The short life of a painting

Post mortem painting: The Red and the Black.

I hung a painting today after first destroying it.

The painting became worse and worse, no matter how hard I tried, until it was beyond redemption.

It appeared that I’d violated certain principles of primary colors, red and black in particular.

Now, I’m devastated. Nothing is interesting, but I know I must poke around this nothingness sooner than later to see what I might discover, to see if I can get a painting going again, a new painting, since it’s too late to give this one mouth-to-mouth so that it might speak to me, show me some kind of sign of life.

What did I learn from this debacle?

That the painting has to please the painter’s eye. And that all of my paintings attempt to make abstractions out of representational objects, with the premise that everything visual has a conceptual counterpart.