New, old, whatever...

This is where my art began. I painted this about ten years ago, back in the house at the edge of the world, where my easel sat in the kitchen under a skylight, with a little Formica-topped cabinet as my tabouret and an old glass-fronted cabinet held my current objects. I labored there in fits and starts, pushing the paint around, often really frustrated. At first, the background was not so deep in value, the candle remained unlit, and there was no plate with an orange in it. The square canvas just felt so unbalanced, and uninteresting, despite the (totally accidental) use of complimentary colors. Then, one day, we ate breakfast in town, at the now-defunct Lyon's restaurant (where there is now a new sparkling In and Out), and I saw a painting of fruit with a halved orange on a plate. I painted it in as soon as I got home, then, aha moment, I lit the candle, scumbled darker pigments into the background, and I had a more dynamic composition. Not the best way to paint. It worked though, and I am not ashamed to hang this on my bedroom wall, even if my perspective sucks, which it does. Actually, it is my trademark that something is always flawed. And, funnily enough, there is always a sweet spot, too. I think it is in the juxtaposition of the two pears and the yellow nasturtium in this composition. There is a spot of light on the pitcher there that I don't remember painting. Tiny moment of inspiration. Those are so precious. If I painted this picture today, the perspective would be more precise, and the objects much more loosely portrayed. It is good to remember the beginning. Every artist that I studied in art history 2.3, the French salon and Salon Refuse, all began tight and representational (yes, even Monet and Van Gogh). It was later, after many, that they fell into who they would be, so very individual. This may be my year for that kind of revelation. Sooooo exciting.