The title is ironic: we all think we're 'big' in our own world, 'til one day we see that in the wider world, we're not. And when 'big' as in grown-up, our little one is waiting inside, much to our consternation breaking the surface at some inopportune moment, like when feeling very much alone... Have I told you too much? 😳 I wanted you to dream your own narrative, but I'm insecure.
This started life as an abstract drawing, lines reaching up toward some source, down to the ground, but that contrapasto came out perfectly, if wrong. I think (I wonder) if the original abstract feeling I had is reflected in this painting but I can't quite remember. All I know is I've seen this guy before, I know this guy, probably been him in some other circumstance.
I call this my '70s painting', everybody did one like this sometime; so, here's mine.
Sorry 'bout the photograph, took many, GIMPed for hours, but perhaps with no dedicated lighting (working on that) it's the best I can do. I think some of the feeling shows through.
I can't decide if this is finished or not, the convenient appelation 'work-in-progress' dangles before me like the proverbial carrot before the sloth. Having 'finished off' rather than finished a number of works, this Turpentineator prefers to wait beyond a certain point. Still, a slightly earlier version was likely more vulnerable but the question is, is vulnerability ultimately the point? There I've told you too much again. But I'm having that conversation so get your coffee...
Big, 2017, oil on canvas, 30" x 24"