My last post was an indulgence of self pity, I confess. But it was also my first step towards regaining inner equilibrium. All my self-talk, as good as it was, needed to get out of the mental raquet ball court and into the objective ears of others. And as often is the case, the things we fear are rarely the frightening things in life.
By the time I got to the venue meeting, I had my plan. Having overcome impulses to flee, I was on solid enough turf to realize my best allies were fact and truth. So after a sultry hour touring guest house and grounds, dodging watering sprays and random gardeners, I’d managed to stake out a couple of vantage points for a plein air painting demonstration as wells some moody interior spots to paint.
At last, near the end of the foray, our gracious host mentioned the portrait painter, giving me the opportunity I’d been waiting for all along. His name? That was all it took and she extolled his illustrious career painting the rich and famous as well as his monied(my word) “middle class”. Having asked just enough other questions about how he worked(by sittings or photos?), I was pretty sure I was over the hurdle. I smelled a really good salesman peddling lots of glitz.
Jumping on the computer tout de suit,BINGO! There they were: portraits that looked more like commercial photographs on steroids than moody, introspective paintings like those I adore: Sargent, Morrisot or Rembrandt. I came back to my senses, smiling.
When we talk “shop” that day, happy to be me, I’ll be digging more into how he built his career and client base than developed his painting style. Just what I need!