A full day yesterday. I added gold to the frames. For one I applied aluminium leaf and gold dust, the other, gold paint. Both of these are like experiments, so I wanted to try a range of finishes. The (imitation) gold leaf looked better, though it was a lot more difficult to apply because I bought loose rather than transfer leaf for unknown reasons. Finished results:
I knew the gold dust would be nightmarish, so masked carefully and totally with newspaper, but even then it managed to leak. Any fragment of gold dust will stick on and in acrylic paint, even if dry. The surface of these frames remained plastic and sticky, but the day was 26 to 30 degrees, so very warm and acrylic paint is soft at the best of times. I painted both with some Ronseal Diamond Hard Varnish which is a good sealant, and this did reduce the tack, but not completely.
The results look rather like actual 17th century frames, not like the 'perfect' plastic look of modern frames. Many frames from that era use texturing or carving of the wood to add tone and variety. I wondered if no gesso and my black stain alone to retain the grain might look better. I have a big list of possible improvements or changes to make next time. I may still do more work on these.
Today I've started work on one of my larger paintings, Moon Over Shakespeare. At first I wanted to continue my 'English' Triptych, to express something about these anxious times, but I realised that I have done this anyway. My idea, a few years ago, originally had weeds or carnations spouting from the head of a pottery Shakespeare, but when developing the final drawing, I switched these for poppies, partly because some were growing in that garden and I thought, quite spontaneously, that they would make good models. When working on the colour study, I changed my poppies from yellow to red.
Now it seems somehow magical, as if it had been planned. The red poppies, with their symbolism of the Great War and the futile destruction of those battles, complete with the, now much more living, Shakespeare of England. The combination seems to somehow resonate with these times.
The First World War and those battles keep appearing in my mind as a contemporary metaphor.
I was reminded that Freud, in 1937, didn't rate Dali's paintings because their meaning wasn't hidden, but overt. This is true, a good artwork needs enigmas, and meanings and truths hidden even to the artist, which is why I don't over-plan or design work with obvious concepts or messages to convey. I think Dali learned from Freud's words. After the late 1930s he stopped making complex works with deliberately hidden or 'invisible' shapes.
