The manic phase has set in.
I spent all of last night putting the background into my newest painting.
When I could tear myself away, I put on You Tube and watched painting tutorials until I fell asleep.
Upon awakening, I put out the brushes and turpentine as I made the coffee. Then, for the next six hours, I painted two faces in “grissaille” … my new favorite word, which is synonymous with “black and white.” I still don’t understand why this step is necessary, but for once, I’ve decided to go along with “the rules.”
I only stopped when my eyesight started getting blurry. There’s only one cure for that, of course… a nice long nap… and I slept blissfully until well past six pm.
Unfortunately, that’s when I realized I hadn’t defrosted the steaks I’d promised Jeff for Father’s Day. Luckily, there was a surfeit of leftover sausages in the fridge; I was able to incorporate them into my mother’s recipe for macaroni, and prepare a damned decent dinner.
Okay… as it was cooking, I noticed that one face was too narrow, so I quickly mixed some paint, grabbed a brush and widened it. Then I squared off the smile a little.
The pasta was only a tiny teeny bit overcooked, okay? And the sauce saved it.
So here I am. Dinner is done, and my grissaille needs to dry before I can start covering it with color.
Do I give my eyes a break, or start painting my daughter and her husband?
I don’t care what the shrinks say. Manic stages are a blast. I feel totally alive.