There have been times in my life where I thought being an artist involved being scatterbrained, disorganized, and probably addicted to some kind of substance. Since I’m generally pretty organized and straight-laced, I thought it might bar me from being an artist. But over the past 24 hours, I’ve been as chaotic as one might expect someone to be the night before her first art exhibit! At 9:30 last night I decided I thought I could finish a few of the half-done pieces around the house.
While I did make some headway on the repainting of Hillcrest Cottage (the home where my great grandparents lived and my Grandfather and his sister grew up), I had to face the music at about 1:00 am that it wasn’t going to be ready by morning.
I expected to be excited about my art show, and I am: lots of people are excited for me. But looking at my empty wall, I can’t help but feel a little bit sad. I realized I am very attached to my favourite paintings, my babies. They each took so much time and have such a personal connection. It’s strange seeing the empty spaces, and to think of my work being “out there” for people I know to examine.
The focus of last night’s painting is particularly personal – since it’s about a house where I spent much time growing up, visiting my Great Aunt – and I have so many papers, photos, and documents from the house. I had fun going through century-old negatives, scribbled notes, etc.
I decided to just stick these negatives onto the painting – since they’re usually just sitting in a box where no one can ever enjoy them.
So while this painting, as a whole, is not really working yet, I decided to just enjoy it for the reasons I like it; at least I have it to keep my walls interesting while my other paintings are on display!