I’ve been restless lately, itching to start some new work but low on necessary supplies. I ordered a roll of canvas from the supply store at the Art College but it hasn’t come in yet. I ordered some more paint from Aboveground Art Supplies in Toronto but it hasn’t arrived yet. I have enough paint to do some work, but not all the right colors I want. Aboveground didn’t have ultramarine violet in the large size, only the smaller size, which I would use up in a few small minutes. So I will have to order them from the manufacturer, R&F Paints.
Yet this morning, I cleared the frustrations away and put in several very productive hours working on reworking work. To my surprise, it was exhilarating. Paintings that I had thought I had (maybe even several times) finished, blossomed with what seems to be constantly growing insight into what can make a painting work. And work better.
I suppose it isn’t really work in the traditional sense. It’s just so intuitive, so immediate, spontaneous. Maybe even thoughtfully spontaneous.
So when is a painting finished? When it feels right, completely right.