To warm up this morning, I continued on with a new canvas by painting cool colors over warm. The random marks don't bother me. It's suppose to be this way. Out of randomness comes the picture that wants to be born like Michelangelo sculptures emerging from stone. He probably knew where he was going every step of the way, and he still had to follow seams existing in the stone itself. And so I put down marks that are random and layer by layer something, I don't know anything about just now will emerge. In this way the turtle girl I'd never met before came out of the chaos.
At this point in the painting, I don't have that feeling of reckless abandon. This morning I'm asking myself what's working and what's not working. How do I keep every little stroke from becoming too precious, too thought out, too deliberate? How do I keep letting go rather than painting like someone who is fearful of losing something? Unlike the earlier stage of another painting, I can't paint "no regrets" on this one. This one's a keeper. I really love the central part of this canvas. There's the turtle walking its path in peace, sticking to it with determination and serenity. There's the busy fluttery butterfly, the end stage of a big transition that only lives for a day. And there she is, the impatient girl coming out of nowhere who is learning to fly, and at the same time loves that sure steadiness at her foundation.
I've outlined some areas in the side panels and I'm thinking those marks will disappear. I think she is being born form we don't know what, and we don't need to know. There's a trick to keeping what is working and changing the rest, but I don't know what it is. Yet.
Baruch ata adonai....how do I walk the line between letting go and having to know? Anything I need or want or hope to be is already in me right now. Help me to live with the mystery. Amen