This Painting I’m Making

I started a painting: a blue background, kind of sky blue and two large forms: yellow (mustard) and red (raspberries) complementing each other: they appear something like Gibraltar? something jutting out of the Pacific Ocean on the middle of Oregon (or is it Central Oregon) coast…and with that — where was I, oh yeah, the painting:

It started out a blue yellow red painting and stark forms then I made green (deep forest) to put around the borders of the forms, but thought it too out of place (all this because the guitar is in the shop so I’ve got to somehow fill the minutes) and I filled the whole blue space with green and as it dried, the green let the blue seep in and turn the green a kind of seaweed, so maybe that was the right choice, representationally: (what happened next?)

The island rocks are drawn in with mixtures of yellow and red — not orange — and I really have no eye for things, no skill to paint or conceptualize the next move or be intentional about what I am making, I just like to move color around, I enjoy the impermanence of liquidity and the illusion of permanent form — not entirely dissimilar from ink, though vastly different: the ink is more intentional and once it’s on the page it doesn’t move instead recedes into the paper unless it’s smudged which is accidental in a different way and not part of the process (for me):

So what will happen with this painting when it’s done? I’ve been (not) working on it for several months now, started in July and just now got restarted on it after so many things (family and travel) and I think I started it because I had this canvas I found on the curb in Philadelphia which I unstapled from the frame and flipped over and reattached — the original drawing was chalk — a naked woman — the artist’s girlfriend, maybe? — and that was it: I made (can make) a painting because I have a blank canvas and some paint and because my guitar is in the shop and because this morning I’m bored to death with poetry, even though right now I am not painting but writing and that’s what the pros call paradox.

So what will what happen with this painting once it’s done? I’ll hang it above the bookshelf in the living room which is a good spot for it, above the bookshelf and the reading chair like a threat like hey, books, see what happens? — the right sized spot, good spot, no gallery, no exhibition, and people will ask me when they come to my house, which they rarely do and I will say when they ask who painted it, I don’t know I found it on the curb in Philly and I will say┬áno it’s not for sale: