And just while we're beating this to death...
Here's a picture of Old Bobby Lee.
It now physically graces the walls of an apartment that used to belong to Naomi Campbell. It's actually a lovely painting. Classic obscured box image. Engaging size differential with the eyes. Mythic subject matter. I mean, were this painting a person, you'd have a hard time deciding what to get it for Christmas. It's really got everything.
But this is what it used to look like before I added one last layer.
And I am here to tell you I think I like the earlier version better than the final one. Look at that ear. And the forehead. And I like it with the chalked grid lines still visible against the black. Blah...blah...blah. The list goes on. Thank God I didn't try to fix the lapel.
And so it goes with my boy Chuck Close. I mean, you look at the smears of paint on the left side of the face, above the glasses on the right side... I'm here to tell you that I could spend a lot of time cleaning that stuff up, integrating the smears, solving what are both obvious problems and, as things turn out, not problems at all. Blah...blah...blah. The list goes on.
Anyway, I'm done. I'm not solving those problems because, really, problems are in the eyes of the beholder. Didn't I just write a couple of posts ago that it might be good for me to just let 'em rip. Be loose. Throw the fucking paint, baby.
I'm loving it just the way it is.
FYI--For you completists (and honestly, I appreciate your motives but really, completism is a dead-end street. You're just asking for trouble.), here's what we looked like at some point this morning.
It now physically graces the walls of an apartment that used to belong to Naomi Campbell. It's actually a lovely painting. Classic obscured box image. Engaging size differential with the eyes. Mythic subject matter. I mean, were this painting a person, you'd have a hard time deciding what to get it for Christmas. It's really got everything.
But this is what it used to look like before I added one last layer.
And I am here to tell you I think I like the earlier version better than the final one. Look at that ear. And the forehead. And I like it with the chalked grid lines still visible against the black. Blah...blah...blah. The list goes on. Thank God I didn't try to fix the lapel.
And so it goes with my boy Chuck Close. I mean, you look at the smears of paint on the left side of the face, above the glasses on the right side... I'm here to tell you that I could spend a lot of time cleaning that stuff up, integrating the smears, solving what are both obvious problems and, as things turn out, not problems at all. Blah...blah...blah. The list goes on.
Anyway, I'm done. I'm not solving those problems because, really, problems are in the eyes of the beholder. Didn't I just write a couple of posts ago that it might be good for me to just let 'em rip. Be loose. Throw the fucking paint, baby.
I'm loving it just the way it is.
FYI--For you completists (and honestly, I appreciate your motives but really, completism is a dead-end street. You're just asking for trouble.), here's what we looked like at some point this morning.
posted by Geoffrey at 2:10 PM
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