Wednesday, May 18, 2005

There's a sucker born every minute, and most of them are me

Did laundry, cleaned and mowed the Northside yard, made lunch for all, cleaned out the fridge. And worked on the afore-mentioned pastel portrait with all its sky blues and purples and blacks and russets. I took digital photos of the "completed" pic in broad daylight, out on the patio, and when uploading them to my computer, was immediately able to see wacko bits. Back to the work table, adding barest hints of color, repairing, improving. Back to the patio for more pics! Oh, much better, I think, time to just leave it alone...

And then I walk back the hallway and peer into the studio to see the pic on the easel. Shit. Right there, the blue hasn't flowed accurately into the purple. And there, that looks like a smudge, not a blend. Shit, shit, shit, this plane doesn't flow as it should.

I love my artwork when it's done. But until then, it's work, work, work. Years ago I said I wouldn't contract out for art ever again. Yet here I am, sweating stinky sweat worrying that what I said I could do won't pan out. Why do I do this to myself?

2 comments:

Cheryl said...

Deep breaths, honey, deep breaths. Go blow some bubbles for the kid and the dogs. You'll feel better.

terri said...

The effort was worth in in the end, though, Sand! I just showed your picture to some of my colleagues and they were VERY impressed.

love Terri xxxx