'How do you know when a painting is finished?' asked someone in class the other day. I smiled politely and muttered something unintelligible. I can usually tell when the dishes are finished, the gas in the car is finished or the day has ended. Paintings, at least in the case of this one, seem to go on forever and stop only when I am lying on the pavement or studio floor gasping for breath. (That might be a bit of an overstatement.)
I still puzzle over how some simple subjects can be a struggle and seemingly complicated ones can roll off the brush. This is not always so but often enough that I take notice of it.
Attracted by the orange/blue thing of the boat, dock and water I was unaware of how delicate a balance they had with each other. I still don't think I it is 'right' but got tired of picking myself up one more time to give it another go.
At this point in my life I know nothing more to do so I guess it's finished. Time for another one.