Another portrait and another goodbye. Max is finally finished and it’s been a hell of an experience. Despite the painting moving from my easel to the wall, it’s still a farewell. One thing I won’t miss is furiously squeezing red paint out the tube every single day. I learnt a lot more about warmer colours than I ever did in school while working on this project. Yellow without a doubt is the colour that demands the most patience. Personally, I think that’s kind of interesting due to the fact we associate the feeling of happiness with yellow. We have to be tolerant with ourselves and situations to get a real dose of that vivacious shine.
If you’re not continually challenging yourself in your creative endeavours, I have no idea why you even decided to keep going. Sticking to the same formula for what exactly? So people are happy? The money is good? I completely understand we have to get by, but don’t completely murder your creativity for it. As someone who continually paints himself, I find new obstacles that make me improve. You’re not really painting if you don’t have problems. One of the best pieces of advice I received back in Montreal. Max is a very intricate person in both his personality and his style as an artist. It’s only logical that this painting would embody that characteristic. This is my only piece where I can say that his clothing is just as and/or maybe more important than his actual portrait. Painting someone realistically isn’t just copying the mechanisms of a camera as many people believe. Everything is a reflection of the subject. I found myself picking up his habits when it came down to the detailing. Small marks over a mass amount of space to create a larger picture. Max pulls you in.

Max is on my wall, but I miss him already. Him and I became friends in Florence and while we got to see each other in Paris, I felt a strong sense of home. I don’t know the word for something or someone that sparks eternal nostalgia yet also is present and constructs a future. Maybe it’s as simple and as complicated as the word “Love”. I think the word might actually be “History”. Harmonious echoes of the past and architectural designs for days to come. He’s worth all the red paint in the universe and the next one over. Under the Tuscan skies or the streets of Paris, Max is always shinning back at me.