.. on paper, canvases, anything that can be painted. It feeds my soul. And I don't do it enough. I don't consider myself an artist (though others call me that, and I blush). I don't sell my paintings, I give them away... usually after they have adorned my own walls for a while or as birthday presents.
And I don't just give them to anyone. They are given to people I love, and care for.
Unfortunately, some of my paintings have be given to people that are no longer in my life... and they have either been destroyed, or who knows what. That hurts me ... deeply. To me its the ultimate in rejection. Destroying, or whatever, something that I poured a little bit of myself into hurts profoundly. It feels like they didn't "get it". To them it was just paint on a canvas, but for me, there is a little bit of myself in there, a little bit of myself that is gone forever.
There is no rhyme or reason to my paintings. No magical "thing" ... other then a feeling I get inside and need to express in some way. I paint a lot in my head. Much the same as I write a lot in my head. I love to learn new techniques and ways to play with paint and mediums. Its like discovering a secret.
My best paintings are the ones I have done with complete abandonment. Have been seized with a fervour that doesn't stop until I have finished it...
When I think about it too much - I stall, and it sits on my easel waiting for inspiration to ignite me once again. Usually I am thinking about it too much because I have so much noise in my head, and instead of it being something to soothe my soul, it becomes a task, and painful. And I stop because it no longer joyful and soul feeding, but just another job that I have to do.
Sometimes Life children, bills, ex husbands, cleaning, cooking, 'flu, etc. etc. just gets in the way.
Think its time I told Life to wait for a while....