Here I am trying to sleep before my next art teaching shift…but all I can do is stare at a painting on the wall in my room and contemplate its execution. When I say execution, I mean not only how it was made but also how it will be destroyed.
This work, titled “growing out of it?” Was to me, a lovely thing, though moody compared to most of my pieces. The painting, marching towards death, has already “had its day” so to speak. Already it has been shown at a few different places and never found a home in anyone’s heart but my own.
Unfortunately, as a full time artist, if a piece never sells, eventually I have to think about repurposing it; painting over it, letting it be reborn.
Sometimes I have to destroy the things I love most. in the end I didn’t create art for my own self to hoard on every inch of my walls anyway. I created each piece hoping someone would relate to it and love it, a kind of conversation, or emotional exchange, (albeit with small price tag).
If a work remains homeless, it ultimately becomes something new. Yet, Upon seeing the new creation, an image lingers in my head of what’s underneath, like a ghost.
Not so different from an after image. burned into my retinas…much like staring at an Eric carl children’s book illustration…then looking at the dot on the next page as the faded image transfers over.
Though the art has been Reincarnated…something still remains.