Periwinkle
August 5th, 2020
Starring: Darcy (female, 60’s)
Darcy’s studio, which seems to be a shed. It’s cluttered with canvases, all stacked, facing the wall. Darcy stands among them, in a well-worn smock:
DARCY
I’m not that depressed. Only sometimes.
It pops up like a whack-a-mole, and I bat it back down with whatever I can find.
It’s hard to tell if it’s effectively tiresome and tiresomely effective.
Whichever it is, I try hard not to let my states of being stick around.
I like them interchangeable, like a bed sheet or a camera lens.
Too little time, I can’t live in them fully. Too long, and they start to stink, or lose their veneer.
...
I think Picasso’s blue period was too long. Even if he was that down for years, every painting’s got to be monochromatic? There’s other colors in depression. Even other shades of blue. Cerulean, aquamarine, navy. Mine’s sort of a periwinkle, when it comes.
I love the guy, but there’s a feeling, and an appropriate time to be feeling that feeling fully, and then it’s gone. After that window passes, you’re just getting comfortable. Self-indulgent, even.
With art, there’s technique, and then there’s knowing when to start and when to stop.
You need both, and neither can really be taught, in my eyes.
…
This is the month I swear off everyone and everything and drive to paint the bluebonnets. It takes a while.
But each year, when I go, the meadows are the meadows, but I feel different. I can expect everything to be the same but me. That’s what I like most.
By then, god knows what I’ll be and what I’ll paint.
We’ll see when I get there.