I Don’t Feel Like It

There are not many times when I don’t feel like painting, but when those days arrive, they come in weeks rather than days. 

I have choices, of course. I can not paint. I can read. I can watch television. I can work in the garden - one of these days when the weather is reasonably nice. I can clean the basement, which I did for a couple weeks late last month. 

I can find excuses - like I don’t have any canvases. That, of course, is utter poppycock (I was going to write bullshit but decided to let my better self prevail). My buddy who owns a Painting With a Twist franchise (Bottle and Bottega in Homewood, a great place!) keeps me supplied with canvases; I have at least two dozen pristine odd-sized canvases that force me to be creative. For example, I put twelve of them together to create the “window tree” shown in a previous blog.  

I can find other ways to procrastinate, like stretching canvases in large sizes, and then giving them a coat of gesso and then waiting for it to dry so I can apply another coat of gesso and wait for it to dry. 

I can hope for a pet portrait commission. 

I can write a blog. Like now. 

I can whine that my life gets in the way. After my wife’s recent cataract surgeries I spent a few days taking care of her. But that doesn’t really count as not feeling like painting. When she was able to take care of herself, I was desperate to paint. 

I can dither around thinking, “I don’t know what to paint.” And by dithering, I don’t paint.

But I CAN PAINT ANYWAY.

I have very few dry spells because I just go ahead and paint. It doesn’t have to be good, but it might be. It doesn’t have to be permanent, but it might be. Yesterday I ripped a painting I didn’t like off the stretchers and stretched new canvas. It now has a couple coats of gesso and is waiting for a third. This morning I painted over a lot of what I painted yesterday. It doesn’t matter because I keep working and I keep painting.

I was planning to finish the blog with a flourish, but I need to go paint.

         Annex

Every few years I decide that too many things own me, that I no longer own them. Sometimes I sit with it. Sometimes I act. 

This spring I decided that I need to act. My wife and I are nearer to 80 than to 70, and we have no direct heirs. Our executor, the man who said we could be grandparents to his two sons after our son died, is really busy and effectively has two jobs. He doesn’t need a workshop filled with stuff to go through and dispose of. Some of the stuff is really good. I have an air compressor and nail guns of assorted sizes that are great fun to use, but I haven’t used them in years. I counted four crowbars, dozens of screw drivers and pliers, and three sets of socket wrenches. I had cans of wall paint I hadn’t opened in over ten years. Luckily I was able to knock the slabs of solidified paint into the garbage and recycle the almost pristine cans. 

I have to admit some things still own me. I inherited a lamp from my grandfather, who was kind of a dirty old man. It’s a bronze hula girl with bare breasts and a fringe skirt. The switch has three settings, one for the light, one for the hips to move so she dances, and one for both.  I seldom turn it on because if I forget to turn it off, the motor will burn out. 

My father was a chemical engineer who loved woodworking, and I inherited some of his tools. But I no longer need pipe clamps - and probably didn’t need them in the first place. I have some wood clamps that were my great grandfather’s, and a mallet and fro (used to make cedar shakes) that were my wife’s grandfather’s. They are interesting antiques, but they’ve been tucked away for years, and I had forgotten I had them.

What does this have to do with making art? The answer is simple, by giving away tools I no longer use, I have a couple hundred square feet that I am turning into my “Studio Annex.” I found a very inexpensive butcher block table on Craigslist, and I wrestled it into the Annex. I can package paintings on it to mail - as well as use it for other projects. I frequently invite people to come paint with me, and I will use it then. An old rule of thumb is that if you buy one thing, you need to give/ throw away two. I “paid” for this table with a couple hundred items. 

I’m ready to use my new space.

It feels good.