I decided to write this article after a simple yet thought provoking question was asked by a very talented artist I follow; When do I know when my work is finished? I’m not sure if I should add more or just leave it? I’m sure as creative creatures we are all understanding when faced with this conundrum, and I am sure most of us have asked ourselves the exact same thing throughout our creative journeys. At the beginning of my art discovery and education I was fuelled by the love of freedom and expression, although in many circumstances at school and college I found it very frustrating to follow (in my opinion) a limiting brief and essentially not being allowed to ‘colour outside the lines’ was a constant struggle. Playing with paint and using the rhythms of my own interpretation on art was for me the greatest release whether for positive or negative initial reasons. A lot of my early workings were not of the abstract narrative, or so I thought. On reflection maybe my earlier works were an idea of ‘abstractism’ but I held my developing talents firmly in the clutches of illustration or my interpretation of realism, which could so easily be considered abstract. Until my later art life did I finally understand and grasp the idea that yes, yes I can colour outside the lines, yes I am allowed to really just do what I liked and not what I was told with regards to my work. Finally and only recently have I fully understood that I gave myself the permission I had sought after for years to be able to create works that I wanted with no rules or boundaries. This self-allowing stage of my art creating was and still is a huge breakthrough on a personal and professional level. My latest works have been a beautiful journey of allowing myself real artistic and personal freedom, to be able to explore the paints, the movements, the tools and the colours to produce a piece of artwork that I consider a higher level of my previous artistic self. Rather than confining myself to the traditional paintbrush (a tool I’m sure many of us have a very close and reliable relationship with), I didn’t just explore the idea of a painting but the process in which I took to create it. A while ago I had been inspired by an image of a porcelain doll suspended by puppet strings, my re-imagination of the piece I wanted to create was to have the doll as a reflection of myself and for her to be suspended by strings whilst descending into a ‘rabbit hole’. The piece had no real meaning initially but I always had a slight obsession with the slightly darker side of imagination and I suppose life. I first began with very slightly sketching my idea out straight onto the canvas and chose my colour palette from the oils I had available. Whilst considering the background of the image I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed with the ‘rabbit hole’ idea, I was certain I could find a tutorial online or find imagery that fit the idea, but the thought of it being a realistic background soon fell away as I found myself picking up an innocent piece of kitchen towel (thick tissue). The virgin white sheet was soon crumpled into a ball and finding it’s way to my paints, I splodged the piece until I had a few different earthy tones on the tissue and began dabbing this onto the naked canvas. After a few minutes I began to notice not only the colours blending and flecking well, but also the texture in which this once un-used tool had allowed me to create. It was lovely, no other word springs to mind, but just lovely. Being able to involve play in the creating process was like nostalgia, and I had finally discovered that absolute freedom I had so often looked for. Once I had finished the background I had to let the work dry thoroughly before I was able to start the long process of painting the me-doll, however after weeks passed I found myself unsure as to continue. A few comments here and there of close family and friends liking the piece as it was almost made me question whether to continue or to just leave the piece as it was. The ‘incomplete’ image then became something much more than I had initially thought. One comment from my husband was that the white speckle doll silhouette looked almost ghost-like, as if there had once been someone there but only their ghost or spirit remained, suspended, and yet journeying though this odd ‘rabbit hole’. What a poetic idea, what a simple yet brilliant, well, mistake. A fortunate outcome for my inability to complete a piece of work, a mistake to have left a piece so long that this was able to happen. A mistake that became something much, much more. An ability to consider the idea of acceptance for incomplete work. The work is only incomplete of you absolutely believe it is, but if a piece is left at a stage in which something else becomes the happy ever after of the piece, then this must be something important and considered by all. I had always been a perfectionist, if something wasn’t quite right, if something was in the wrong colour, shape, style or form then I would usually just bin it or turn the page and start again. However, errors in an artist’s eye are a lot more obvious, we do not need to question ourselves or rarely ask another, we simply change it or start again. But what happens when the question isn’t as obvious? What happens when we are unsure on whether a piece of work is finished or not? The artist determines the finish line, but sometimes the line is blurred. We pause for a cup of tea, we wait for that certain bit of the process to dry, we run out of materials, someone calls, we should really go to bed now it’s late, all of these are occurrences that happen and stop the creating, or at least put it on hold. Sometimes we are at the point where we break naturally and take a moment to reflect on the work before we start up again, but we don’t, we stay in a reflective state until we are at point where we then start to question or doubt the idea of continuing. Why not? This is all very real, all very understanding, and this has most certainly happened to me on numerous occasions. The language of art and painting speaks to all but as an artist I find the language beautiful and yet confusing at times, sometimes it’s as if the rhythm and the music of the paint stop or fade, the motion of creating lessens in pace and all of a sudden it’s as if the art is speaking a totally different language. At this moment I stop, I wait and I try to listen, I try to workout if I am finished or if the piece is, or in some instances both. Being able to know when a piece of art, in this instance, abstract art is finished can be very difficult. For my works, they are a reflection of emotion, a platform in which I am able to release a feeling or a mixed palette of emotion. I take huge inspiration from nature with regards to colour and form but ultimately my latest works have been an exploration of letting go. So with this there is no object I am referencing, no scene I am depicting and no person I am trying to recreate, the piece ends when I feel it is necessary. And when I am unsure, I leave it, I leave it for as long as I need to make a dedicated decision as to whether the piece should be left as is or whether I do have a clear path to follow with progressing and completing the work. Every artist I’m sure is different when considering this question, but if I were to offer just a little idea, it would be to take your time. Time is very important, whether you take five minutes or five years to create a piece, take time to consider that if you leave a piece of artwork for a moment it could become something more than what you intended, which isn’t always a bad thing. I believe I am certainly uncertain about the work I create, and actually I have come to understand its ok. We are the vessel and the instrument in which art flows from and is interpreted by, above all love what you do, and enjoy the journey of art no matter the format or manner, discover yourself and occasionally push the boundaries.