How long does it take to paint a painting?
You might as well ask how long a piece of string is. I'm sure there isn't a painter in the WHOLE WORLD who hasn't been asked that question. And it drives me RIGHT UP THE WALL.
I've never been able to figure out a) why anyone would want to know they either love the painting or they don't, RIGHT? - and b) from precisely which point I should start counting the hours. So get your calculators out RIGHT NOW if you're one of those who REALLY need to know. Because THIS is how it goes for me:
1. Get the SEED of an idea. Think about it while looking out of my studio window a LOT. A gin-and-tonic would help, but it's too early, or so I'm told. It will have to be coffee (WHY does everybody love coffee so much??? Beats me, but maybe that's because I drink Nescafe. I KNOW, I KNOW SHAME on me). REALLY need to call my daughters in Spain haven't spoken to them for AT LEAST 24 hours,and I DO have responsibilities,you know. XX number of hours.
2. Choose a blank white canvas (that's how they come) and cover it as QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE with a thin wash of colour. NOTHING dries up my imagination quicker that a Blank White Canvas. AAAH, NOW I'm on a REAL ROLL. Go home, because it needs to dry overnight. X number of hours.
3. LOVELY coloured canvas. TRULY LOVELY. Look at it admiringly for a while, and then look out my window a LOT. So many buses going past. Wonder what I'm going to cook for dinner. Arrange all my paints prismatically. Is that BEAUTIFUL or WHAT!!! Look at them LOVINGLY from time to time they make me feel SO GOOD. Is it time for a gin-and-tonic yet? X number of hours (are you adding all this up?)
4. Pull myself together and start painting. OH MY GOD. But hey,it's not so bad. There is DEFINITELY potential there. Come home with a spring in my step, KNOWING things are going well and I deserve a gin-and-tonic. Or maybe vodka would be better - THIS IS BRILLIANT. XX number of hours.
5. Go back to the studio at the crack of dawn. HATE HATE HATE what I've done. DO A RETHINK. Somehow, coffee doesn't help (IMAGINE THAT!). Look out the window. RIVETTED with interest, because there's someone out there DESPERATE for a taxi. Keep craning my neck (from my first-floor studio) to see if I can find one for her. I simply HAVE to see that one through. Sort out my brushes, throwing away the ones worn down to the bone. COUNT MY BRUSHES (I really HAVE to stop buying brushes). This is WONDERFUL. Takes time, though. And I do need to call my daughters again. It's been AGES. Hasn't it? XXX number of hours.
6. It gets better, and I suddenly find myself VERY INVOLVED. Don't think I'll throw myself off my balcony after all. Apart from the mess it would make, I've got grandchildren who LOVE me. NEED TO CALL MY DAUGHTERS. XXXX number of hours.
7. FINALLY get to where I think I want to be. Oh HEAVENLY BLISS. BUT just in case put it aside while I go through the whole agony of starting YET ANOTHER painting (see all steps above). And out of the corner of my eye, spot something I missed COMPLETELY. HAVE TO FIX IT. XXXX number of hours.
8. FIX IT. I THINK. But now I have to paint the FRAME. Two or three coats of paint at least. GOD FORBID I should actually do a painting without a painted frame. Whether it suits it or not. I've tried it (especially with my African paintings, which in fact look better with an unpainted frame) but I have come to realize that people ACTUALLY THINK they've been cheated without it. Go figure. XXX number of hours.
9. AND THEN my VERY unfavourite thing THE VARNISHING. Two or three coats at least, over the same number of days. Drape cloths all over my lovely floor and spray like mad. Got to get an even surface on the canvas. VERY HEADY STUFF, this spray. It may EVEN better than a gin-and-tonic. I wonder if it's legal? XX number of hours.
OKAY. THAT'S IT!!! So add it all up, divide it into the price of the painting, and DON'T, PLEASE DON'T, tell me the answer to THAT MADDENING QUESTION. I may discover that my cleaning lady is earning a whole lot more than me.
Bottom line: it takes as long as it takes, and that's all I've ever been able to say about it. I do, however, try and say it as profoundly as I can.
