Last week I signed 42 paintings.  In one day.  Why?  Because I had 36 abstract pieces from my residency, all stretched & varnished and ready to go except for a signature, plus the six landscapes I'd completed since getting into my temporary studio digs.  And because I always put off signing my paintings until the last minute.  The last minute (a show that weekend) had arrived.  And the only thing I hate about art is signing my paintings.  

Really.  I do.  Don't try to talk me into liking to sign my paintings.  Or, even disliking it.  Or, as I teach my children to say, "not caring for it."  (Haha!  I wasn't born yesterday.  I knew I was going to be subject to all sorts of aggravating pushback on healthy eating if I didn't teach them an alternative to "yuck" or "I hate zucchini!"  In our house, we say, "I don't care for it.")  But I digress.  Not only do I not like, nor do I care for, signing my paintings.... I HATE it.  

Just take a look at this montage of all forty-two signatures that I photographed just so I could share with you and moan and groan about it.  Do they all look alike? No.  Are they all beautifully executed? No.  Did I wipe off and redo and wipe off and redo on several of them?  YES.  Do I hate signing my paintings? Yes.  Don't tell my kids.