The colour of late afternoons

There is about eleven minutes each evening where the light in the studio turns the colour of weak tea, and everything I own looks better than it is. I tried to paint it again today. Failed again, happily.

The failure is the point, I think. If I ever actually catch it, I’ll have to find a new excuse to be in the studio at 6:40pm, and I don’t want one.

What I tried

Three passes: one wet-on-wet, one dry-brush, one where I just held the brush and watched. The third one was the best painting of the evening.

Eleven minutes. Then the light remembers it has somewhere else to be.

Tomorrow I’ll try again. That’s the whole practice, really — showing up for a thing that keeps leaving.