Friday, 2 September 2011

The Creative Process (My Version)! and Zentangle 37

Dropped hubby off at the bowls club
where he hobbles off on sore legs to be a volunteer groundsman 
with some of his friends, 
and I hurtle home determined to paint today.

I reckon I have a few hours before he will ring
(at my insistance) 
for his lift home.

I have that
 "about to burst if I don't slosh some colour around" 
feeling that I have been trying to organise in my head,
so that when the time comes to
put it into practice I can be methodical
in the approach I want to take.

I can visualise the colours I want
to arrange into groups for their tonal values, 
but scotch the idea of working in oils 
because I know that will take too much time
so I decide to use pastels and getting home,
dash up to my studio to set myself up.

When my eyes light on the scene above 
I remember that the last time I was in here ended
in a hurried departure for something pressing.
 Not unusual, and no excuse,
because this space is in a constant state of chaos.
I notice in horror that I have very unusually
not cleaned my brushes
and they lie caked in hardened paint 
which will take precious time to clean.   

I shove stuff around 
to make space for me 
and the plant
I've decided to paint.

Not for the first time 
I wonder why my waiting materials
get mixed up 
with fascinating things
like this crown off a poppy head.

I covet the luscious, rich,
immediate pigment of the pastels, 
but even as I access some tinted pastel paper
from the rack I know they will not satisfy my need to 
"slosh around"
and foolishly opt for the unforgiving yet enticing
medium of watercolour.

Have an inward moan at hubby 
who has been using my guilotine 
and left a pile of paper shards
on my working surface. 
A flea bite compared to the chaos I've left
but it's a handy means of 
venting some of my irritation at myself.

I hurriedly stretch the paper and descend to the ground floor
to bring up my mobile and the house phone 
so that I catch hubby's call when it comes,
finish drying the paper with a hair dryer,
and  notice with annoyance that the tape
holding the paper has lifted.
I know the paper is going to cockle now,
even before I start.

Set up table easel 
to at last start to slosh,
but I'm frayed and annoyed.
Water colour needs thought
and mental review of colour and process,
and the free, fresh, light-filled colour 
that can be achieved with this medium
is lost before I begin.

But I do have a slosh
resigning myself to an unrefined dabbling
that will be far from what I've been mentally planning, 
but will at least be in touch with the colour I crave
 I watch the glorious colours blend into mud,
hear hubby enter the house two floors down and am thankful he got a lift home,
while despair that it's that time already. 

  I scratch my intials with the brush handle
onto this little 8"x8" misshap
and only now wonder that the habit of signing 
everything is so engrained. 

After our lunch eaten in the still sunny garden,
I climb back up to the attic 
and against my better judgement can't resist 
reaching for the brush and
ladle on more pigment.
Just lemon yellow and alizarlin crimson. 
Merely a different colour mud I decide,
and make up my mind,(not for the first time),
  to be more disciplined or give up.

I step back and look for something good. 
Well, the tonal values are intact
but the singing colour inside my head has been submerged.
But then if you set yourself up to fail...

At least with the Zentangle challenge I can do it anywhere!
This is number 36 
and the challenge is to work on grids,
and is called "Kiss my Grids"
 by Laura who set the challenge on
 I think my grids are inspired by the bars in Spain 
where the walls are adorned
with heavily patterned mismatched tiles
and you can sit with a glass of wine,
a selection of tapas, 
and try and guess the age of the cold meats and sausage
hanging from the ceiling .

P.S.  You may wonder why,
if I was so pressed for time 
I stopped to photograph my chaos.
  I guess it's because making myself stop and see,
and think where I am,
sometimes helps slow me down and talk sense into myself
  It could have cleared my brain enough to have known
 getting prepared for another day might have been more sensible.
Sometimes I just want to do what I want to do though...

Sound familiar to you?

Got to go now.
Hubby has a bowls match to play in thirty minutes and
he's called up the stairs to say that of course,
he could catch the bus...

God Bless

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