I've sharpened and fuzzied up a few things since taking this photograph last night--I had planned to post it but debated whether to post this almost-finished Original Finger Painting or just wait to post the actually-finished Original Finger Painting.
Given that I photograph in daylight for the best colors, the final pic will have to wait until possibly tomorrow, but I reserve the right to keep it sorta hidden while I fuss with it.
With each painting, I experiment with something new. I change the way I paint something--like the cherry blossoms--or push something a little further--like the cherry branches.
It amazes me what I see after a rest from the easel, on the same painting. Humbling, really.
My mother says that my paintings have improved, but I think she's partial to my recent realistic images. Like many people who generously share their opinions on my art (one person stopped me recently to tell me that she hates cats because they urinated on her furniture when she was a child and so she was disturbed by Meow and Zen), I take it as their opinion and thank them for sharing it (and how they experience the world) with me.
(For the record, I don't measure the quality of art based on its realism, and I was sorry that person had cats pee on her furniture. Maybe she deserved it. Oops, did I just write that?)
I don't make art for the accolades or criticism or to feel like I have a life purpose. I make it because I can. I make it because there are people making ugly in the world. It's something I do and there are times I wish I could do things that other people can do, like play music with soul, but I've got my own mystery bag of tricks and that's that.