painting that was supposed to be a reflection of a vision I had. I still have the vision, but what I dont have is the skill yet to put it on canvas. I have to declare this painting dead, so what do I do with the carcass? My first thought is to simply paint over it. My other thought is to try to fix it, but really, I dont think I can express it yet. My wife suggests I put it away for a later date. She says, put it away and start fresh. What if I was to die tomorrow? Would I want that painting hanging around? Jeesh. Yet, I did make it, however disappointing it is. I know...I could give it to my mother! She sees everything through the eyes of love. Heck, I could paint an X on a piece of paper, and she would love it because I made it. No thats not fair. She is deservant of a much nicer work! Maybe I should keep it as an example of how not to execute my vision in the future. I know I have to make mistakes so I can learn...jeesh, and now I feel bad about wanting to destroy this darn thing. As I look at it, I kinda feel sorry for it. Maybe if I spend a bit more time on it, I could then put it away...ya thats it
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Sometimes the effort itself is enough...
ReplyDeleteIn early 1985 I began a massive oil painting to donate to assist in ending the Ethiopian famine which was eventually to claim as many as a million lives.
I woke up one night in a vivid dream as one of the million souls starving who had nowhere to go to relieve the agony. After waking I was overcome with a sense of the desperation that parents were experiencing as they watched their children starve. I imagine that had a lot to do with the fact that I myself had 1 and 2 year old sons sleeping nearby.
The next day I bought the largest roll of canvass I could get my hands on. 8 feet high and unprimed. I forget how long it was, but it was a "carpet". I also bought oil paints, which take forever to dry, don't go as far as acrylics, stink (I love the smell) and don't wash out of material (being oil). What they do "do", however, is produce life-like colours. (Acrylics produce what I like to call "Popsicle colours").
I envisioned creating a realistic, barren desert scene with the minions of people holding on together in the searing heat and dust. In the sky I planned to paint it blue, create storm clouds, and then have it rain on the multitudes who would dance in delight as they celebrate the end of the drought. It was my heartfelt intention that if I painted this vision that it would somehow assist in making it happen for them.
After putting my sons down to sleep at night I would labor night after night on this realistic desert scene with its multitudes.
I watched newscasts announcing that musicians were gearing up to do something called "Live Aid" to help and I was obsessed with contributing.
I finished painting the desert and groupings of people and went about creating the sky and storm clouds. I worked through the night and unintentionally fell asleep on the floor beside the painting.
When I awoke in the morning my mural had rained! All over it, and the wall-to-wall broadloom of my studio, were the little blue footprints of my 2 year old son who wondered where his Daddy was and woke me only after he finished his work of art on my work of art. I carted him upstairs for his first turpentine experience.
A few hours later went to survey the damage and had a good cry. Not a sad one though. More a "joy of relief" cry. I was blown away that "Chris" made it rain. The little blue footprintes were everywhere. I rolled up my wet canvass carpet (and later tossed it).
Watching the news sometime after it showed monsoon like showers raining in Ethiopia. The report claimed that rain coming like this was another tragic event as it only washed away what little soil they had available to them to grow food.
Live Aid was a huge success but as it turned out money contibuted by Humanity apparently only made it as far as the Ethiopian military anyway.
I was naive, as were many others. But the intention, the experience, and the effort helped make me a better man I believe. I will always remember how profoundly grateful I was to my little son, Chris, who released me from my burden by finishing the painting for me.
We never got the little blue footprints out of the broadloom however.