Even after the paint has dried
A friend and I were talking about what happens to a painting after it’s finished. The paint dries. The marks stay where I left them. And yet, every time someone comes back to it, something can change.
I recognize this in my own work. A shape I thought was a seashell becomes a fish’s fin. An oyster starts to look like a mango. Something that seemed unmistakable yesterday becomes something else today. Sometimes all it takes is a little distance, a different mood, or turning the painting around.
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There’s a painting I recently sold that I used to turn over and over as I worked. I’d flip it upside down, then change it from horizontal to vertical. What looked like a banana would suddenly become a guitar. I was finding things in it that I hadn’t intended when I began. Even as the person making it, I could be surprised by what was there.
That’s part of what I love about painting this way. I don’t always begin with a sketch or a fixed image I’m trying to reproduce. I pick up a brush and follow what’s coming through: something I saw that day, a sensation, an idea I haven’t found words for. One mark leads to another, and the painting takes shape through that exchange.
At first glance, there can be a lot to take in. Color, movement, little forms crossing paths. With time, a quieter detail might catch your eye. A shape that was lost in everything else starts to feel familiar. You notice a small connection, and suddenly the whole painting reads differently.
My friend reminded me that we don’t bring art into our homes to look at it only once. We live with it. We pass it on ordinary mornings and sit with it on difficult afternoons. We bring different feelings to it, and different things become visible. I like the thought of a painting keeping someone company that way, with something still to discover after the first encounter.
Our conversation also wandered toward learning new materials. I’d been trying watercolor, and we talked about what taking a class might open up. More ways to make a mark. More ways to build texture or let color move. I’m curious about how those possibilities could find their way into my work, and what I might discover by following them.
For now, I keep coming back to that painting turning in my hands, changing from bananas to guitars. It reminds me that my first idea doesn’t have to be the only one. Neither does yours. I may have given a painting a title, but there’s still room for what you see.
Alyssa