Thin layers first, followed by thicker layers. It's an order that enables the painting to dry and live without cracks. It is also a directive that reminds me of grey-bearded, spectacled professors. And because it is so darn logical it is meant to be transgressed.
We view paintings from their front. What lies beneath their surface has a story, or process or recipe or madness, that artists enjoy sharing, many at length. I might scratch my beard and straighten my glasses and say thin to thick, or grey to vivid. But we view the painting from the front and not as a cross section. If there's any process involved, I hope I can point to it.
I bought a tube of indigo the other day. It's powerful and dominating when mixed with other tubes of paint. But the pigment could be confused as ordinary as payne's grey and lacks identity. (How intriguing.) Perhaps this indigo will join prussian blue in my lineup of starting colors. Time will tell.
Tomorrow is my daughter's 15th birthday. She participates in certain activities at our local high school that make her happy, and that consequently make her mother and brother and me happy as well. But I am equally proud of her when she is at home learning the greek alphabet or thinking up a new tic toc dance. And I am proud of her most of all when she asks me any question, anything at all.