I'm in a slight conundrum. And it's not like this has been bothering me endlessly; yet, when i have a free moment for my mind to wander sometimes this perplexity somehow ends up at the front of the list of things to think about.Let me start like this. I wouldn't call myself a painter, but i love to paint. Specifically with acrylic paints, using different brushstrokes and mediums, and blending colors until they begin to have a mesmerizing affect on the viewer. I either paint in black and white, or i create paintings where the viewer sees his own picture. Naturally, I have my own interpretation, but my 'abstract' paintings allow each person to have a personal take on the painting, making it almost their own creation.
I never paint a picture with the intent of giving it to someone. Only after it is complete, do I decide either to keep it, or to give it away. Except this one time.
I have never thrown away a painting. I've come to the point of utter refusal to throw even an ugly painting away. Perhaps not ugly, but something that I don't find attractive. Nevertheless, I keep it and continue to look at it; I sit and stare into the painting's soul, looking for what the creation is. If the painting refuses to reveal it's secret to me, then I paint something else over it. Never have I outrightly taken a canvas and tossed it into a trash can.
Art, like music, is ethereal and not of this world. It transcends realms, and in some aspects is sacred. We think about the creation of this world, and we wonder how trees came into being, or how a Creator could be so ingenious and esthetic to bring forth so many varied creations, yet all so different and more importantly beautiful. Likewise, such is art. The Creator allows us to create something that has never been; we bring forth beauty in the form of color and shape. With art, we are allowed to create happiness and pleasure for others. That is why I cannot throw away art, even if I don't necessarily find it pleasing.
This one time, I had preconceived to paint a certain picture; the picture was of this someone's favorite album cover. On the initial day of the creation of this painting, I had gotten into a fight with this person, yet, I still decided to paint for them. Painting alleviated the displeasing mood that I was currently in, but when i was done with the picture itself, it didn't satisfy me. At first i thought, well maybe it's the new canvas that i'm using; the paint doesn't adhere to it as well as the others. But still, I knew that I couldn't give the painting in the state that it was in. Either I could fix some of the colors, or completely re-do it. I put the painting on a high shelf, and decided I would work on it some other time. Occasionally, I would take the painting down, look at it, and see if it could become beautiful to me. It never did. Sometime later, I told my friend that I had begun painting this for him, and that I would finish it and give it to him. Reluctantly, I brought the painting home with me from college, and thought of different creative means to bring this painting to life. Needless to say, not too many weeks later the relationship that had insued with this person was broken, and I no longer felt compelled to give it to him. And it isn't the fact that I told him I would give a painting to him- that doesn't matter to me. What matters to me is that I gave my word. I said I would do something, and I always stand firm to my word. At the time, my friend said that he also had been writing a poem for me and that he would give it to me when finished. I never held him accountable to his word. I never expected him to follow through. As for myself, I hold myself accountable for my own words; therefore it wouldn't matter if he didn't keep his word, I must.
And yet, things have changed. I don't feel compelled to finish my painting, or give it to him. The painting itself holds too many logistics and personal politics. In a sense, i feel released from my word. Maybe I'm not. Who knows? I don't find it in myself to do an altruistic deed, for this is not the time. And frankly it isn't about altruistic deeds.
Deeper than the logistics or my word itself, lies the painting, and what to do with it. I don't want it, and I never have. It never has pleased me, nor have I ever found it beautiful. But can I bring myself to throw it away? For it is a creation. As I wrote, art is something from another world. I don't know, perhaps i'll look at it again; maybe i'll throw it away, maybe i'll stick it in the back of my closet, in an attempt to forget it, and thereby almost throwing it away. I don't know, maybe it isn't even the painting- but what it represents. The painting never chose to be created; it didn't exist, and then it was materialized. Yet, its creation was futile. No longer wanted, it lies in wait for its creator to make a choice.
Therein lies my conundrum.10:00 PM 10 Falling Stars
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