My paintings are muddy lately…

I don’t know why, my color mixing is the same as always…maybe I’m over applying paint? I don’t even think that’s it. I often paint Alla prima studies on small panels and those don’t usually come out muddy.

I wonder if it’s the mental space I’m in. Feelings of overwhelm, discontent, and overthinking.

I wrote a poem once about how I don’t think I paint emotional “intense” paintings that reflect my inner dialogue or trauma response. That my work was boring, pretty, and about love and the goodness in life. My work is obviously not boring, I know this. I just mean that maybe ummm not digging deep enough. There isn’t anything wrong about these things. I love painting my kids, I enjoy playing with bright colors. I want to reflect my joy, by experiences as a mother, my children’s experiences in play.

However, my life isn’t always “good” and “joyful”.

I struggle with my mental health.

A lot.

I mean, the list of diagnoses is extensive, honestly.

I often think I should be channeling these struggles into my work. Expressing my frustrations, my annoyances, my aches and pains.

Usually you don’t see these things in my finished works because I paint with so much color and it invokes the warmth of motherhood. I play. I have fun.

Maybe things have changed.

There is a painting I shared in notes last week that got a lot of attention. I painted it three years ago with acrylic on canvas, it’s a self-portrait of me and my baby sitting on a bed. I’m running my eyes in exhaustion and overwhelm and she is clinging to me, staring directly at the viewer with a look of attachment and intensity. I am her mother.

Currently, I’m working on a painting with that same little girl, but the photo was taken 4 years later.

A portrait of my daughter playing, a toy figure in hand, colorful blocks scattered across the floor. She is looking down with a smile on her face. Oblivious to the chaos that surrounds us. I am sitting in the background, staring directly at the viewer, with a hand resting on my knee and distorting my face while I lean against it. Once again, exhausted. But this time, the directness of my experience is forced upon the audience as they look straight into my eyes.

The first painting is bright, colorful, with pastel-like tones throughout.

This current piece is dark, moody, and muddy.

Without even realizing it, my emotions are infiltrating my work. They are transferring from my mind and body through the brush and onto the canvas.

I am worried this will create error in the final piece. Will the paintings ever be bright and joyful again? Is this a phase I will grow out of? Should I embrace it or once again separate my work from my inner dialogue?

There is an angst inside my body that needs to be released. Years and years of pent up emotion. A desire to EXPLODE onto the canvas.

I am holding back…at least, I thought I was. But maybe I can’t hold back any longer and soon my work will express what’s been there all along. Maybe they won’t be so pretty anymore.