Fuck your perfectionism!
It was a boring Saturday afternoon amidst the most fervent of lockdowns in the Netherlands. Picture me and my boyfriend (who pretends to be a painter), just laying on the couch. The room is 30 m² and there are 10 different paintings hanging on the walls.
Each one represents a relationship.He painted one of them with his little brother, one with his mother, one with his old roommates, 4 or 5 he painted them with me and the rest by himself.
…and so, he just a grabbed an old one which wasn’t hanged on the wall (he didn’t like it) and told me “let’s re-fuck it!”
When you paint in pair there is two worlds trying to collide together. In our case, my boyfriend doesn’t know when to stop and I usually overthink it (damn it…).
When mixing up colours; the more colours you put on on the palette the more interesting the final result gets. Until you put too many and the painting becomes a big block of dark and creepy colours. Simple is powerful and hard. Going 30 miles an hour, slow enough to catch that perfectly balanced colour down the road. Going 150 miles an hour, too fast to even notice who that dazzling colour even was.
This is therapy. To get to know someone in details. Fucking and fixing things together, constantly. My boyfriend never doubted me incorporating those sweet popcorn and pieces of text into the painting. Although I always doubted him putting that ugly gold colour in it.
Special thanks and apologies to Mark Manson and his book: Life, Love, Books. It was the smallest and most profound book we could use for this… I have to say I admire the way that you relate to people in your writings.
And now, to wrap it up … voilaa!
