I am nearly done with this piece. I think. It’s bloody hard to tell. It’s a little hand-sized shrine to a long-nosed gar, and I have no idea if it’s good or not. I think it’s art. Maybe.
I might put it on my wall, which means it’s enough not-like my art to satisfy me on some level.
I am infinitely more sympathetic to all those people doing art in galleries that I’ve looked at and felt smug because I was a realist and obviously these people were doing this because they couldn’t paint their way out of a paper sack. Would that I could collar that younger, more judgmental self and give myself a severe shake and say "Idiot! Don’t you realize what a gift it is to be able to know when you’re DONE!?"
URSULA (brandishing thing): I need an aesthetic opinion.
URSULA: Good interesting, or Midwestern well-isn’t-that-interesting?
KEVIN: …It’s art, anyway. Definitely art. I like what you did with the wires. Very Tim Burton.
URSULA: Should I put these little hands on the ends?
KEVIN: That’d be more interesting.
URSULA: Good interesting, or Midwestern–
KEVIN: I don’t know.
URSULA (increasingly frustrated): Is it done?
KEVIN (increasingly alarmed): I don’t know! What does artist brain tell you?
URSULA: ….artist brain’s an idiot.
There’s a mystical school of thought that you just gaze at a piece you’ve been working on and feel a mental click and know that it’s done. I hope this happens for somebody because it’s a load of bullshit for me on anything, let alone this. I will stick little hands on the wires, and then it’ll be done enough.
ETA: Added hands. Showed Kevin. He looked startled. Confirmed that yup, that’s art all right.
Well, at least I’ve attained my goal of doing something wildly, wildly different.