My customer had four rather ratty plywood pieces that were the right size to trim out a window. I sanded them and slathered them with lavender paint to smooth out the worst of the hills and valleys. Then, listening to horrible romantic comedies in Spanish (luckily I couldn't understand enough to be truly revolted), I painted the trim boards in a sort of Celtic-ish style. That's a book on the Lindisfarne Gospels in the picture.
I had a slinky black dress and rhinestones. That made all the difference. And made a sale!!! It was one of the little expressionistic pieces that I made in the last month (the first one below).
Not sure if this is done. It has a damp quality I like. Which leads to the question, how do you know if a work of art is finished?
For me, it has to do with the sizzling energy that I feel while painting. There is something that needs to be said, or better, some wordless insight that demands expression.
And then, suddenly, the energy is gone. It has leaped like a spark from me to the canvas.
Of course, there are occasions when this intuitive sense of completion isn't accurate, when a work could use more work to express its message fully. That's when it becomes work instead of absorbing play.
Fall is a great season to look deep into the woods. Here, the meadow beyond was misty and smelled sharply like snow.