Sunday whim

#wrightwritesnow 106

Morning coffee was accompanied by an interesting documentary on artist Sheila Hicks, whose mastery of textiles and colours was fascinating. Somewhere in the middle of the video, she was arranging differently coloured balls of fibre within a frame. Alongside the frame, she had a pile of these balls of fibre from which she was choosing which ones to place in the frame.

Then she said something which struck a chord. She flattened out the pile of balls into a rough shape and said, “There are two works of art here. Most people think there is only one (meaning the creation within the frame), but there are actually two.”

This made me think of my left-oeuvres: bits and pieces I create with leftover paints. It reminded me that I had covered the oil paints I had used last with cling film over a week ago. I wondered if they would still be usable.

Happily, I had discovered, also about a week ago, a discarded canvas with a poster-type print on it at the recycling. It measures an impressive 135 x 55 cm.

To date, my left-oeuvres have been abstract, but here was my opportunity for chaotic practice.

Rainy day: I have used up all the paint that was on this makeshift palette

I had abandoned any idea of neatness and order after discovering yesterday that with all the heavy rain we have had, there is water coming up from the floor near the bottom step on the right-hand side:

I have had to remove nearby furniture, and now wet and useless pieces of wood stored under the built-in bed/sofa.

So, while there is not complete disorder, I have rearranged some pieces of furniture to avoid them becoming water damaged. This gave me all the latitude in the world to create even more disorder, by placing my newly-found practice canvas in a convenient spot:

I almost forgot to take a “before” photo. The woman will disappear eventually… Note my makeshift square palette with leftover paint to the right of the pencil.

I have two proper paintings planned. One is a still life featuring a brass pan, a purple scarf and a potted plant, which all walk into a bar. The other is the façade of an old house I photographed when last in Tavira. No one has seen the sketches of the latter. Perspective is a tricky thing to get right! In any case, the more brass pans I can paint before getting down to the serious work of painting the still life itself, the better.

This canvas is likely to contain elements of both planned paintings, and anything else that occurs to me. For the time being, I will use only leftover paints, so progress will be slow.

For now, we have, after some partially pleasing strokes of the brush and palette knife, the faintest suggestion of a brass pan emerging from the belly of a woman.

Oil painting is forgiving: one can paint corrections over one’s mistakes. Next time!

Having finished all the leftover paint, and scraped away at my makeshift palette to make my left-oeuvre, I thought it was as good a time as any to stop.

Besides, while casting a critical eye over what I had done, I was reminded of the “liquefaction of her clothes”, a beguiling phrase in Robert Herrick’s poem, and had to go and look it up. In any case, the poem, quoted here for your convenience, paints a far better picture than any of those above.

Upon Julia’s Clothes

By Robert Herrick

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,

Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows

That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see

That brave vibration each way free,

O how that glittering taketh me!