Blue Paulson

I think I'm gonna call it "Blue Paulson."

A friend whose professional credentials, I can assure you, make him the right person to comment, emailed me saying:

Your Hank picture is very good, but the projectile red tear is a bit startling!

And isn't that strange? You, the painter (me, I suppose), get caught up in the minutia of the thing and you can't step far enough back to see that big red goober as a tear. Up until that moment I just saw it as a bunch of red paint that escaped my bowl while I was leaning over the painting, concentrating on the right side of the image.

Now I'm delighted with the whole thing.

Did you ever go see that Matisse/Picasso show that MOMA held in Queens during their last renovation? The one that showed 25 or so--28 maybe--thematically- or stylistically-linked pairings of paintings. There was one Picasso there--lovely pinks and pastel blues, one of his wives or girlfriends curled up in a chair, it was during that phase when the limbs seemed like extended tear drops.

This might be it ...



... although the point of the story is that there is a sizable goober of paint on one of her forearms. Not as big as the one on Blue Paulson, but big enough so that, in person, you can certainly see it and the urge (which, I should warn you, is completely against the rules) to scrape it off with your fingernail is palpable. I don't see it on this image, but the picture is a tiny one and it might just not have come through.

Anyway, I love the notion of just embracing the shit as it happens.

Projectile tears indeed.