Painting: With age comes impatience, and better painting
When I was younger —about 30 YEARS younger— I believed that to be a bona fide and respected painter I had to reproduce the subject of my painting perfectly, with ultimate realism, and I worked hard to achieve that. I was (and still am) a huge Renaissance fan and wanted to be a modern-day Leonard or Michaelangelo and equal their mastery of all things sfumato. A painting could take days, weeks, even a year or two. I say years because painting this way for an impatient A.D.D. person like me was tedious and boring. I would cling to tiny successes, like completing the perfect apple or cloud, often just a fraction of the overall effort that would be needed to complete such a painting with the teeny brushes that such detail demands.
Then, for a long time I decided that I hated painting. It was no fun. I liked the results, but not the journey to get there.
Then I started to age …
With age has come greater self-knowledge and acceptance of what I can and can not abide. With maturity I’ve stopped trying to emulate other people in my art. A few short years ago I decided to give painting another shot, to try to find my own voice, which meant embracing my impatience and letting the brush strokes fall where they may. My painting is looser, and somehow, more real, and I like it. A lot.
I’ve learned to impress myself, and though I’m a much tougher critic than a bunch of 500-year-old dead painters, I find the rewards of achieving personal satisfaction about the best motivator for personal growth there is.