This was painted over the recycled canvas of my earlier Painting #34. I applied one layer of Raw Sienna over the painting but the ghost of the original image was still there, so I decided to try the same composition in another colour scheme. I then repainted the above image (again!) to get to a final image (see below for the final image with explanation).
The image shown above stood around in my studio for about a week and I quite liked it. But then I looked again at the work of some other artists and felt I should loosen up my brush strokes a bit more and do less blending. So I used the above painting as a guinea pig. The result is shown below:
I am not 100% sure which one I like best, and I am very interested to hear what other people think (please comment!). Personally, I tend to like the first one more simply because I felt better while painting it – using longer brushstrokes in rhythm with the music I play while painting. To be fair, the second photo has some glare in it so it is not a simple comparison.
To be honest, which one is liked best may depend more on the mood one is in. I am now reading Robert Henri’s beautiful book ‘The Art Spirit‘. I am blown away by the depth of feeling behind his otherwise practical teachings. I plan to quote him at length – I am sure it will inspire others.
On the topic of how our mood affects what we perceive, Henri said:
All things change according to the state we are in. Nothing is fixed. I lived once in the top of a house, in a little room, in Paris. I was a student. My place was a romance. It was a mansard room and it had a small square window that looked out over housetops, pink chimney pots. I could see l’Institut, the Pantheon and the Tour Saint Jacques. The tiles of the floor were red and some of them were broken and got out of place. There was a little stove, a wash basin, a pitcher, piles of my studies. Some hung on the wall, others accumulated dust on their backs. My bed was a cot. It was a wonderful place. I cooked two meals and ate dinner outside. I used to keep the camembert out of the window on the mansard roof between meals, and I made fine coffee, and made much of eggs and macaroni. I studied and thought, made compositions, wrote letters home full of hope of some day being an artist. It was wonderful.
But days came when hopes looked black and my art student’s paradise was turned into a dirty little room with broken tiles, ashes fell from the stove, it was all hopelessly poor, I was tired of camembert and eggs and macaroni, and there wasn’t a shade of significance in those delicate little chimney pots, or the Pantheon, the Institut, or even the Tour Saint Jacques.
Henri, Robert. The Art Spirit (pp. 37-38). Basic Books. Kindle Edition.
My apologies for the long post. A short poem by Li Po to close off:
this version copied from The Poetry Foundation
As always, my sincere thanks to all who have encouraged me with follows, likes and comments. I hope you have a great weekend filled with joy and contentment.