Remember the time I starting a painting? Here it is, hanging over our bed. I might add to it eventually (the big orange splotch in the left corner just doesn’t look right to me), but it was sitting in a corner for a month and a half “to be finished later” until I just said, “Ah, fuck it, I’m not touching it anymore.” and hung it up.
(I don’t think you’re supposed to say “fuck it” when it comes to art.)
p.s. In looking at the photo, it is very obvious to me that I painted this through a very happy and then very awful stage of my life. You see it? The right side is SO much better, and happier, and the left side is… not that great. Totally weird that even though painting isn’t my medium, the art was revealing anyway.