The Painting That Wouldn't End
I have a painting in my studio that I've been 'finishing' for four months. It's not unfinished in the way that means incomplete. It's unfinished in the way that means I keep going back to it, adding something, taking something away, convinced each time that this is the last session.
It isn't.
What Finishing Actually Means
There's a difference between a painting that's done and a painting you've stopped working on. I've stopped working on plenty of paintings that weren't done. I've also kept working on paintings that were done, past the point where they needed anything, until they needed something again — specifically, they needed me to stop.
The painting process writing at Brushed Past gets into this — the way overworking a painting is its own kind of damage. You can feel it happening. The surface starts to look tired. The colors lose their relationship to each other. The thing that was alive becomes labored.
The Fear Underneath
I've been honest with myself about why I keep going back to this particular painting. It's not because it needs more work. It's because finishing it means releasing it — means it becomes what it is, permanently, and I have to live with that.
There's something in the creative community conversations about this — the way finishing a thing is a kind of loss. While it's in progress, it can still be anything. Once it's done, it's only what it is.
The Signs That It's Done
I've learned to look for specific signals. The painting is done when I can walk past it without wanting to change anything. Not when I love it — I might never love it — but when I can look at it without my hand reaching for a brush.
It's done when the changes I'm imagining would make it different, not better. When I'm adding things because I'm restless, not because the painting needs them.
It's done when it starts to look like itself. That sounds circular, but it's the most accurate description I have. There's a moment when a painting stops being a painting-in-progress and starts being a painting. You can feel the shift. The thing settles into what it is.
What I'm Going to Do
I'm going to stop working on the painting in my studio. Not today — I have one more session in me, one more thing I want to try in the lower left corner. But after that, I'm going to put it somewhere I can see it without being able to reach it easily, and I'm going to leave it alone for two weeks.
If I still want to change it after two weeks, I'll change it. If I don't, it's done.
The maker essays have a version of this — the idea that some decisions need distance to make. I think finishing a painting is one of those decisions. You can't see it clearly when you're standing in front of it with a brush in your hand.
More from Calitoy Muse when the painting is finally done.