Painting the Siblings

Why paint my children?

I don't know, it's simply a subject I crave.
It's about me, not them.
Something in me is left over from the time of the photo.
I don't always know what.
Often it is different from what I expect.

The canvas sits on the easel and it's time to go.
I love the first stage of a painting:
the drawing.
Washing in the turpentine-y undercoat goes easily.
And I'm feeling inspired!

Now to work...


got to get some details going.
I chug along. Content and sure.



This stage of the game is iffy!
Sometimes it's almost there when something slips away and I have to back up.
This is tiring...but I continue.

Some parts are getting close to the finish so don't mess with 'em!
But I do.

Some areas are neglected and need fixing.
I gotta remember to keep moving around the painting.

Frustration seeps in. Regrets. Doubt.
I'm dragging. I want to give it up.

Steadily, not seeing what I want, I make changes, regret changes, accept changes, what else can I do?



At this point I've slapped on so much thick paint, it smears, feels out of control at times, but other times so soothing. Physical satisfaction lie in the brush strokes.

I don't know what I'm doing, what did I plan anyway?!
What has this thing become?

Let the voices shut up.
Just get to work again.
Quit thinking.
Just simply get back to it.

Maybe I'll take a day or two off.
Intense concentration has me exhausted and confused.
I'll recover.

What's new for me?
Discipline and certainty of the completion.
.....................