[2016-11-10: this work was formerly titled "Abstraction ten." Image resurrected and restored to blog! Revived as back post!]
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Commence navel-gazing. You're free to move along…
Why four leading zeroes, and where are abstractions 0-9? The short answers are that maybe I've done abstract art before now, but I wouldn't necessarily post it on the web, and I expect to possibly make a four or five-digit number of abstract paintings in my lifetime. [Except now this is work 00001, because I've decided there's not always a clear line between abstract and representational in my work, and I'd rather number all my works, not just my ostensibly abstract work, and because I decided numbering starts with my published (if only self-published initially or finally) works at # 1. 2016-11-10 -RAH.] I'm also just ignoring the problem that my works could never number 6 digits, or if they do, the five-digit numbering scheme. If you are actually reading this, either I am dead and you were assigned this reading by a future art teacher–in which case I would encourage you not to let others decide for you what you must and must not like–or you are a very dear friend.]
This is the first that very well pleases me in this particular era of my view that I ever created anything abstract which I liked. Others I have been okay with. This took eight hours, and I could get that down to a process of one or two hours, and make anywhere from .5 to 10 or more of these per day (depending on scale or intent), and I intend to, and if I have some forty years of usefulness still ahead of me, maybe the math would work out to produce (as I said) a five-digit number of abstract paintings.
Um, yeah. See? Art. Artist. Have not done enough of this. Near to zero. (Except that ten is infinitely larger than zero, strictly). Will do more of this. Hecka lot more. With dedication, so many paintings is no sweat. You have no idea the fountains of color that have sprung before my mind's eye after painting this. Hearing the malcontent much? Me too. Little inner child artist is angry and sad that I never made so many of these. I'm paying attention, little child. He's also angry that people make a living selling prints of paintings ridiculously more simple than this to hospitals and hotels, while he (or rather, the grown-up version of him that holds him hostage) doesn't. Uh, where's my hotel sale? Going to look for it.
Snap! I forgot to sign this. Print will be signed. Unlimited mass-market editions. Hang this in every building on Earth, and say that you're sick of it, and yet I will rejoice that humanity overcame their inexplicable complacency with too much blankety-blank (literally!) beige, tan, white, or whatever. This argument holds also for Mr. Um . . . Mr. I Like Folksy Impressionist Buildings And Gardens That Happen to Reflect Light Like All Other Daytime Objects. Yeah. Him. I'm serious. Please. Put. Art. On. The walls in your buildings. Humanity. I rejoice in any wall that is not blank. Even if I happen not to like what's on it. I'm just glad that anyone decided they like any art, at all.