I haven’t painted in a while, and I’ve taken a total pause on my pet portraits. I’ve been dreaming up some ideas that I’d like to get on canvas, and this weekend is the first in a while that I can devote to just makin’ stuff.
I whipped out my sketchbook to rough plan and try to capture those amalgamations of hazy images in my mind. More structure? Less structure? I’m teeter tottering between something definite and defined while allowing enough space and wiggle to produce something spontaneous and abstract.
I flipped through some of my sketches to jog some flow back into my wrists. Though I add dates to every sketch, I tend to jump around, with sections of book covering some dark days over varied time frames, others doodles of strangers or landscapes, and others covering mutations of my favorite shapes.
In flipping these pages, I’m looking for bursts of gold. You know, those little nuggets that are buried in sand but glimmer just enough that with the light angled just right, reflect a ping of something novel?
The last thing I drew was a tree. I always struggle drawing and painting trees, and I feel like mine always feel so forced.
There is something wild about trees that I have not been able to capture. How does one capture something so wild?