Just the interesting bits

Rather than burden you with the entire sequence, I thought the most interesting part was what we call "Day Six."

The term functions on at least two levels. It of course refers to the day God completed the creation of the world (on the 7th day, he rested, according to well-accepted Christian tradition). At the same time, the employment of the term as it relates to the obscured box technique speaks directly to the notion of the Artist as God.

A notion, by the way, that I willingly embrace (although I'm more of a natural selection guy than an intelligent design guy).

On a more mundane level, Day Six is the sixth and final point, as close readers probably know, along the arc every OBT painting describes; preceded by Days One through Four (the minimum amount of days required to cover any gridded surface by painting groups of non-adjacent sections, assuming each section takes a day to paint--which it actually doesn't, unless you are drinking a lot of coffee. Which I no longer do.) and the fifth day, which we call Christmas Day because that's when we unwrap the damned thing. The 7th Inning Stretch, explained three posts below, by the way, doesn't count as a day. It is just a moment that occurs between the Days Two and Three.

The people who read from the bottom up probably know what you are talking about.
Nicely said. And to those who read from the top down, they deserve whatever confusion confronts them.
There's a character in "Guys and Dolls" named Nicely-Nicely. Are you referring to him?
No. Had I been, I would have said "Nicely-Nicely said."
Nicely said.
Exactly.
And besides, who knew Brando could sing?
Nicely said.

Day Six, in this case, actually took a day. A long day. I got home at about ten last night.

Anyway, here is what it looked like when we unwrapped it. Not our finest hour, but if all I did was show you my finest hours ... I'm telling you, this would be a short blog:

Also, honestly, how pretentious is my constant use of the Royal We? I mean, it's not like there was anybody unwrapping it beside me. With perhaps the exception of my double chin, which, really, seems to have taken on a life of its own.

Anyway, here it is when we tried to integrate some of the discordances:

I like the unfolding of the blues. Just for the record, you may notice that the more we bear down on the blue on the leeward side, the more a touch or two crops up to windward. And manomanoman, that eye was killing me. Simply killing me. I mean, sometimes you just know it when you're painting the box itself. You're thinking "Man, this is a disaster."

That said, sometimes the easiest thing is just to press ahead. There's a saying in video production that goes: "We'll fix it in post." So you say to yourself, paint stick in hand, "We'll fix it on Day Six," and then proceed forward. I mean, you can get bogged down.

So this is us beginning to fix the eye.

And we're done:

Do you know what the secret was? It was two goobers of white, applied by thumb, across the bottom of each eye, creating Warren's pretty-characteristic squint. And we aren't actually done. I need to tune up the bit on the lower right that has to do with his neck, his shirt, and his jacket. Mostly, that little bit of dripping will just go all black.

Your father was a sucker for all that Damon Runyon stuff, wasn't he.
Yes he was.