It was another lesson learned in paint.

Back in the Cascade Mountains, everywhere I turned there was the majesty of nature and the promise of artistic opportunity.  Surely in the midst of all of this beauty, my fingers would have no choice but to become one with a paintbrush and intimately coerce every blank canvas into it’s own brilliant creation.  The first day of class my instructor was already trying to sabotage my vision.  There in front of me were the instruments of my doom.  Our instructions were to take one of our precious white paint boards and experiment on it with various textiles and tools.  If I remember correctly there were sponges, wire mesh, and masking tape to name a few.  All sorts of folly stood in the way of my expectations for the day.  Did he not realize I was there to produce serious works of art? Continue reading “The Results Committee /or/ Not Every Painting’s A Masterpiece”