Signing

The egret commission is finished and only needs signing… Why this always trips me up, I don’t know. I have signed paintings and murals and drawings and books. You name it, whatever art I’ve made, I’ve signed it. It should be easy. Like dotting an i

Yet here I am, pen in hand, stalling. Often I’ve had to go back to a collectors house and sign because I forgot or couldn’t decide where and then forgot. It’s a whole thing. I like the way that Van Gough signed his paintings. Big bold, sometimes in red, sometimes orange, Vincent, not Van Gogh, always with bravado. He didn’t care, it seemed, whether he would sell the painting or not when he signed. He just wrote confidently, underlined, as if he somehow knew that one day his signature would be worth something.

I would like to muster this kind of energy regarding my signature going forward. I think signing with a bit of pride and maybe even joy, and some definite bravado, might, be just the ticket.

Okay then, channeling Vincent…