I could be experiencing external pressure here, and that’s why I’m doing them, but I think it’s more the urge to communicate.
Two paintings today: a wolf and a wolfman
I walk from 88th Street on the Upper East Side to the west side of Harlem and 125th Street, pick up supplies, then to the studio at 107th. Full sun, my skin rendered pink; I see a veiled mystic in Central Park. A trek replete with strangers and bumping into them.
I reach the studio and listen to Mozart’s 1st and 2nd. I make a painting which isn’t Cubist; rather, it’s a cabbage patch or a crop:
What if, when painting, it’s not my energy that matters, but only the making—only the making of the painting—NOT the style, NOT the concept, NOT the aesthetic, NOT even the relationship, just the making?
I touch up “Miami Beach”—I guess that’s the painting’s name. I think about other people quite a lot while filling in colors, and feel perturbed.
I try to remember: the painting is whatever I want it to be, my joyousness and nothing else!
I cover over the goth/hipster teenager portrait with some new cartoon style characters painted Cubist-wise. This painting looks more like the George Condo painting from the Met which I sought to emulate in Miami Beach.
I have quietly but consistently disqualified my painting techniques when they’re derived from another painter’s work. The reality is that the paintings with these appropriated techniques are still mine.