The Worst Painting Yet.

Last night I painted the worst painting I’ve painted yet. Straight from the gut. No reference. No plan. Just quickly deciding on colors and slapping paint on the canvas. When it was decidedly done, or at least when my desire to waste both paint and time had quelled, I sat back pondering whether I liked it, whether there was at least any part of it I liked, or whether I wanted to take it outside and burn it.

I was reminded of Monet who completed many paintings and destroyed many paintings. When I learned this of Monet, I was shocked at the thought of the how many treasures of Monet’s life’s work we could have if not for his frustrated stabbing, ripping, kicking, and tossing of his canvases that did not meet his standards.

Now, while I am sure that anything Monet destroyed would still be deemed suitably incredible by his fans; I found myself staring at my guttural cacophony of vomitous paint and unintelligible abstraction and thinking a few things.

First, while at first shocked by Monet’s destruction of his art, I can understand that when a vision is not realized, then it may be appropriate to throw it into the lily pond.

Second, though there is something to be gained from each painting – and truly, there was little, but still something gained from this one – and further, while every painting could add to the final portfolio, like poetry, not every poem written or painting painted need survive.

And finally, 3rd, I am not Monet. This painting was not me. This painting was painted in a flurry of Fuck-Its. It has no place on the wall of my current work, and even if I delve more into the realm of Fuck-It abstract surrealism, those future works will surely have more thought, more vision, and more understanding than this.

Tonight, I will scrape this canvas all but clean, and leave just one piece to remind me.