Paintings are the opposite of hook-ups. They always look better in the morning.
I am frequently disgusted by what has taken me hours to produce, only to realize the next day that it’s much better than I thought.
A corollary is that artists are terrible judges of their own work. The only measure they apply is whether the end result matched their intention. The work’s ability to inspire thought or emotion is lost on the artist, since he or she is crafting what inspires.
A patron at the opening of Seven Weeks in a Shipyard at Camden Falls Gallery asked me what was great about the painting he had just purchased. I was nonplussed. I could tell him what was good about it—the color structure, the composition, etc.—but I can’t explain the parts that elevate it from technically competent to moving.
I have learned to not involve myself in the selling process precisely for this reason. My lack of judgment can unsell more paintings than my enthusiasm will ever sell. (This is why a good gallery is worth its commissions.)
The show will be up the rest of this month. For those of you who live in other places, here are images of the finished pieces.
I am on my way out to sea in a beautiful buttery grey boat—the American Eagle. I will be painting on her deck. Sadly, schooners were never built with the internet in mind, so my blog is entering nautical twilight until Friday. Stay tuned to see what that actually means.