So, my work schedule is slightly amended: I don’t go in at all on Wednesdays. This means sleeping late and (I’ve decided) painting. You know, like art.
I am determined to get some work in at least one show this year.
That shouldn’t be too tough, considering I’ve just joined an amateur art society with a requirement to show two pieces in their annual. That is, the judging shouldn’t be tough. I still have to paint some shit.
When I first moved here, surrounded as I am by sheep, I thought they’d be a natural. Turns out, they’re really fun to draw and harder’n hell to paint.
It’s the fleece. Use cool colors (blues) and they look dead, use warm colors (browns) and they look dirty.
So, chickens it is!
I don’t suppose I can make a whole career out of chicken painting. I’m discovering they only have one facial expression — pent-up rage. Seriously, chickens have the most awful ‘resting bitch faces.’ It’s the downturned beak. And the glarey eyes.
Chicken painter. Sixteen-year-old me would be so humiliated.
March 1, 2017 — 10:01 pm