Hurry up and Wait

Sometimes ©2010 Megan Chapman

I have something I would really like to show you all, but I can not. I have been working on a large 30x40" horizontal canvas painting from the new white series. This is how I spent the week in the studio. I've been enjoying holding myself accountable lately by thinking I will post my weekly results here. However, I have to hold back at this time. This painting practically slayed me. It kept being this ugly behemoth and would not submit to my prodding to become something until finally, under the gun of time, it became and I stopped.

I really like what is happening in the painting, but at the same time I see things that could be improved upon. If I venture forward and make improvements, I could kill the painting and the very elements that might be making it work. Usually in my paintings, I go until everything clicks and feels complete. In my mind my paintings are usually tightly balanced and make "sense." In this white series, I am forcing myself to stop right before they ever get to that point- this makes me uncomfortable but also very excited.

Right now I am feeling a sense of urgency about painting, which is really thrilling. So, the large painting, that I love but am still a bit unsure of, is in a holding pattern, I will not touch it for the next few days. I have to be careful. I will start something new. I will harness this restless energy and perhaps explore some of the challenges I am currently facing.

These are all lessons from the studio this week and I am listening.

Thank you for all the positive feedback I have received in regards to the Manual for Living and the white series, it has been helpful, inspiring, and a much needed push to keep going.

Next week, more paintings for you to sample and enjoy.

Completion and works in progress

A manual for living
a ten page guide

prologue

The last time we almost touched

The opportunist

The goal was always heartbreak

She smiled while she died inside

Nothing left to wait for, Nothing left to lose

Every time she vanished her heart was smaller upon return

We grew homes inside each others bones

There are storms in her heart

epilogue

This is the manual for living, complete with the last two pages, "We grew homes inside each others bones" and "Storms in her heart." I am still struggling to get the exact color in the photographs, they are a cross between the lush darkness of last week's images and the subtle colors and focus of this week's images. These were painted with white gesso, charcoal dust suspended in walnut oil, and colored and graphite pencils. These are on 140lb. Arches Watercolor paper and are each 12x9" with approximately a one inch border on all sides.

Besides completing the manual this week, I also worked on two other canvas paintings that had been in progress for a while. These are part of the new white series I shared a couple of weeks ago. These may or may not be done, the paintings are done, but they may or may not have words, and they will be given a slightly glossy clear coat in the end.


I hope you enjoy the new works, again I must say it feels great to be finding my rhythm, and exploring the past while I trudge on into the future. Thanks for stopping by and for your support and encouragement.

*the song I listened to on repeat while I worked on the two new white series canvas paintings is here.

A book of stills...

A manual for living
a ten page guide

prologue

The last time we almost touched

The opportunist

Every time she vanished her heart was smaller upon return

She smiled while she died inside

Nothing left to wait for, Nothing left to lose

The goal was always heartbreak

epilogue

A work in progress, as you can see there are still two pages missing.
This song was on repeat and loud, on my headphones the whole time.
Better photographs and completion of this project coming soon...
Thanks for stopping by.

I found a movement...

Sleeps like Strangers © 2010 Megan Chapman

"Surrealism will usher you into death, which is a secret society. It will glove your hand, burying therein the profound M with which the word Memory begins." - André Breton