| Choosing a Path - Original Oil Painting by Chris Carter, Abstract & Figurative Artist |
Original Oil Painting on Kraft Paper
by Chris Carter
Title: Choosing a Path
by Chris Carter
Title: Choosing a Path
Choosing a Path is the second of the two painting I began the day after I
received the following email from my son, Michael. This painting evolved
after having released a great deal of angst while painting the first painting
(shown below).
received the following email from my son, Michael. This painting evolved
after having released a great deal of angst while painting the first painting
(shown below).
August 14, 2007 ... I received the following email from my son......
Yes, a steak sounds great. I have to warn you though I am not as
handsome as yesterday. Last night some kids tried to steal my
sunglasses and I told them to f... off. They followed me off the tram.
Three vs one. They had a knife. So I took some punches and a head
butt to the face. I am ok but I have a black eye ... opoooppps haha it's
terrible, almost a flawless summer. I am in good spirits. it was just bull...t.
Sun 19AUG DELTA 141 SA J LV BRUSSELS 1120A L ** AR
NYC-KENNEDY 135P BUSINESS
love,
mike
Yes, a steak sounds great. I have to warn you though I am not as
handsome as yesterday. Last night some kids tried to steal my
sunglasses and I told them to f... off. They followed me off the tram.
Three vs one. They had a knife. So I took some punches and a head
butt to the face. I am ok but I have a black eye ... opoooppps haha it's
terrible, almost a flawless summer. I am in good spirits. it was just bull...t.
Sun 19AUG DELTA 141 SA J LV BRUSSELS 1120A L ** AR
NYC-KENNEDY 135P BUSINESS
love,
mike
Back in my studio, I knew better than to work on paintings that were already in progress.
Though I had been as positive and supportive as possible in my emails to Mike, I knew I was
not holding up well internally. I tacked two fresh pieces of kraft paper on the wall and let myself
fall apart, thinking of all the possible scenarios that did not have the happy ending of seeing
my son walk toward me at the airport in five more days.
My goal was to paint through the experience, expressing it, allowing it to express itself, and
ultimately to grow from it, finding a greater strength from having stepped out of a safety zone
where you think you can count on your children being healthy, happy and safe.
At the end of the first day of painting, I wiped the paper clean with turpentine. Ghost images
remained and were the foundation of the final painting. I felt not a stroke had been wasted or
unnecessary in spite of the fact that I eliminated all of them at the end of the painting session.
Each stroke relieved a bit of anguish, a bit of anger, a bit of fear, a bit of frustration, a bit of
worry until I was empty of those emotions and I could start to build again from the heat of the
love I have for my son and the relief of knowing his heart still beats in a whole, healthy body.
Though I had been as positive and supportive as possible in my emails to Mike, I knew I was
not holding up well internally. I tacked two fresh pieces of kraft paper on the wall and let myself
fall apart, thinking of all the possible scenarios that did not have the happy ending of seeing
my son walk toward me at the airport in five more days.
My goal was to paint through the experience, expressing it, allowing it to express itself, and
ultimately to grow from it, finding a greater strength from having stepped out of a safety zone
where you think you can count on your children being healthy, happy and safe.
At the end of the first day of painting, I wiped the paper clean with turpentine. Ghost images
remained and were the foundation of the final painting. I felt not a stroke had been wasted or
unnecessary in spite of the fact that I eliminated all of them at the end of the painting session.
Each stroke relieved a bit of anguish, a bit of anger, a bit of fear, a bit of frustration, a bit of
worry until I was empty of those emotions and I could start to build again from the heat of the
love I have for my son and the relief of knowing his heart still beats in a whole, healthy body.
I'm thankful for the technology that permits instant correspondence
across the ocean. Within twenty-four hours I was assured that the knife
had not come into contact with my son's body and that nothing had been
taken from him. He suffered a black eye, a serious cut above the eye,
and a battered nose. He told me that when he exited the tram and the
three guys followed him, he experienced a vivid Deja Vu of having gotten
off at the same stop and being murdered. He consciously decided to alter
the end result in his current reality. Fortunately he succeeded.
