Looking into the past.

Looking at old paintings, some going back more than twenty years is quite sobering. Back then I thought they looked OK, and anyway there was always tomorrow. Back then I could not see what to do with them. A painting tutor would say something like ' a good beginning', and I would be offended, or wait for a fuller reply which was never forthcoming, and I would move onto something else,  over-eager as I was to make a start on that , only to reach the same impasse of a  lack of finish or problems left unsolved, never to reach a solution.

Now I look again, and I can see a flat, weak area of paint, know what to do,know how much work has still to be done, but not have the energy, drive, or time to do anything about it.

How much rubbish have I painted which, with a bit more effort and intelligence, could have been rescued from mediocrity?

One thing is clear, however, namely how dreadful and inadequate was my so-called art-education.