more of my mother's laughing and me

Sometimes I paint out of fear to disappear.

The process, the end result,  the hope for recognition gives me hope. 

I worked so long at this painting my mother laughing that I killed it. 

Looking back, there was the stage when the as a portrait and as a painting it was better,

 

but didn't stop. It felt undercooked... Well, now it's overcooked.

With that in mind I start another painting.

 

Here my mother as the individual vanishes, but image seems cleverer to me, more universal, less personal. In other words, I like it better.

 

 Apparently, I don’t like to be personal; as a personality I strive to adhere to cultural icons, which almost means that I as an individual want to disappear. 

  

It defeats the logic.

 I use thick earthy colors

Here I am back to recognizable image.

 

I finished, and feel drained.I don't know it it's good or bad. Whose job is it to tell me? Father's, husbands, shrink's? I don't find an answer in myself. I know, it's the school that's missing...