“I hate this painting. I absolutely hate it.”

I’m standing in the kitchen with my aunt, staring at what I think is an amazing painting of my Little Betty Boops.

“I don’t know, I just don’t like it. Actually I can’t stand it.”

My hands shake slightly as I slowly pull my phone from my pocket. My breathing goes shallow. If only I could get her to say this on video. It would make the BEST TikTok.

“Katelyn hates it too, you know.”

I make a mental note to talk to Katelyn. You’re talking to this nut about how much you hate my painting, but not to me? You don’t think I’d want to hear feedback?

My arm inches into position. I HAVE to get this on video.

She spots the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Just say that again,” I nudge.

“Say what again?”

“Say what you said about my painting again.” My phone is pointed at her, recording.

Please GOD, if you care anything about me, anything at all, please please please have her say this on video.

“No,” she says, suddenly acting shy.

I go with honesty and tell her that her brutally blunt feedback would make an incredible TikTok video. (Also, I bet people would roast her in the comments, but I don’t mention that part.)

“No.”

Sigh.

My dreams of going viral are obliterated.

She backtracks: “I wouldn’t have said it so many times if you weren’t arguing with me about it. I just don’t like the painting and you kept pushing me and asking why.”

It’s true. She probably started with “It’s not really my favorite” before it morphed into a bloodbath. What can I say, I was stunned. I LOVED this painting. That doesn’t happen often with me.

Halfway through this painting, I’d hit trouble. After my standard meltdown, I switched my medium to Safflower oil, and everything melted together perfectly. (Safflower oil slows drying, which is magic if you’re blending and plan to work for a while.) My thoughts slowed down, I started enjoying myself, and somehow finished the painting in a day.

Then came the “I hate it” feedback. From not one, but two family members. I eventually worked on it some more after hearing actual constructive criticism (once I got a hold of Katelyn), and it’s still a work in progress. But it’s of my little chicken nugget, so the painting’s not going anywhere. I pick at her on and off.

I think I often judge a painting’s “goodness” by whether I had a decent time painting it. If it flowed, if I learned something, if I solved a problem, it’s a beautiful painting. Nothing beats turning a disaster around. But if it fought me the whole way, my brain just stamps it “bad” and ugly, no matter what other people think.

Obviously, I’m not the most objective judge of my own work if that’s the criteria. So I’m generally pretty open to feedback. (For the most part.)

With my little Betty Boops painting, I was so lost in the high of turning a negative experience around, I was flabbergasted to hear it wasn’t the best painting ever.

What was even more flabbergasting was the gall my aunt had, talking to me like that.

Just kidding. I actually thought it was pretty funny.

It was the fact that she refused to make my TikTok that really devastated me.

So I’m writing about it here instead. Pictured is the original painting my family slaughtered. I still think she looks amazing. What can I say? I’m biased.

“Betty Boops”

Oil on canvas, 16”x20”