When I visit my parents in Chicago my mother often implements mandatory visits to the ‘Tute (her nickname for the Art Institute of Chicago). As a teenager I would greet these field trips with groans of disinterest – but mostly because I greeted everything in life with such teenage distaste. But then there was that one time when she insisted I see Cy Twombly’s visiting Peony Blossom Painting exhibit. [below: one of his pieces from that exhibit]
I remember – for the first time – wanting to sit in an exhibit and stare. She practically had to drag me out of there. And from that moment on I’ve taken all of her cultural suggestions seriously.
When I started painting, a few months ago, I looked up images from that exhibit and started to explore with drips in my own work. I’m uncertain when I’ll graduate from this phase – for now, though, I’m in no hurry.
Playing with color and abandoning my ideals to a power greater than me – gravity – make for some of the most liberating, joyful and fulfilling moments in my current life.
I’ve spent a lot of nights this July completely enraptured by these hours of ecstasy. And this watercolor piece was one of the original catalysts for the recent painting binge I’ve been fueling. Previously unnamed, I feel it’s apropos to go ahead and dub it “Euphoria” after writing about its process.