I am forever black eyed, the product of a broken home.
Or maybe I just dont know any better.
I got a request from my mother. To paint a family-portrait. So at first I sat down and started to think about what kind of motiv a was gonna go with. And how I could make it as pleasing as possible.
As further and deeper I got in the process I kinda started to loose focus. I simply was not feeling what I was sessioning with and that notion grew ever stronger on me up to a point where I lost all interest in finishing the damn thing.
Then I realised that maybe a was going at it from the wrong angle. I had, as so many ties before, started out with a pretty thought out feeling and atmosphere for the piece. Usually I try and make something out of all the thoughts about our world and the time we spend here (and what all that in turn means…). Those are thoughts that I make my mind up about before I actually get down to bussiness (that is painting ofcourse) but this time a was just aiming for a pretty portrait without really knowing what is was drawing. Well, I had the picture in my mind but it didnt mean anything to me.
So I started over. And decided that this time I was gonna let the painting be my thought-process. Let it teach me about my feelings in the matter; my family matter.
As it turned out it was pretty grim. I guess I do have alot of things that I have not worked out about my childhood. But it was also a relief. Kind of like a therapeutic revelation. Some questions got answered and some new ones rised to the surface.
My mother was not so pleased with the result. I dont blame her. But alas, it might also put some light on things for her too. And I think that the truth is always better for all of us in the long run. We have to face reality and make the best of it, no matter be it grim or gay.
At least I think she will grow to like the painting for its colors and forms. And learn that I was not aiming with an ill intention. I was simply trying to show her my truth. And make her realise that she did not fail.