You might as well ask how long a piece of string is. I'm sure there isn't a painter in the WHOLE WORLD who hasn't been asked that question. And it drives me RIGHT UP THE WALL.
I've never been able to figure out a) why anyone would want to know they either love the painting or they don't, RIGHT? - and b) from precisely which point I should start counting the hours. So get your calculators out RIGHT NOW if you're one of those who REALLY need to know. Because THIS is how it goes for me:
1. Get the SEED of an idea. Think about it while looking out of my studio window a LOT. A gin-and-tonic would help, but it's too early, or so I'm told. It will have to be coffee (WHY does everybody love coffee so much??? Beats me, but maybe that's because I drink Nescafe. I KNOW, I KNOW SHAME on me). REALLY need to call my daughters in Spain haven't spoken to them for AT LEAST 24 hours,and I DO have responsibilities,you know. XX number of hours.
2. Choose a blank white canvas (that's how they come) and cover it as QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE with a thin wash of colour. NOTHING dries up my imagination quicker that a Blank White Canvas. AAAH, NOW I'm on a REAL ROLL. Go home, because it needs to dry overnight. X number of hours.
3. LOVELY coloured canvas. TRULY LOVELY. Look at it admiringly for a while, and then look out my window a LOT. So many buses going past. Wonder what I'm going to cook for dinner. Arrange all my paints prismatically. Is that BEAUTIFUL or WHAT!!! Look at them LOVINGLY from time to time they make me feel SO GOOD. Is it time for a gin-and-tonic yet? X number of hours (are you adding all this up?)
4. Pull myself together and start painting. OH MY GOD. But hey,it's not so bad. There is DEFINITELY potential there. Come home with a spring in my step, KNOWING things are going well and I deserve a gin-and-tonic. Or maybe vodka would be better - THIS IS BRILLIANT. XX number of hours.
5. Go back to the studio at the crack of dawn. HATE HATE HATE what I've done. DO A RETHINK. Somehow, coffee doesn't help (IMAGINE THAT!). Look out the window. RIVETTED with interest, because there's someone out there DESPERATE for a taxi. Keep craning my neck (from my first-floor studio) to see if I can find one for her. I simply HAVE to see that one through. Sort out my brushes, throwing away the ones worn down to the bone. COUNT MY BRUSHES (I really HAVE to stop buying brushes). This is WONDERFUL. Takes time, though. And I do need to call my daughters again. It's been AGES. Hasn't it? XXX number of hours.
6. It gets better, and I suddenly find myself VERY INVOLVED. Don't think I'll throw myself off my balcony after all. Apart from the mess it would make, I've got grandchildren who LOVE me. NEED TO CALL MY DAUGHTERS. XXXX number of hours.
7. FINALLY get to where I think I want to be. Oh HEAVENLY BLISS. BUT just in case put it aside while I go through the whole agony of starting YET ANOTHER painting (see all steps above). And out of the corner of my eye, spot something I missed COMPLETELY. HAVE TO FIX IT. XXXX number of hours.
8. FIX IT. I THINK. But now I have to paint the FRAME. Two or three coats of paint at least. GOD FORBID I should actually do a painting without a painted frame. Whether it suits it or not. I've tried it (especially with my African paintings, which in fact look better with an unpainted frame) but I have come to realize that people ACTUALLY THINK they've been cheated without it. Go figure. XXX number of hours.
9. AND THEN my VERY unfavourite thing THE VARNISHING. Two or three coats at least, over the same number of days. Drape cloths all over my lovely floor and spray like mad. Got to get an even surface on the canvas. VERY HEADY STUFF, this spray. It may EVEN better than a gin-and-tonic. I wonder if it's legal? XX number of hours.
OKAY. THAT'S IT!!! So add it all up, divide it into the price of the painting, and DON'T, PLEASE DON'T, tell me the answer to THAT MADDENING QUESTION. I may discover that my cleaning lady is earning a whole lot more than me.
Bottom line: it takes as long as it takes, and that's all I've ever been able to say about it. I do, however, try and say it as profoundly as I can.
