Tuesday, January 11, 2011

On Being a Painter

Hello Dear One,

yes, here's another tidbit, I'm an oil-painter. A full fledged, slightly neurotic, basically obsessed, classically trained oil painter (I feel like I'm in AA).

But in all honesty, painting is sort of an addiction. It's something that I'm drawn to do...pulled to do by compulsion, sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it... while I'm loving it. Painting brings me such joy and despair that sometimes I feel that only another artist could possibly understand such self-inflicted, bless'ed torture.

Why do I bring this up? I'm feeling the desire to paint again. I've felt it for awhile...I've just needed to get my studio in order at home. My apartment is quite a mess right now! From moving, to marrying, to 1/2 month-long Euro honeymoon, to Christmas with relatives... our apartment's sanctity has suffered. I'm only now getting to organizing our place.

My husband bought me a beautiful roll-top desk, upon which sits an amazing antique doll we bought for 5euros in Paris' march aux puces (historic world site flea market!) (Picture to be included after organization).

I love my husband dearly. We both love luxury and beautiful things; things that are gilded and ornate and speak of a bygone past or the fairytale past we are creating with each other.

So later today, I'll be painting...welcoming the seductive tortuous pleasurable pain. I guess for me, oil painting could be likened to a much delayed orgasm...I paint for days, months... but at the end of each day, I'm always JUST on the verge of satisfaction... needing to adjust depth here, add more intense color there. I know that I must continue...struggling, stepping back, leaning in close...it's such an intimate dance; until the last session, when I can look at my work and be satisfied, the ecstasy of creation.

So painting does have a very seductive call, but at the same time, in the back of my mind, I know that fulfillment is a far way off.

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