Sometimes, while making a painting, I arrive at a point where a tension is created. This tension is born out of a desire to feel confident, and finished, with the painting, but intuitively understanding that something just isn’t working. An argument begins: It’s done! It’s not done! It’s fine! No, something isn’t quite right!
When this happens, I get quiet and “the looking” kicks into overdrive (a lot of painting goes on in my head=the looking). One thing I have learned about this situation is that it behooves me to stop “trying” to be done. Thus, I stop working on the painting. I spend some time living with it. Sometimes I just keep it in the studio and leave a light on so that I can see it every time I pass through. Other times I hang it in the living room (as in this case), or lean it in the dining room, so I can spend time physically living with it outside of my head.
It also helps to get some feedback.
Ultimately, I usually conclude that I can’t live with the painting, such as it is, and eventually I arrive at why. (The painting just doesn’t get to the wall if something isn’t off.) In the case of L' enchevêtrement, while I felt that there were a few issues I couldn’t really address without completely starting over, I came to understand that those issues were not what were bothering me.
The element of the painting that bothered me the most was the bottom right portion of the painting. In really good light, the subtle transparency of that passage was nice. But in bad light, which is where most paintings exist, this area looked unfinished. As a result, the painting didn’t cohere, and it felt/looked unbalanced. The lame passage became an irritating focal point.
So I looked for a while. And then I consulted a couple of sources. And then I went back in.
I am happy with the results. And now, I can move on.
Before
After
