Knowing when to stop

I am often asked some version of "how do you know when it's finished."

My answer has always been "when I can't see anything else that needs to be done" or "when it feels like I'm just fiddling around the edges without making anything better."

But this week, my answer changed.

The shift came about because of a conversation with a fellow artist, some powerful energy clearing, and a random video that popped up on Youtube and that I now can't find.

It's amazing how the universe works.

I'll make a video about all this with more details about the specific inputs (so please don't write and ask me!) but the bottom line is that I started to reconsider what it means to finish.

My previous definition of finishing came from other artists. Artists who work in different ways to me, and who have different objectives for their work. Their definition isn't wrong - it's just not mine.

I'm now in a phase of questioning every single thing I've been told. (Examples include finding out that yes you can sand canvas, and no you don't have to use bigger brushes just because you're working on a bigger canvas. It all depends).

The people who told me you have to use bigger brushes and you can't sand canvas were not wrong - they were just sharing their opinions based on their approaches. But their advice is laden with their experience and personality and viewpoints and even the definition of the words they used.

If we decide not to believe other people, a whole world opens up. Because we may love the very thing they dislike and avoid.

So if everything is up for grabs, why not the definition of finishing?

For a long time I have sought a raw vibrancy in my work. I want the canvas to feel alive, pulsating, filled with life. You might not like it, but I want to make sure you can't ignore it.

But the idea of finishing - with all it implies but consideration and thought and finesse - directly contradicts what I am seeking. As soon as I start to refine, the life leaves the canvas and something else replaces it.

I am left with something beautiful. Something organised. I am left with a picture.

I've included a video below that shows this exact process happening. I had a painting that was full of life and energy, but I barreled right past that stage and killed what I loved most. This happens all the time.

And why does it happen? It happens because I am trying to 'finish.' I am taking my honest expression and tidying it up for presentation. 'Here it is,' I am saying. 'I hope you like it.'

And people do. I am very fortunate to sell most of my work. I get lovely comments that stroke my ego and make me feel good about myself. I am skilled, I can tell myself. I know what I'm doing with paint.

But I'm also left feeling slightly empty. These paintings always feel less exciting to me than I want them to feel. 

And now I know why. I get it on a soul-deep level.

I have been finishing when I should have been stopping. As soon as the canvas feels alive and vibrating with energy, I should stop. Not so I can come back later and make tweaks - I mean really STOP. That's it. Done.

I'll be making the video diary all about this and I'll share the painting (and video of it being made) in that video. I'll also share my exact definition of what it means to reach the stopping place and how I will know.

For now I just wanted to record this realisation so that I can't backtrack. And I also want to ask you: where have you accepted someone else's answer to a question? What conventional wisdom have you taken as gospel truth?

Chances are there is something for you to test out :)