What is wrong with me? I am supposed to be painting an Asian inspired abstract for a client and I can not for the life of me bear to look at it. Two weeks ago I was all over it, excited and eager to bury my head into it, fill every crevice with acrylic and only occasionally come up to breath when my coffee supply ran low. And then one dreary, drab and oddly gray morning I woke up hating my creation. Hating it with an unusual amount of certainty. So much certainty in fact that I covered it with a fresh coat of deep gray paint and never looked back.
Back to the drawing board. Out came the sketch book and instantly without any thought came a roughed out sketch that spoke volumes to me. The next day a few coats of background paint got slapped on my freshly grey canvas and I was eager to begin... only something happened somewhere between the background paint and now. Fore now, I don't even want to be with in a foot of it! I don't hate it. I look at it and think... A solid foundation for my painting indeed. And then I try to talk myself into grabbing a brush and blobbing some paint onto my over sized pallet that my father so graciously made for me, and every fiber of my being yells.... NO! What's on TV?
And so my painting sits. It sits, sadly looking over at me wondering what went wrong. And from time to time I give it a guilty side wards glance hoping that maybe it's powers of seduction will draw me near, and yet, still I sit.
What is wrong with me?