Progress Is A Strange Thing

Here I am back in the studio. The painting is taking shape and many days many hours many minutes have passed since I began it. I am wondering whether it is progress to have reached the point I have reached. Or would I have done better to have doubled the amount I have done in those days, hours, minutes? Is it progress to have done anything at all?

In view of all the ups and downs of what else has been happening around me, then yes. It is progress. On the other hand, I have had a lot of time in here, and have spent much of it staring into space and thinking about life. If I had ruthlessly used every minute to its maximum effect I would be nearly finished and the Ross Family would be standing happily, colourfully and comfortably with their barbeque and invented pergola covered with grape and clemetis vines. And I would be efficient and business like and on to the next thing which is the Jesus on the Tube for the lovely family in Connecticut, clocking up the progress per minute thing with practice and ease.

But, if I had done that, would the paintings be any good?

Would there be that Thing that makes them a little different and a little imperfect and would the Rosses miss the Magic they want?

In order to make the progress I feel I need to have made real, I would say yes to the Magic and imperfect thing. But a little bit of me thinks perhaps I have wasted a teeny bit of this precious time (everything has to be finished by the end of this month - both paintings), and perhaps I should have done more. However, having admitted that, I will now hope that the painting will suddenly do what my paintings do towards the end, and take off and become really good. So I will end by saying, that, under the circumstances, I have made progress.