Ain't they sweet. But really they're oily blossoms of pain -- I had to paint these tulips in a very forced manner (they look bright here but were decaying rather quickly) and found that one can do so for three days maximum, not five or six as I had to do. One might then contract "dentists' hands" -- we use the same positions and do roughly the same endless miniscule dotting and strokes. After a few days, the pain wanders from your fingertips -- where all of your soul is concentrated, pinching the brush -- up in waves through the metacarpal bones, then it takes to lingering flaring in your wrist before expanding further in a row of fire to the elbow and up until it reaches odd points in the shoulder blade or even the neck. One might even feel the spine hurting. And I've stopped there -- I don't know how to fill the area next to the flowers anyway. I hope for a nice surprise.
From the progress:
And this is how Yours Sinc. is dressed for work in this old, wonderful but oh so sticky and smelly medium. A lot of solution is needed, and the shirt is saturated with white spirit -- just reeking -- which I sort of like. It tells my mind and nostrils that good Work is being done.
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