Joy revisited.
I spent a day this week cleaning -- sweeping, dusting, mopping, washing -- and organizing. The studio didn't look that much different after, but it felt different. Art is a messy business. Paint tubes migrate. Pastels find new homes on a range of surfaces. Wire falls off its hook on the wall and needs to be untangled and picked up. The studio reflects the artist. I'm not sure what mine says about me --- controlled clutter or messy intentions?
I have a friend who paints on his dining room table. His paintings are smooth surfaces of geometric patterns thoughtfully constructed.
I have another friend who paints in a corner of his kitchen -- in a converted pantry. His studio looks like paint exploded in it. So do his canvases -- rich colors and lots and lots of texture.
My studio looks like a well managed but over-crowded living room. There is a place for everything and a thing in every space. It is filled to overflowing with a logic all its own. The white walls are awash with splatters and spills and drips.
I am traveling this week, so I wanted to clean up before I left. Finish what needed to get done. Take note of what was left to do. Make lists of what I need. Feel complete.
So it was odd that the day after cleaning but the day before I left I had to go back to the studio and paint something new. I chose a figure drawing of a headless torso and painted it into a portrait of no one I know. Two good friends saw it and said, "oh, a self-portrait."
I just wanted to make a little mess before I left.
And maybe I wanted to leave someone to watch over things while I was gone.