My friend Karen just had a baby girl, so I'm working on this piece to gift her. It's not done, but it's getting there.
I've been thinking about the similarities between painting and writing. The first draft, you look back on and groan...and something wills you forward with edits and rewrites until you feel in your bones that it's done. I feel the same way with painting. I paint a bit in the evening and am happy, and proud, and go to bed to sleep on it. The next day I look at it with fresh eyes and see all the corrections I need to make. For instance, last night the piggies legs were too narrow, and his skin too purplish-pink. The tree was too dark along the left side, where I imagined the sun should be shining. And, the cat was not yet painted, nor were the flowers outlined. Also the stems of the bouquet the piggy is holding were out of whack completely.
Today while Aidan napped I went back to it and now I'm happy with the pig, the tree looks better, the bouquet is fixed, and the cat is a little closer to being finished. And the owl, I can't forget him! At this point I'm not even sure what colour I'm going to paint him.
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