My fourth pastel painting. This is another copy of one of my earlier oil paintings, in this case, the one I posted here. This time I used the smooth side of the Canson Mi-Tientes paper. The version shown above is after I applied fixative, the one shown below is before.
As you can see, applying fixative darkened the color significantly. In this case, the effect is not too bad, depending on taste. But in my next painting, the effect was a bit of a disaster.
I am using fairly expensive Schminke fixative, but I suspect the nozzle is clogged or something – the fixative leaves spots and does not deposit as a uniform layer. Oh well, I keep learning with each painting experience. Perhaps I can join the “never fixative” crowd, but the idea of never touching the painting again puts me off a bit.
Outside the rain falls incessantly. It is cold outside, but warm in my studio. When I am in here forging through my technical incompetence toward the images in my head I am forever looking inward, wondering about this urge to paint – to go in and risk the failure that so often comes. It can only be good for me – the headstrong personality has to give way for something better.
Eliot said that ‘The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality’. Joyce said that ‘The personality of the artist . . . finally refines itself out of existence, impersonalizes itself, so to speak’. TRILLING, Lionel. Sincerity and Authenticity (The Charles Eliot Norton Lectures) (p. 7). Harvard University Press. Kindle Edition.
A poem on this theme by Cavafy:
The Trojans Our efforts are those of men prone to disaster; our efforts are like those of the Trojans. We just begin to get somewhere, gain a little confidence, grow almost bold and hopeful, when something always comes up to stop us: Achilles leaps out of the trench in front of us and terrifies us with his violent shouting. Our efforts are like those of the Trojans. We think we’ll change our luck by being resolute and daring, so we move outside ready to fight. But when the great crisis comes, our boldness and resolution vanish; our spirit falters, paralyzed, and we scurry around the walls trying to save ourselves by running away. Yet we’re sure to fail. Up there, high on the walls, the dirge has already begun. They’re mourning the memory, the aura of our days. Priam and Hecuba mourn for us bitterly. this version copied from http://www.cavafy.com/
Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you are warm, happy and content.