I like goals. I like plans that have an end result.
Painting or any art, is VERY HARD for me to do.
This morning I had so much angst, and I needed to release it.
I took out this canvas and oil paints. And had at it. I don’t even have paint brush cleaner, yet. Oil paints do not dissolve in water, I learned.
I blasted music from August Rush. I squirted tubes of paint, used assorted brushes, and made quite a mess of red on my sleeve. It symbolized the blood of my tears, I figure.
The first hour of painting was all confusion, worry about end product, about not being good enough.
I started putting that frustration into the painting itself—layers upon layers of personal angst atop painting angst, along with many other emotions.
I slowly started to let myself be. It was liberating, though still very uncomfortable.
By the end of the second hour, I said what the heck, and let loose.
I am hoping to continue to paint some more pieces and release a new part of myself onto canvas.
Painting isn’t as comforting to me as words and writing are, and isn’t what I would consider my “gift” or “skill.”
But that is the entire point for me: to explore something without trying to perfect, prove, teach, show, or learn.
To do something without an end goal or audience in mind.
I like to step away from the painting and look at it from far away.