Finally, this past weekend, I had the experience I realize I've been hoping for as a painter. I've been feeling so drawn to the paints, but I'm used to the way photographs feel as if they are created, not by me, but through me, and I wasn't getting that with the paintings. I'm too aware of my own weaknesses to really want to control how a painting looks, but I wasn't able to step aside and let the painting build itself until this one, which just sort of... happened. I painted for a bit, things were starting to get muddy so I stopped, and then I just spent time with what I had, looking for what wanted to be kept, what thrown away or covered, and why. This is what emerged, and I'm pleased. I don't even need you to be pleased -- which is the other piece of why I don't want to control where a painting goes: if I don't force it, then it's not "mine," in the sense that I created it and hope you'll admire it. It just is, and it either speaks/appeals to you or it doesn't. What matters is that I feel more in balance with the process that created it.
Now that I've had a glimpse of what it might actually feel like to be painting, I can't wait to do more! Luckily I've a workshop coming up this weekend. I'm hoping that painting on unexpectedly large canvases in a roomful of strangers will encourage me to step aside and let more paintings create themselves. It's a bit like birthing, I think: at this stage in my life, I think I'd rather be a midwife than go into labor myself...
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