.remembering.painting.

I used to paint perpetually. Meaning, I used to paint all the time, and I used to take forever to finish each piece. There were two oil pieces in particular that I spent over two years on, before even my beau told me to put the brushed down and move onto new projects.

Then I stopped painting, and all art-making, for a good long while. I was exhausted, worn out. It was too much work.

I've spent the last 18 months or so trying to get back to art making, or what constitutes art making in my own little bubble of reality. In the last month I've been trying to paint again, experimenting with different techniques, playing with different ideas. The purpose of my painting has changed dramatically, which is wonderful. I'm not so worried about accurately recreating an image or scene or likeness, which is excellent and freeing - something I need more of in my day to day activities. Picking up a color because I like it, rather than because it's what something looks like. I'm also playing with different materials - plaster and acrylic and bits of things. A huge change from straight and static oil. This week I'm even going to try my hand out on canvas, which I've always loathed, but with the change in purpose - I think a change in surface might suit as well.

My most recent attempt:

 "and the forest wept"