Pace

My week's been a bit rough. Several events, good and bad, came up and I'm still digesting a lot of it. So forgive me if this post and the next few are more sentimental than usual.

I originally started this painting last year as a way to study oil paints on my own time. I remember being frustrated with skin tone in particular. The subject is Leonardo Da Vinci's sketch of Pleasure and Pain. Bridging his sketches into oil was a fine challenge I set up for myself. Even better, my oil teacher used the magic word "can't" (as in "you can't make an oil painting out of it if you love the sketch too much") and that got me motivated.

But I set it aside after awhile because I knew I needed to learn more before I could do it justice. That is, until last week.

A very close friend of my family fell ill. Cancer. He basically mentored my mother back when she first came to America, so I've known him my entire life. They built a company from nothing together which later became one of the top ten in its industry. It was later bought by Old Williamsburgh Candle for a hefty sum, but without his company Harold always seemed a little sadder.

Even though it's been over 15 years, running around the factory on my "sick" days are still very important memories. Every once in awhile, Harold would bring me an old toy and I would cherish it.

When I heard the news, I didn't know what to do with myself.

So I started painting.

I think in such a situation when I felt utterly unable to help someone important to me, I ended up trying to control the painting instead. The initial earnest gestures are there, but now they are overlaid with a little more understanding and patience.

I don't intend to give it to Harold. I don't even think I could finish it in time. But when I asked my mother what I should paint for him, she told me I didn't have to. I just had to be there.