I spent far too long trying to work out what this painting needed.
More colour. Less colour. Another mark. Remove a mark. Fill an empty space. Leave it alone.
Every decision seemed to create another possibility, and every possibility became another reason not to stop.
At some point I realised the problem wasn't the painting.
My judgement was functioning.
What was failing was my willingness to stop asking it for further proof.
I knew when something was too much. I knew when an area needed to remain quiet. I knew when a mark was pulling the painting somewhere I didn't want it to go. But instead of trusting those decisions, I kept returning to them looking for certainty.
Painting doesn't offer much of that.
There is always another version available. Another colour. Another line. Another morning when you can walk into the studio and decide yesterday's decision was wrong.
Finishing a painting isn't reaching the point where there are no more possibilities.
It's stopping while some of them are still there.
Little Boy Blue finished when I stopped trying to prove to myself that it was finished.