I spent the better part of 2012 in my studio. I painted and painted and painted, the result of which is a
21-painting series titled "Resonance."
When I finished my last piece, settled in knowing I expressed all that I
wanted to for this series, I just had to sit and wait. Six months to a
year, for the oils to dry completely, before I could varnish the paintings
and introduce them to the world.
Does this waiting
period make my work anticlimactic? Perhaps. Usually, it just gives me
some distance, to think about the work in another way. As the paints
dry, I mull over many questions. Am I happy with the work? Does it
satisfy my intentions? Do I have anything else to express? Is the series
truly done?
I spent this morning varnishing the
paintings. Perhaps it was the toxic fumes from the mineral varnish, but I
felt excitement as I ran my brush once more over each painting. I got
reacquainted with each brushstroke, each seemingly random but very
intentional pencil mark, each little mound of built-up texture. In doing
so, I experienced a new kind of intimacy with the work, not unlike a
last meeting with a lover.
When the varnish dries, I will handwrite the title on each painting before I sign it. As one of my quirky practices, I only sign the work when I'm ready to sell them. Somehow, writing my name on a painting signifies that they are mine, but ready to be another's.
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