There actually is a story behind my choice to paint #6, so I'm happy to share.

Last November my brother was best man in his best friend-since-high-school's wedding. Because of my lifelong status as tagalong-little-sister - you know, one of those characters who is always there on the periphery of your life as you're growing up, so they become your de facto friend and, in cases of siblings, some of the glow of the older sibling's friendship is also conferred to the tagalong simply by dint of constancy and relation - it ended up that nearly every courtesy the couple extended towards their best man was also conferred to me. It was really neat.

Anyway, one of those perks was that my brother and I were welcomed with open arms to crash at the couple's apartment for the length of our stay. Yes, I slept on a couch and my brother on a camp cot, so these weren't extra-bedroom-apartment-level fancy digs - but who cared? Not us.

During those 4 days where I was in on practically every little wedding detail and crisis and group outing, except for suit fittings, of course my head was filled with the flurry of love, weddings, lifelong commitment, etc. You know, all the usual: What do I want from my partner? Do the soon-to-be-newlyweds seem like a strong couple? What is marriage, really? Do I want that? Am I ready or how am I not? sort of love-is-in-the-air-and-I'm-single-plus-analytical lines of thought that weddings inevitably stir in young and furtive optimists.

They seemed like a really solid, good couple, and I felt I could endorse their union, though of course no one asked and who was I, anyway? It feels good, though, when you're at a wedding, to feel you can have confidence in the two.

On the wall off the right arm of the couch where I spent three nights thinking as much as sleeping hung the largest piece of art in their whole apartment. The focal point, if you will.

It was Klimt's The Kiss.

Although I'd been familiar with the work before, the hours I spent gazing at it thinking all these romantic thoughts, and also spent considering the deliberate choice in design and its meaning, meant that when I got on the plane to get back home out of Georgia, Klimt was embossed on my mind. The painting not only would forevermore elicit those 4 days of great, momentous, and also challenging memories I built that second week of November, but it also took on its own meaning. I think it's the meaning Klimt meant to convey, that of love, union, two different pieces uniting into one - I don't often get that much from paintings. I get the visuals but I don't usually get message. After that wedding, Klimt, to me, had message.

I decided I wanted to paint my own smaller copy of The Kiss, if I could get it, because of all this weight a week had grown. So I did.

On a side note, the color palette that came with the canvas was fucked up and bland and very blah, so on this one I did a fair bit of playing around, changing colors, livening stuff up as I liked it. If you compare this to the real Klimt, you'll see the color schemes in some parts are notably different. I had a lot of fun doing that and this painting is among my very favorites of my paint-by-numbers, as much because Klimt and wedding as because of the risks I pushed myself to take from an artistic, no-guardrails-perspective.

this is probably overwrought and overwordy, but I really like that you asked about it because it's not a story I get to tell often and it was a really great introspective and impactful experience all around.