I was stuck. The painting I started January 20 languished while I avoided my easel. I had figured out a couple of things I could do to fix the wrongness, yet I couldn’t summon the will to do them. And then last night, on the brink of sleep, I suddenly realized that I’ve been trying to get back to painting the wrong way: I haven’t been a strictly representational artist before now, so why am I aspiring to that straightforward tack now? I’ve always been attracted to unusual materials and techniques; I’ve worked to achieve effects that resemble stained glass, palimpsests, emotional and hallucinatory effects… so what’s with this desire to be so literal?
I jumped out of bed and jotted down this tiny hypnogogic insight before it could hide under the bed. Then I fell asleep with visions of stencils and spray paint dancing in my head. Yes, I am in love with the world around me, but a bald depiction of that world will not capture that love adequately. Time to unleash the ecstasy.