“When is a painting actually finished?”

It’s a question I’m often asked by art enthusiasts and collectors, sometimes directly. In this article, I’ll try to explain when, for me, a painting is truly finished.

You sit in front of a mostly white canvas.

You hold a paper towel in one hand, brushes in the other. You stain your clothes, your fingers with paint.
You breathe in the smell of linseed oil, of turpentine.

Days go by. Maybe months. And little by little, your eyes become accustomed to what they see.

Until one day, a beautiful day, you realize there is nothing left to add.

And then, somehow, everything works. Everything finds its place. The image becomes harmonious.

But what is the exact moment when a painting is finished?

For me, it is when I start to be afraid of ruining it. When adding something means risking taking something away. When I realize that perhaps, finally, it is time to stop.