How do you actually know when a painting is finished?
I’ve been asking myself this question for a while now, particularly when I look at one painting that’s been sitting unfinished for the best part of three years.
It’s a painting of a white house, tucked away amongst the trees near Milngavie Reservoir.
Over the years, I’ve had friends look at it and tell me how much they love it. Some have even said they thought it was finished.
But my answer has always been the same.
“It’s nearly finished, but it’s not quite there yet.”
Three years later, I’m still saying it.
So what exactly am I waiting for?
I’ve always thought that knowing when a painting is finished comes down to a feeling. That moment when you stand back, look at what you’ve created and feel happy with it.
Although, let’s face it, when are artists ever completely happy with their work?
There’s always something we could change. A colour that isn’t quite right, a shape that needs adjusting, or an area that just doesn’t feel finished.
And then there’s perfectionism. That wonderful little thing that convinces us something could always be better.
Maybe that’s what’s happening with this house.
But let me tell you how the painting came about.
A few years ago, I was out walking around Milngavie Reservoir. I think it was around April, one of those Scottish spring days when the sun feels lovely on your face, but the minute you step into the shade, you’re reminded it’s still absolutely freezing.
I was still in my fitness phase at the time, getting out walking and exploring different places.
There was this long path winding through the trees, and through the woodland I spotted the most stunning white house.
I remember thinking how lovely it was.
It was a big house, surrounded by trees, and I imagined it must have the most beautiful view overlooking the reservoir.
I even remember thinking how wonderful it would be to live somewhere like that.
So, naturally, I took a photograph.
When I got home, I didn’t immediately start painting it. I sat with the photograph for a while, looking at it and thinking about what I could do with it.
Eventually, I put it through one of those apps that changes the colours and gives photographs a more painterly appearance.
I liked what it did, and I decided to use that version as inspiration for a painting.
Now, the proportions of the house are completely wrong.
I used the wrong size of canvas, so the dimensions don’t quite work as they should.
But that’s not really the point.
The painting was never meant to be an architectural drawing. It was about capturing something that had caught my attention on a walk. A little moment that made me stop and look.
And for the last three years, that little moment has been sitting unfinished.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided it was time to have another go.
I’d been looking at it and thinking the colours were too dark and dingy. I wanted something brighter, fresher, something that captured more of that lovely spring feeling.
So I got the paints out and started working on it again.
And do you know what?
For a while, I was really liking it.
I was enjoying the changes. The colours were becoming lighter, and I could see it moving towards something I was much happier with.
Then, somewhere along the way, it happened again.
I reached that point where I stopped liking it.
I don’t even know exactly what changed.
One minute I felt as though I was getting somewhere, and the next I was looking at it thinking, no, that’s still not right.
So I’ve put it away again.
And there it will sit.
For how long? I haven’t a clue.
Another few weeks? Six months? Another three years?
Who knows?
What I keep coming back to is the fact that other people have looked at this painting and loved it exactly as it was.
They saw a finished painting.
I saw something that still needed work.
And I wonder whether that’s because I can see what I originally imagined, rather than what’s actually on the canvas.
Maybe I’m still trying to recreate the feeling I had when I first spotted that house through the trees.
Or maybe I’ve simply been looking at it for so long that I can’t see it properly anymore.
I suppose the bigger question is whether a painting has to match the image we have in our heads to be considered finished.
And if it never does, does that mean we’ve failed to finish it?
I don’t know.
Maybe one day I’ll walk past the painting, look at it and suddenly think, that’s it.
Or perhaps I’ll pick up a brush again and change the whole thing.
For now, the white house is going back to its little corner.
Still unfinished.
At least, according to me.
Over to You
Have you ever created something that everyone else thought was finished, but you just couldn’t see it?
I’d love to know if other artists struggle with this too. When do you decide enough is enough and finally put the paintbrush down?