Fighting the Ugly Stage

It's the damndest thing . . . the ugly stage of a painting. After a careful drawing of the essential shapes followed by the setting up of the value plan, most every painting of mine seems to say "Don't Paint Me."

Sometimes it's just pathetic. I'll move away from the easel to my big "viewing" chair. It starts out with my mind asking the essential question, "What the hell do I do now?" Often I will leap from my chair, grab a brush, attack a puddle of paint and suddenly the brush has a mind of its own and demands to be put down. "Wait a minute, Buster," the brush commands. In an instant I'm back in the chair. Is it procrastination, self-doubt, or am I really trying to devise a logical plan of attack?

Sure, there are moments when that leap from the chair yields some magic. Strangely, the ugly stage is instantly transformed into . . ."Hey wait minute, this painting ain't bad!" 

However, after jumping that hurdle and feeling much better, Cathy, my muse usually ambles over to offer a quick review ranging from pointing out a severe design flaw to commenting on "do, do do, do doop doop do do."

 Roughly translated, it means stupid brushwork. Of course she's almost always right.

The fire is out. Another comment from the Peanut Gallery made it better. My buddy Dustin White made me take the value of this rear windows down several notches. I think I'm happy now.

We did get into it over this painting. It was not about design or brushwork. It was "What are you Doing?" 

In its Ugly Stage the broken down cabin looked like it was in the middle of a forest fire, not fall foliage. It was awful. But I had a plan when I leapt from the chair. As I was about to mix some cools for color contrast, Cathy just stands there shaking her head. "Why are you painting a forest fire?" she asks slyly. Now my self-doubt is at full tilt. She tells me to text it to my son Jake who never minces words.

"Yes" is his one word answer about the forest fire.
Within seconds I'm back in the chair ready to fling this 6x6 into the dumpster across the street. This ugly stage is really getting ugly.

I started out with such high expectations. I could feel this place. I could smell it. I've been there. This was a painting which people like to say "Painted itself."
But no . . .  I was floundering in the woods. I needed an existential fire truck right then and there. I dialed 911 in my brain. 

Definition, I needed definition. And isn't that at the essence of the Ugly Stage? I keep trying to tell myself to be patient. Why am I always in a rush? Ah, that's another chapter.