Laughable loves

I am in love with my studio. I feel like it is a sacred space where I can create and express with total freedom, where I can work through challenges and anxieties, where vulnerability is welcome, where I can sit for hours in sunlight and let thoughts flit in and out.

I have a lot of work to do here today. I have four canvases in progress and only a few hours before I need to be elsewhere. Instead, I am sitting on the floor, leaned against the door frame and scribbling away in my journal. I look up at the painting currently on my easel. It is almost finished. I am writing as procrastination, to avoid what might be the longest process for any creative piece: editing. I need to really look at what's there, decide what is critical and what is superfluous.

For me, editing a painting is very different from editing text, which is what I do full-time. For a painting, I have less regard for the artist's voice and more reverence for the work itself. Often, my favorite brushstrokes get painted over, sacrificed for the work as a whole. When editing a painting, I place one mark; the composition reorganizes itself around this newcomer. Does this mark matter? This process continues over and over again until the work comes together. I usually know the precise moment when a painting is finished.

Writing about painting makes me want to paint, much like reading about running makes me want to run or watching cooking shows makes me want to eat. Painting makes me want to make love.