Painting (or perhaps more broadly, making art) is nothing more than a series of decisions, big and small, grandiose and minute. So many decisions must be made, and then once made bravely and boldly, they must be re-thought, re-considered, re-done. It's easy to become overwhelmed. (Have I mentioned I'm overwhelmed?) It's certainly exhausting. To learn, past decisions that worked must be remembered and re-used to facilitate the next series of decisions toward something even more difficult or complex. But to move work forward, they must also be questioned, challenged. But which ones do you hold on to in the name of a lesson learned, a skill achieved, an idea expressed clearly, and which ones do you discard as inadequate, unsuccessful, or no longer interesting? How can you be sure you know which one is which?
Lately I feel as if I'm sitting at a slot machine, with a million possible choices whirling around inside. With a random but decisive move, I produce one result that reflects some combination of all those choices, and with each successive attempt, I produce new, slightly varied results. But it amazes me that it can be the change of just one choice that makes the difference between hitting the jackpot and losing your quarter. I know I can't hit the jackpot every time, but I'm tirelessly trying to achieve enough winning combinations that at the very least, I get to keep playing the game.
Lately I feel as if I'm sitting at a slot machine, with a million possible choices whirling around inside. With a random but decisive move, I produce one result that reflects some combination of all those choices, and with each successive attempt, I produce new, slightly varied results. But it amazes me that it can be the change of just one choice that makes the difference between hitting the jackpot and losing your quarter. I know I can't hit the jackpot every time, but I'm tirelessly trying to achieve enough winning combinations that at the very least, I get to keep playing the game.