I’ve finished the painting I mentioned in my last post and as some of you asked to see it, here it is. Seeing it next to ‘Winter Landscape’ I recognise that the only thing I have in common with the master is perhaps pink and yellow. But the feeling of finishing a painting is transcendent and I’m longing to get on with the next.
How does one know that a painting is finished? That is the BIG question. Is it when I’ve carried the colour over the sides of the canvas? Or is it when I’ve lived with the painting for a few days and can think of nothing I need to add? It’s easier to tell when a poem is finished (when I’ve removed everything I can without the whole thing collapsing). It’s hard to do that with a painting but I do know that one line too many and the effect is ruined.
I guess it is when I, the creator, say it’s finished. Then I sign my name, give it a coat of varnish and, if I’m selling it, have taken it to the framers. Nothing says ‘finished’ as clearly as a frame.
I know it’s a lot easier to bake a cake but a lot less satisfying.