I have a painting that I am going to finish soon. Really. And I plan to resume working on it. Having studied my calendar diligently I feel very confident of being able, very soon, to find myself reliably in the vicinity of the easel and the paint — for you know it’s difficult to paint when you are occupying one portion of the space-time and the canvas and tools are occupying quite another.
It’s been a busy month.
And during my unintended sabbatical from painting, I stir my hopes by doing same-size drawings of the motif. It is almost like being there. I draw the same shapes, apply the same colors, get some very similar effects, and so have a rehearsal of my idea and satisfy a bit of the longing for the motif.
And if one definition of “classicism” is the desire to perfect an ideal — well, I’m traveling that road. Not by choice, necessarily, but I’m traveling. It was forced upon me by the big “Detour” signs I encounter at every turn of an overly hectic days.
But I won’t complain too much. As long as my friends permit me to keep posting repetitious views of the same motif.