I am a small and petty person.
I got a comment t’other day on a painting from somebody who didn’t like it. And that’s fine, so far as it goes–I’d make myself insane in short order if I needed everybody to like every painting I’ve ever done, and they left a concise analysis of why it didn’t work for them, so it was far from a drive-by “u suk!” sort of thing. This is in no way intended to criticize them–it was a perfectly valid reaction, and not every painting works for every person.
But they said, at the end, that they thought I’d gotten over my phallic rock phase by now.
If there is a single phrase in the English language guaranteed to make my fingers burn with the desire to paint giant stone penises RIGHT THIS MINUTE, that would be it. I had just come back with a load of gessoboard, since my local art place is having a sale, and only the fact that I was under the gun for Digger kept me from prepping the entire load with monolithic rock wang. Today, I am still burning with said desire. (A friend tried to talk me out of this by pointing out that this would be a great deal of trouble to go to merely out of spite, but was unable to counter the logic that at the end of the day, I would have both spite AND a painting of a stone penis! It’s win-win!)
I am a bad person, I realize. And my muse is as perverse as they come–nothing stops my desire to paint something like the phrase “You should paint X!” which is part of why, as people may have noticed, it’s a running gag around here these days. Reverse psychology works beautifully on me, as long as I can’t see it coming. (If I can, then of course it doesn’t.) A sense of obligation kills me. (Many of you have realized this, and believe me, I appreciate your indulgence in dealing with my lunacy, although I’m really not as fragile as all that. Usually.) This is why I’ve been moving away from commissions lately, and just doing art in hopes people will buy whatever weird vision I’m havin’ that day.
Like giant stone penises, damnit.