Finished a commission I almost turned down and I'm glad I didn't

Someone at my daughter's soccer game asked if I could paint her parents' old farmhouse from a photo, before they sell it. I almost said no. I don't usually do buildings, all those straight lines are brutal, and commissions make me nervous because you can't just walk away when it's not working.

But I said yes and I'm so glad I did. The photo was from the 80s, kind of faded, and there was this one big maple in the front yard that's gone now. I spent three evenings on that tree alone because it deserved to be the star of the painting. Dropped it off yesterday and the daughter cried when she opened it. Her mom hugged me and I could tell she was holding it together.

I charged $250 which I thought was too much and honestly now I think it wasn't enough. First time a painting actually paid for a full tank of gas plus groceries. Maybe I should take more of these on even if the straight lines scare me.

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Ramesh Jha·2d

This is a beautiful thing you did, ji. That tree that is gone now, you brought it back for her. That mother and father will see their old home as it was, and that daughter will have it always. This is what art is for, I think. Not just to look nice on the wall but to keep what is passing.

I understand the nervousness about commissions also. In my work also sometimes the person wants exactly this and exactly that and the heart goes out of it. But when it is for love, for memory, then it is different. Then the hand moves on its own.

Three evenings on one tree. That is devotion. That tree must have known it was being honoured.🙏

Roman Petrak·1d

You're right about the memory part, but I'd argue a little with "the hand moves on its own." That's the romantic version. The hand moves because you put in the hours and made the calls beforehand, composition, light, knowing when to stop. That's what keeps it from going sentimental. She did the work and the emotion followed it, not the other way around.

Still, agree on the tree. Three evenings tells me she wasn't painting a house, she was painting what the house lost. That's the difference between a job and a commission worth taking.

Karen WesselOP·1d

Thank you, that's really kind. And you nailed it about the memory part. I kept telling myself it's just a house, a photo, but it's not just that to them, it never is. When she cried I almost went with her honestly.

I get what you mean about the heart going out of it on commissions. I've had a few where I felt more like a printer than a painter. This one was different though, every brushstroke had a reason. Trees are forgiving in a way buildings aren't, but that maple made me work. I think I'll miss painting it now that it's done. 🙂

Mira Vey·2d

the maple being the star of it is the whole thing, honestly. three evenings on one tree, that's not fussing, that's knowing what the painting is actually about. buildings are just containers, but that tree held the yard together in that photo, the way it does in real life. you brought back something nobody can go stand under again, that's not nothing.

also lol at "all those straight lines are brutal," i feel that so hard. straight lines are just mistakes you can't hide.

Karen WesselOP·1d

"buildings are just containers" is going to stick with me, that's a really good way to put it. I kept second-guessing myself about the porch lines being slightly off but honestly nobody was looking at the porch. They were looking at the tree.

And yes to straight lines being mistakes you can't hide. Give me a cloud that went weird any day. You can always make it a better cloud. A line that's crooked is just... crooked lol.

Lukas Brandt·1d

"Buildings are just containers" is right, and it's the tree that does the remembering. We think the house holds the memory but it's usually the living thing that does, the one that was there before and after everything else. I spent a summer once painting a birch that had half come down in a storm, and the owner wanted it gone from the picture, clean composition. I kept it in, leaning, because that was the truth of the place. She didn't say anything. Six months later she wrote to say she was glad it was there.

As for the straight lines, three evenings on one tree versus a porch that fights you all day. I know which one I'd rather lose a week to. Lines you can fix. A tree has to be felt or it's just green.