Still Life. Acrylic on canvas board. 18” x 14.” 1994.
Version #1. Still Life with Flowers. Acrylic on canvas. 40” x 30.” 2022.
Version #2. Still Life with Flowers. Acrylic on canvas. 40” x 30.” 2023.
Last summer I thought the still life painting was finished, but I was wrong.
It seemed to do what I wanted. Like my 1994 still life painting, I wanted to paint a mysterious vase of flowers, with qualities I admired in the work of Paul Klee. Finally, I liked what I had it, I thought.
In the fall, I drove the painting to NYC, and placed it conspicuously on my living room wall. There it hung through winter and spring, and, as time passed, the more I looked at it the less I liked it. I still liked the basic shapes and the scale of the vase and flowers but the colors seemed bland, and what I thought was “mystery” now resembled instead an indistinct fog. Finally, I just ignored the painting entirely.
I had to repaint it. At the first opportunity, I drove it to my upstate studio, and began. I started by strengthening the original painting, but soon realized that the entire painting had to change. I hated to do it, but new colors and painting techniques were required. I took what I thought was mystery and created more of a glow while changing the colors of the flowers and strengthening the color of the vase. Simplification, I find, often strengthens an image. After a few days the painting was again “finished.” It will take time to determine if this new version will survive or again will have to be reworked.
Evaluation and judgment is intrinsic to every artwork. Decisions are made throughout the process, at every moment. When to stop? When rework? Which color and brush to use? What direction to go in? Even when to take a break.
When the painting is finished, the conundrum continues. Sometimes I am happily surprised by unnoticed qualities in paintings I hardly remember, at other times, I am disappointed by paintings I recall with pleasure and pride.
How to know if a painting works? One option is to wait patiently as the painting unfurls by itself. The intensity of the creative process, with its wonderful surprises and endless frustrations, can distort an artist’s perception. Distance is what is needed, and that is what time allows. But just as a painting changes in the eyes and hands of the painter, so does the painter change in the process of making and seeing the painting.
So the short answer is to trust in your instinct. If it feels wrong or unfinished, then probably it is. Summon up your patience and courage and do what is necessary. It will probably turn out better. If not, just cover the work in white paint and start again.