Sometimes it's hard to know when enough is enough

This is, of course, true in so many things. Big plates of pasta jump immediately to mind. But this isn't about food--it's about painting.

So here's the question: On my way from One to Three, would I have been better served by stopping at Number Two?





One is obviously problematic. It's what I found when I tore all the paper and tape off.

And Three is a handsome, finished product. It will look beautiful above somebody's fireplace.

But have we lost some of the edge? I think we have. By we, I am, of course, referring to me and the Baby Ruth in my pocket. The more I look at Two, the more I think, hmmm, there's a lesson to be learned here.

And it gets back to painting the goddam thing in five days. What's lost in the shuffle is the whole sitting around in the middle of the night staring at the painting, listening to music, drinking a shot of whiskey. Or a beer. Or a glass of wine. Or orange juice. The process is not alcohol dependent. What's that line?

Nothing is or isn't, only thinking makes it so.

That's probably not it. Either way, this debate does one thing: it revises my 70 paintings/year equals $450,000 bucks in the pocket equation. Someone should alert my key people at the Peter McManus Cafe.

Truth be told, I paint about 12 a year. Since arriving Leesburg, I've painted Big Jim, Big Maria, Self Portrait II and Old Bobby Lee. Plus some sketching. Which is about on schedule. So what? Now I'm going to have to charge $38,000 per painting? Or spend less time with this stupid blog?

No way.

Instead, I am going to leave you with a positive thought:



I think I'm going to bang out Jeb Stuart... just to see how the bottom half of the thing comes out when subjected to the Obscured Box school of painting.

I do love those boots. And that plumed hat. And the gold braids on his left hip.

Let the spectacle begin.