Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Sometimes they just MOCK you!

The paintings. Sometimes they just mock you. They stare at you from the wall, hurling insults at you. Like that old Woody Allen bit where he thought his kitchen appliances would whisper anti-Semitic remarks about him whenever he would leave the room.

Me? I'm Irish Catholic, so the content would change slightly. Although the concept would remain the same.
I'm not familiar with the Woody Allen bit.
Really?
No.
Well listen, I've gotta go to the bathroom. When I come back I'll see if I can find it on u-tube.
You do that, you Pope-loving, fish-eating, potato-digging, pretend-painting mick basterd.
What?
What?
What did you say as I walked away from the computer?
Nothing. Why?
I could have sworn you said something.
Naaaaah.
Alright, I'll be right back.
Take your time, Paddy O'Furniture. I'll be watching Riverdance with the sound down.
What?
What?
What?
What?
Nothing. Take your pee. May the toilet rise up to greet you.
I heard that one.
Of course you did. 'Cause now I'm just messing with you.
Oh.
But I swear I didn't say anything earlier.
Okay.
Okay.


Anyway, this one was giving me some trouble. In the forehead. So I just whited the goddam thing out today on my way out the door and will, tomorrow, revisit with some vigor. Plus some red, yellow and purple.

Although, since painting is as much about relative values as it is anything else, you could solve the problem without all that fuss by leaving the forehead the way it is right now--all gesso'd out--and balance it out by grinding some white into the bridge of the nose and maybe across the image-right side of his upper lip and you could get away with it.

Although: a) no way am I touching the upper lip--I love that aquamarine, and b) as somebody wrote on Big Lloyd 3, "Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should do it."

No, gentle reader. I'm gonna get up tomorrow, get out of bed, drag a comb across my head, walk the eleven blocks to my studio and apply the previously noted reds, yellows and purples to the top of Richard Fuld's face. And that will be that.

Although I must say, the white on the top does wonders for the depths of his eyes. Hmmm ...





... is all I'm saying.

I do love that little black curlicue coming out of the side of his hair. Like a little horn.

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