As I’ve grown from toddler to child to teen
To whatever you call the twenties.
I’ve had a strange relationship with paint.
It was while painting when, aged 4, I first thought that this art making caper…
For Christmas, aged 10, I was given my first grown up pack of paints. Those beautiful silver tubes of water colour squeezed forth the picture above. It was painted under the warmth of a walnut tree with brushes, fingers and skewers.
It seemed, as I grew and drew and made pictures, that
Paint, was the legitimate way to be an artist.
Some sort of pinnacle.
The fact that I felt more comfortable with, and was more able with pen, was fine but it jostled, like competing shoulders in a crowd, with this (inept) notion of legitimacy.
Ah, but paint is fun
Colour swishes, swirls, slides, swans, swoons, ambles, marbles, piles and lushes over surfaces. Paste oozes, dilutes, drools, loads and drips. The process thinks and stretches in drifts of:
La la la painty, painty, pretty colours. Oh. I. Like, That! Blob dip, dip, if I keep blobbing that could be an eye. Now swishy, swish I should probably eat. What happens if I use my finger swirly, whirly. Hang on was that the eye? OK. Crap. I painted over the eye, well rubity, backity-back oh I like that… hmm…..might have to put the eye over there now. Swirly, rubbity-blob, blob, oh crap, I just painted out the mouth…..I’ll just mix a bit of this lovely gloopy… OK. She’s blue now. Did I even want a blue painting?
I get carried away.
And the sensation overrides the judgement of my eye.
And the judgement of the eye has no idea what it is looking for.
When I was 18 I was offered places in RMIT’s fine art programs. I could choose between drawing, printing, and painting.I chose painting because of that whole legitimacy thing.
I lasted 3 months…
I’ll never really know if I made the right decision.
Maybe, I only had 3 months in me.
I have been painting again, I need a break from edges and lines.
I’ve no idea what I am trying to create or to say
Only that I like texture.