Yes
When he gets like this he doesn't have to think. That's the beauty of it. Capturing an image frozen in one's mind is much easier than thinking of one on your own, or worse, getting paid by commission. It's not his fault that the starched collars and straight jackets of the business world directly inhibit the imagination. Still, he needs the money, so he says yes and accepts.
Being able to focus and yet not focus is different. A vague part of him takes the role of observer as it watches the body. Down the brush dives into the oil and back again it comes, slapping hard against the canvas as if rejected by the artist. Hand and arm work furiously, racing against no clock, but they're certain one exists in the shadows.
Gone are the meticulous efforts of painting for a few minutes at a time, leaving, and then returning to work again with a new perspective. Once his eyes whiten and grow hazy Isaac only knows two goals: start and finish. He lets his mind drift away, saying yes to the brush without protest. This isn't about him anymore. It's about a vision.
Harried strokes don't need to follow rules or convention. There are no outlines to be filled. The piece of work blossoms from the inside out, with an explosion at the center rolling towards the blank edges. Nothing is to be left blank. If there is white to be seen, it will be one in brilliant contrast to the thick black lines characteristic of a painting by Isaac Mendez.
It stops abruptly. After he finishes, Isaac steps away from his work. He pulls off the bandana he had previously used to tie his hair back as he lets his eyes regain their focus. He has done this many times before, yet it is always a shock to see the finished product for the first time. It's his creation, and yet not.
Taking a step backwards he surveys the painting. Reds and yellows dominate the scene, interrupted sporadically by touches of green. He takes another step back and as soon as bare foot hits the floor his knee buckles. The painter collapses against a table leg, and the contents which it held fall around him in a rain of man-made objects. Amidst the books and papers and pencils he sees a glinting sliver attached to hollow plastic. That's all the reassurance he needs. With a soft smile he leans his back against the table leg and drops his head to the side, feeling calm and accomplished.
He said yes.
Being able to focus and yet not focus is different. A vague part of him takes the role of observer as it watches the body. Down the brush dives into the oil and back again it comes, slapping hard against the canvas as if rejected by the artist. Hand and arm work furiously, racing against no clock, but they're certain one exists in the shadows.
Gone are the meticulous efforts of painting for a few minutes at a time, leaving, and then returning to work again with a new perspective. Once his eyes whiten and grow hazy Isaac only knows two goals: start and finish. He lets his mind drift away, saying yes to the brush without protest. This isn't about him anymore. It's about a vision.
Harried strokes don't need to follow rules or convention. There are no outlines to be filled. The piece of work blossoms from the inside out, with an explosion at the center rolling towards the blank edges. Nothing is to be left blank. If there is white to be seen, it will be one in brilliant contrast to the thick black lines characteristic of a painting by Isaac Mendez.
It stops abruptly. After he finishes, Isaac steps away from his work. He pulls off the bandana he had previously used to tie his hair back as he lets his eyes regain their focus. He has done this many times before, yet it is always a shock to see the finished product for the first time. It's his creation, and yet not.
Taking a step backwards he surveys the painting. Reds and yellows dominate the scene, interrupted sporadically by touches of green. He takes another step back and as soon as bare foot hits the floor his knee buckles. The painter collapses against a table leg, and the contents which it held fall around him in a rain of man-made objects. Amidst the books and papers and pencils he sees a glinting sliver attached to hollow plastic. That's all the reassurance he needs. With a soft smile he leans his back against the table leg and drops his head to the side, feeling calm and accomplished.
He said yes.