The Road to Cunèges 11x14 oil
This above is actually a painting from three years ago, never finished, because I was discouraged when trying to recreate the dappled light. But I let the painting float around in the studio, something about it that made me feel warm (partly due to the personal connection of walking on the road after having just arrived at our gîte in the south of France, and having a car zip by only to slam on the brakes - I heard a voice cry out "Meetch!", and it turned out it was André Bonhomme, a friend who was taking this little back road shortcut to his town of Cunèges). So when I look at this painting, I feel the warm reassurance that the world feels better to me when it feels smaller. I finally decided I wanted to give it another go, and I reworked the entire painting, but tried to retain the warm reds bleeding through the greens. I think I could do a better job on the dappled light if I painted in a larger scale and was more deliberate, but the feeling I was after seems to come through in this small sketch, and so I may just leave it at that.
Ron Reads Yourcenar 11x14
Not an old painting, but an old reference, so it is even more a visit to the past. This was at one of my old houses - I don't even remember which one, but I recognize the chair, the table, the lamp. As I age, I am unwilling to forget about the past, and I revisit it often enough (though I have maintained a connection to the past for most of my life, so I don't mean to imply I'm feeling desperately old...). Life has been too rich and too full of important people and meaningful events to simply never look back. The hour or two painting this allowed me the gift of imagining what we were up to then, what thoughts filled our heads, what hopes we had. Ron is now retired and living his dream in the south of France, but thirty years ago, when he was reading this book, that would probably have seemed too fantastical to consider. Isn't it wonderful that our realities can soar even beyond our dreams?
Revery aside, I look at the painting and wonder if I will ever learn to get rid of those hard edges when they don't belong, I question little bits about the drawing, and the likeness is never truly spot on. But if I can just believe that I am making incremental progress, I am encouraged to pick up a brush again.
2 comments:
These two are proof that paintings are all about telling stories. Don't change a thing with either one; they are truly wonderful just as they are. Just move on, knowing that every time you pick up a brush and engage your brain you are moving forward, getting better and better. I love that dappled sunlight on the road, the story of your friend happening upon you as you walked it. Frame and hang, my friend.
Thanks, Jo, for your encouragements. It's difficult sometimes to carry on when you start with an intention, an emotion or an idea, and then the painting falls short of what you had in mind. But this is truly the first time I have ever gone back to an old attempt and reworked it, and the discovery that I have somehow made enough progress over the intervening years to be able to revive that original intention (there is nothing new in the emotion I was trying for; the feeling is what I had originally), this gives me renewed optimism that I will be able to share other emotions in new paintings. It's even sweeter when there is a story behind it all, and maybe that is what helps it come across to the viewer.
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