Tuesday, March 31, 2009
When asked how long it takes to complete a painting, an artist once said, “An hour and my whole life.” I understand.
The other day, as I put the finishing touches on Yellow Tulip, I was emotional, exhilarated and exhausted. The journey to produce that piece of art had been a long and meandering road through all manner of life experiences. Love. Rage. Grief. Doubt. Doubt. Did I say doubt? Years of wondering who I am and what I’m here to do came together in a few brushes of paint on canvas.
When I wake in the morning, I lay in bed looking at the painting. I imagine this is how a new mother feels staring at her firstborn child. Wow, that came from me. It is humbling because I know I had little to do with the experience. I painted from a place I didn’t even know existed. It is otherworldly, like the place music and orgasms come from.
I can’t stop looking at the painting. I have fallen into very deep love with it. It speaks to me of the depth of my own emotions, my own tattered self. It is the map of my consciousness, clearer than any psychiatric evaluation. It is just paint on a canvas, but it is God to me.