Fear of bad art

In most paintings I do that are the least bit ambitious (i.e. they'll take me more than one session to complete), there is inevitably a moment when I stare at the unfinished piece and say to my self, "What on earth was I thinking?" This sense of dread is fairly paralysis-inducing, and I do well to spend more than 20 minutes at a stretch before I have to flee from the evidence of my own inadequacy as a painter.

I'm sort of to that point right now.

Although not huge, my current painting is the largest I've done in a long time, as well as being one of the more complex. While individual areas have some nice work, as a whole it feels rather clumsy and cobbled together. 

What keeps me going is knowing most of my better paintings hit this low spot where I can't stand them. It's a necessary part of the journey.

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier though.

On a side note, I'm about ready to pronounce the previous painting finished. I hope to shoot a picture this week and post it.

Repair job

I finally got around to doing a little painting repair this weekend.

Background: we had an old painting my wife's aunt had done many years ago. Somehow in its travels it managed to acquire an inch long tear, no doubt from something poking it. The painting wasn't valuable in a monetary sense, but it had sentimental value. I said I'd repair it.

Before going much further I consulted the source of all wisdom, my ancient copy of Ralph Mayer's Artist's Handbook of Materials and Techniques. Among the chapters is one on conservation, which includes a section on repairs. It became my road map for this project.