I’m a Sunday painter.  I really love the process of creating a painting, and thanks to a wonderful high school art instructor, I learned the solid basics.  I know how to build a frame and stretch my own canvasses using quality cotton duck cloth and tacking it to the frame in a methodical way to make sure it’s wrinkle free, then applying one layer of gesso at a time until the fabric dries as tight as a drum.

I learned to paint with oil paints, which are squeezed from beautiful metal tubes onto palettes as thick pigments and thinned with either turpentine (for sparse coverage and a matte finish) or with linseed oil (for heavier coverage and a glossy finish).  Once you’ve smelled linseed oil, you will never forget it…its pungent scent is intoxicating.  The great thing about painting with oils is they take a while to dry…it gives me time to think between layers of application.

And then there’s acrylic paint, which is basically paint that can be thinned with water, but dries quickly to a plastic finish.  To me, acrylic pigments aren’t as rich as oils, but acrylics have their application—they’re less messy and less expensive, and the colors are more contemporary.  With acrylics, you can be more spontaneous, and they’re less intimidating than more artistly (I just made up that word) oil paints.

Because I like to take my time creating a painting, it’s always a work in progress.  It’s common for me to hang a painting on my wall in different stages of completion.  Visitors to my place might think some of my paintings are uber contemporary and abstract, without realizing they’re looking at the underpainting (the draft) of what the painting will be someday.  I’ve also been known to paint over a completed painting of my own to create something new.  To me, paintings aren’t static…they can change with my mood, the season, and even the furniture arrangement.

I had a big spot on a long wall in my loft that was begging for a painting.  About a month ago, I stretched a 48”x60” canvas for the spot, without a clue as to what I might paint on it—a landscape? A still life?  A portrait?  An abstract?  By the time the last coat of gesso had dried, I still hadn’t decided, so I hung the blank canvas.

And I rather love it.

I love walking by it every day and imagining everything it could be.  In that respect, the absence of a painting has actually stimulated my mind more than any one picture could.  It’s interesting to see the reaction of visitors, though—a blank canvas on the wall seems to disturb most observers.  Some laugh, some pull it out from the wall and look all around, as if I might’ve accidentally hung it backward, or the paint somehow slid off and is lying on the floor.  Whereas people regularly walk by other pieces of artwork on my walls without comment, that blank canvas has yet to NOT elicit some kind of comment.  It’s the most unintended conversation piece I’ve ever owned!

I don’t know how long I’ll leave it blank…maybe forever.  It’s giving me too much pleasure as-is.  My question to you:  Why do you think a blank canvas makes people uncomfortable?