On Day Six Oscar and I are only in the gallery from 9 to Noon.
I have a confession. I’m painting a lighthouse. I know it’s a cliché. But lighthouses weren’t a cliché until Edward Hopper discovered them.
I had a college art professor, Joseph Masheck, who said, “There’s a reason things become cliches. It’s because they’re good and people like them.” (Or something like that.) Come to think of it, his lecture on Hopper stuck with me.
I decide I’m done with one painting. The one on the right. I kind of hate it. I definitely hate the one on the left.
I’m struggling with painting Cadillac Mountain. Everything I do is boring, overworked or trite.
When Judith Felch was in yesterday, she said she traveled Europe as an art student and wondered about painting the mountains in Switzerland. Her teacher said mountain paintings have to have something in them to demonstrate their scale. Hmm.
We work quickly since we only have three hours. I kind of like the lighthouse painting. Oscar says it’s interesting. “Interesting” is high praise from Oscar.
I’m not sure I can come in on Sunday, I tell Oscar. I have company coming for dinner and pickleball and stuff to do. But I’ll let him know. He says he’s not sure if they’re going to play at the Church of the Morning After tomorrow. I say I’ll try to find out. But I don’t. He says it’s okay. He’ll just walk down to see if they’re there. Oscar can’t drive.
We decide we’re going to have a reception on our last day, Jan. 31. We could call it a closing opening. An artist friend tells me they’re called ‘closing receptions.’
We’ll have beer. And wine. And chocolate.