Back to the roots of inspiration. Action painting… rejecting all literal references. A visual stream of consciousness that forsakes word and object. Impulse painting. Instinctual painting, where every layer is informed upon by the previous one… eventually dominating the surface and, in turn, being dominated by the next.
It feels good to not worry about contextual references or intellectual critique. To simply let the paint be paint. Calculated accidents. To let gravity lend a hand and work with the physical nature of the paint and the subtleties of color. The richness and plasticity of oils. Intentionally haphazard brush strokes, executed without sentiment. Guided solely by instinct. Void of rational thought.
The painting comes to life, dies, and is resuscitated again and again. The key is knowing when to stop.
Throughout it all, I can’t get the phrase “Orpheus Lament” out of my head. It popped into my head once a long time ago as I was listening to a commentary on the opera Orpheus And Euridice. I wrote it down in my sketchbook and it reverberated in my head for weeks. That was over two years ago. The other night, as I was painting, there it was again.
If you’ve never really paid attention to the story of Orpheus, you should. Gorgeously tragic… powerful stuff.
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