The painting is at a really ugly stage. It's too stripey, darks and lights aren't defined, no real direction...still. It's like it's turned 17 and gone really rotten like a bad teenager. I want to cry. I want to kick it out. I don't know why I even shared it with you because I'm ashamed. I wish someone else would come in and raise this child.
But I've learned that paintings go through ugly stages, just like people, and that you can't give up. That you have to keep with it until you and the painting emerge. And just like a bad teenager, once it begins to bloom, you can't over-parent them, over-work them- that you are part of the process, but you are not all of it. I need a miracle. I'm expecting one any day.
