My working easel shows the signs of every painting I have made here in France. Through the years it’s hard to know if that blue came from a seascape or a pair of denim overalls. Were those fleshtones or sanded beaches? Sunrises or sets? And maybe that’s the real beauty — they aren’t just one thing, these splashes of color — they are everything. 

Each painting is so different. Some come in a flash, others I have to really work for. I heard once that to find the image, sometimes in the middle you have to lose it. I have found that to be so true with portraits. A millimeter in the slanting of a nose, or opening of an eye can take the image from someone you love to a stranger. It’s then you have to decide, do I abandon this piece, or do I work through it? 

So far, I have never let a painting go. Can I say that for real life? I’m not sure. It’s too easy now, with one click of a button, a friendship can be deleted — for what? — that “millimeter”? That “slanting of a nose” may have been a vote cast, a value shared, a flaw revealed… and click, gone. 

I want to be more like my easel. Celebrating the victories large and small. Recognizing the difficulties and blending them all into the experience. Because soon it all just becomes a mixture of hues. A life. A beautiful life. 

I’m eager to start the next project. My easel is open. May my heart be the same.