I have almost finished this painting.
|Mary Kemp. Late Summer Greenhouse.|
Oil on canvas panel. 60 x 50 cm.
It's up from the studio into the house and over the coming days I will look at it, think about it and make any adjustments necessary.
As always, and stupidly, I feel sad when finishing a painting and totally without purpose.
And along comes the thought that I needn't have bothered, and it's all full of mistakes, and it's awful and boring and amateurish and no one will like it anyway.
Does any one else feel like that?
I need time to see it in perspective.
Or perhaps it's rubbish anyway.
To cheer myself up a bit I let loose a splurge of magenta acrylic over a new board, and roughly blocked out a future masterpiece. On wards and upwards.
But my heart is still on this old painting. It has need of a bit more loving care before being finally chained down in a frame.
It's been entered in a local art exhibition in Stamford, and I hope it gets selected. The standard is quite high.
I've never done this before but this time when I painted I recorded the hours spent on this picture.
Having worked on nothing else over the past three weeks I'm surprised at how little time I've actually spent brush to canvas. I must have frittered away an awful lot of time on other painting related things but not much on painting.
It came to 28 hours all told, but there will be a few more hours tidying up.
So really nearly a week's work. Interesting.
How does your experience of finishing a painting compare with mine?
Please leave me your thoughts in the comments box.