This blog will take a look at the painting from a grass roots approach and understanding of how I arrived here.
Why I decided to put all of my creative energy behind this one little piece of cloth hung on four rails ,smothered with a disarray of brushstrokes and meant to form some kind of visual narrative .
This is what you sign up for when painting. Time, time, time . And not just any kind of time, but the time that demands your attention. Every dam second. No breaks .
Meanwhile you are questioning yourself along the way ,with every stroke of the brush. Is this good enough, is that light enough ,dark enough, big and small enough. One after the other. And we haven’t even started yet. Haha .
This is not a ride for the weekend warrior. This ride lives with us throughout the days and weeks to come .The Painting is just one phase of the journey and now we must live with it from its conception. We analyze, we pick it apart, we hang it upside down in the mirror , we squint ,we criticize, we scream ,we strip apart every square inch, until the next time we must sit down and do it all over again.
To create a feeling ,on a flat surface, by using a combination of colors is not an easy task. But we try , we try again, we fail, and if we are lucky enough , sometimes a little magic will appear and reveal it’s beautiful face . Sometimes.
This painting , named “ A Hill we Climb” was inspired by the poet Laureate Amanda Gorman during her memorable speech of Joe Bidens inauguration. Yet the idea of this painting started with a simple conversation with my mom over the phone. When she reminded me of that epic event, all of the colors ,emotions, and sensors hit me all over again, as they did that very day .
So here , in a stream of consciousness, are my thoughts and feelings that burst into my head that day . I created a video, and hired a voice over actor to heighten the affects .
The text below ,are the actual words, scripted into the threads of the painting.
The hill we climb ,Amanda Gorman, it’s Inauguration Day, do you remember, she painted herself in yellow. Brilliant yellow splashed across my tv. I remember it clearly. Not the words but the color , yellow yellow yellow. Forever. Then she moved her hands . I followed them , couldn’t take my eyes off these hands. The words were left for everyone else. I wanted more yellow ,I was hypnotized. They called her the poet laureate
I believed them I believed her. Every sound every second. She came into my senses and I remembered I remembered everything.