Eastbrook Blvd. Looking North, oil/canvas,10x20"
I finished this landscape on Monday having worked on it six times over the course of two months. I began it in May when temperatures and humidity stayed relatively bearable. The Florida dry season hadn't ended, and cool breezes still blew during morning sessions. I wrapped it up during a spike of bad weather signaling the beginning of the rainy season. When walking home after the final three work periods, my shirt stuck to my back, and my head swam. Heat exhaustion.
The final session started off in an easy-going fashion. I set up my French folding easel, laid out my palette (warm and cool primaries plus titanium white), picked out three brushes, and began to work on the neglected lower right quadrant. A dog trainer came up walking a friendly bulldog. I scratched the velvety fur on his enormous head. A few drivers slowed down to take a look. A nearby chihuahua yapped at birds, squirrels, and fluttering leaves. I made good progress as the day heated up.
Then a lawn maintenance van pulling a trailer parked along the curb 30 yards ahead. The vehicles blocked my view of the street in the middle distance, so I shifted to work on the left side of the painting. A few minutes later, a 20-foot U-Haul truck backed into the driveway directly in front of me. My view of the houses, cars, lawns and trees on the left became a view of a metal rectangle. I considered packing up but continued to pick at details on the far right. A car slowed down behind me, and a woman leaned out to say, "That's beautiful! It's so good to see you doing that."
I thanked her as she pulled away and looked up to see a lawn guy standing on the sidewalk beside the lawn maintenance van. He had struck a dramatic pose with his hands on his hips, shoulders twisted to his right, and his head tossed back. He looked like a model on a romance novel cover.
I'm used to mockery from passersby. I've had men jump up and down in front of me screeching, "You wanna paint me? You wanna paint me? How much will you pay me to pose?" Businessmen and loading dock workers tend to yell, "Yo! Picasso!" I usually ignore the funny men and go about my work. But this time, the heat and obstructions had melted my patience. I crossed arms, glared, and bellowed, "ARE YOU DONE YET?!" He got the message and went back to work.
The U-Haul pulled out of the driveway. Then the lawn guys loaded trimmers, mowers, and blowers. They left. I could see everything again. I kept finding details to work on, but after another fifteen minutes, I packed up and trudged home.
During final stages, doubts surface about composition, colors, textures, etc. An artist can be tempted to return to a piece to niggle at the fine points. I decided after I walked inside, stripped off my soaking shirt, and sat by a fan with a cold drink in my hand, that the painting, by God, was finished.
No comments:
Post a Comment