If you can stand one more quote (hang in there, dear reader!), this one speaks to me of my own inner rebellion of the last couple of years along with maybe something more universal that we're all experiencing during tumultuous times:
I know, for me, it has taken half a century to cross some ocean in myself. And finally, what I feel is what I say and what I say is what I mean. What I mean is that others, so used to my gargantuan efforts to be good, don't understand my efforts to be real. They find me coming up short. But I'm simply burning old masks.
I promise not to burn my covid masks (of which I am curating quite a collection). Just the odd metaphorical mask which stands between the real me and the world.
About the art: This piece began as the thing you are NEVER supposed to do as a painter - use the leftover paint on your palette to begin a new piece, without purpose or planning. And, in general, whenever I try that a big coat of gesso goes over the entire thing and I begin again. In this rare instance, however, there was an interesting composition in the hastily splatted paint. And thus I landed in a dystopian forest landscape with a fiery backdrop to charred trees. Acrylic paint thickly applied with rubber wedge, paintbrush, fingers and chopstick.
About the painting: another archeological piece which has been sitting on the easel for months. With each other painting I was working on, another layer or mark or glaze was added to this one. It was an exercise in not being focused on outcome or progress. Rather, just adding a bit here and there until it unveiled what it wanted to be. The still point between other paintings. :
About the art: continued small studies in color palettes from the e-course last month. Acrylic heaped on collage with scraper and brush and rubber wedge and fingers. This week I am painting with Princeton Catalyst Polytip brushes, which are oooooooooh la la for a girl who likes stiff but responsive, nearly indestructible brushes. These pieces were finished with a touch of oil pastel and a sprinkling of fairy dust.
Jen Jovan and her imaJENation