Day 110. April 19, 2012
There is something incredibly soothing in taking paintbrush to material. Dragging the brush slowly along a surface, gently grasping its long, tapered handle, leaving behind a pigmented signature. Natural bristle brushes are fascinating to watch as they trail across canvas leaving beautiful variations in every stroke. It’s a raw experience, a motion that cannot be replicated no matter how many times the same motion is practiced. Every stroke is like a snowflake – no two are perfectly alike. Painting digitally can create flawless, polished works of art. But nothing can replace the full experience of painting by hand. The frustration of shaking an almost empty container of paint onto a large palette, the wonderful experimentation behind mixing colors, the joy – and fear – of placing saturated bristles against the virgin, white surface. Placing a stroke, taking a step back, tilting your head this way then that, examining it before daring to place the brush to surface once more. Hardly do I ever begin a painting knowing what I want to end up with, I simply love the experience too much to need a plan. Because in the end I know I can simply paint over it all and start anew another day.