About halfway through my planned hike I found a less nicely paved trail and decided to go exploring. I later found a sign that named the trail I'd been hiking and distance to the nearest landmark, but at the time I was hiking blind. I was definitely nervous, I had no desire to get lost. There were times where I seriously considered turning around but I figured I'd come too far, and that I needed to at least find some kind of interesting landmark before quitting.
After about forty-five minutes of climbing I came to a fork in the road - It was the first fork I'd seen since leaving the main road. The left road was clearly the main road, but since I was at eye level with and could see the details of the nearby mountain ranges, I decided to see where the right road would take me. I knew I wasn't going to reach the top of the mountain which is where the left trail seemed to be headed because it still seemed a ways off.
A hundred meters in I was in a small clearing. Ahead of me were snow capped mountain ranges, and below was the valley I'd walked through on the main trail. There was a campfire setup made of rocks, with sticks and kindling already set up for use, and a seating arrangement made of stone. It was absolutely breathtaking .
What does any of this have to do with painting?
First, I noticed colors and shapes that I'd never noticed before I started painting. Like how shadows cast outdoors will typically have a blueish tint, and everywhere the sun shines will have a warm yellow tint. I noticed fractals on leaves, on flowers. I noticed how light objects grew darker in recession and dark objects grew lighter in recession.
Second, I thought about my obsession with leaving my mark. Plants and bees and birds certainly don't care about my paintings, nor do they care about how much money these works earn. It was quiet and secluded out in the mountains, and I just kind of fit like a piece of a puzzle. That's as uncheesy as I could get it. (Part of a larger picture - yeah?)
And finally - taking the road less travelled by. Though their methods may seem archaic now, the old masters were some of the greatest innovators of their time. I recognize that I can't make reproductions forever (see here), but I also don't plan on throwing a shark in formaldehyde any time soon. So... innovation... taking the path less travelled by... making culturally significant art using adequate technique and perhaps a bit of abstraction to connect my viewer to my work. Nothing extraordinary comes from sticking to the main trail.
Of course there are far more variables to consider when considering success in the contemporary art market, but that's a
Love \\ Christelle
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