Everybody has one.
Some kind of secret shame that they don't want anyone to see. Something that bugs them, but not bad enough to, y'know, change it or anything, just enough to kind of hope that visitors don't notice.
This is mine.
Over the past six months or so, I've amassed a pretty huge stack of things in progress. Which, really, given that I do that a lot in every other area of my life, shouldn't be that surprising, but the volume of said stack is pretty gnarly, even for me.
See, my process is sort of non-linear. When I'm not feeling particularly detail-oriented, or I just can't think of what to do next with a canvas, I can often set it aside, work on a first layer or two of something else, and come back to the problem child later, with fresh eyes. Most of the time, that'll fix it. It's only in a small percentage of things does it not work.
So when I'm producing a whole ton of work, like I have in the past six months or so, the actual numbers with those percentages goes right through the roof. Ten percent of ten may only be a stray canvas, but ten percent of a hundred is a giant freakin' stack. Like this one. And like its friends, the other two stacks like this.
My goal, then, is to work through the problem children for the rest of this month.
It's a slower process, and can be a little frustrating, and sometimes the solution to the problem is to take a really big brush and some nice, opaque paint and paint all the way over it, but when there's this much backlog...it's time.
Which leads us to today's Finishing Of The Canvases:
Joyce, the monster of mismatched socks, wasn't sure what to do with herself now that she and her longtime boyfriend broke up. All she really wanted to do was sit around and mope, an urge she indulged quite often. But now, on day six post-that guy, she was discovering that the free reign she was suddenly afforded wasn't all that bad. She could sleep on the whole bed. She didn't have to check in with anybody. She could order pizza with anchovies if she wanted to, since there was nobody else's preferences to consider.
And nobody questioned her when she binged on giant shrimp and beer for breakfast, either.
She'd be okay.