I am up in the wee hours of the morning, examining the painting I’ve been working on. I am nearing the finish, or so I feel right now… a finish will be forced, as usual. I rarely can look upon a “completed” piece and feel that closure I expect. I have yet to judge a painting really, definitely complete. They may be framed, they may be sold, but they may not be “done”. I can let go, slowly to the emotion attached to each piece as it walks away, but not without wishing I would have had it back on my easel for a moment of final examination. I will finish this piece very soon, but not without re-attacking the other half of this diptych- again. It is still mine to control, to violate, to smear with emotion.