Painting – A Lie?

backyard-roses_post.jpg  Lisa tells me it is better to be truthful.  She got started on this tack when she caught me being dishonest.  It didn’t take any great deductive skills on her part; I told her I was a fighter pilot and a bull fighter.  After looking in the mirror and seeing the lines on my face, I can see where those careers don’t seem too plausible for me.  Say – I’m old enough, I could be a brain surgeon (as long as I don’t have to know my ass from my elbow).

    I well remember my first occupational lie.  It was many years ago.  As an engineer, I had not been doing well with the ladies so to speak.  It may have had something to do with being boring.  One day I had a brilliant idea; they (the ladies) would be attracted to a sensitive artist.  That very night I gave it a try.  Now, you have to understand, at this time in my life I had never even drawn a stick figure.  Sitting by a woman at the bar, I mentioned I was an artist.  We talked awhile when she turned to a man on her other side.  She asked him what he did.  He was an artist.  She exclaimed: “I’ve got a great idea.  Why don’t you both draw me?”  Sheeeit! What’s the probablity of that?  He was an artist. 

   What’s this have to do with this painting of roses?  Well, I took what is euphemistically called artistic license with the wall.  In other words, a lie.  I like to paint at least a close interpretation of what I see.  In this case, however, the wall was ugly so I painted what I thought would look good with yellow roses.

   Lately I’ve been thinking I should lie more in my work.  As I drive the roads and look at the landscape through my rose tinted sunglasses, it looks very appealing.  As soon as I remove the glasses, the same scene looks humdrum.  The sunglasses give the earth a red tint that goes well with the green trees.  Should I paint it that way?

    Some people are very commercially successful painting bald faced lies.  Crooked wavy houses, purple grass, etc.  Whenever I see their work I think of the painters as complete losers.  No one starts out thinking of painting purple grass and wavy buildings.  They get there when they are unsuccessful at representational work.   Luckily for them the world has a plentiful supply of idiots who can be convinced of the artistic merit of such pieces.  Maybe I’ll start painting crooked tits like Picasso.  It worked for him.

Bill

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