My art is currently confused. Ideas run through my head all hours of the day and night surpassing the previous. Over the weekend I sat down to work on an older idea, but it felt superficial. The concept was solid in its theoretical state, but once realized it was significantly underwhelming. I could see the frustration in my strokes. The solvent became heavy, my color choices muted, this painting was digressing. Luckily I know when to step away and so I did, all five feet to my couch. I then turned up my music, closed my eyes and contemplated my place in the world of art, if one at all.
While listening to a less lyrical tune it dawned on me that I felt separated from my art. I was approaching painting in an impersonal and schematic way. I now had a need to feel the paint, cut out the middle man (the brush) if you will. Within minutes I flooded my pallet with colors from across the spectrum, oil and acrylic alike. I ignored my rules, my training, closed my eyes, put my bare hands in the paint, and touched the canvas. My hands moved to the music. I had no notion of color or line, I just had my body, my mind and my paint.
When the paint ran dry I slowly opened my eyes to see the most abstract painting I had ever created. It was true expressionism. This time I was overwhelmed with excitement. Not only because the final product didn't amount to a brown blob as I had feared, but because this was the closest I had ever felt to my painting in my entire life. I may have looked like a crazy person (actually I did, Erik has the video to prove it) but it was love. A deep romance between me and my paint.
Five days later I find myself back where this post began, refereeing my competing artistic thoughts. However, thanks to this experiment I am much closer to that je ne sais quoi I've been searching for...