There comes a point in a painting where it has to end. It must conclude. I must surrender my paint – walk away from the painting and say I won (I have to believe I won). At this subjective ending I always question the validity of the piece. Does it merit existence in a world so full of genius, critical opinion, catchy factory-churned art, brightly colored posters, family portraits, color coordinated decor, bad news and personal taste? And really, what does anyone add to a world so full… but hope?
At this point I want to push the paint one step further, raise the stakes, refuse to be safe, lose restraint yet not destroy the hours of work already on the canvas. I want to punch it – wound the work, yet have it survive. A difficult balance. I push myself to stronger color – harder rhythm, stronger light and dark, and search for the soul of the work. And the message… Will the painting have a voice loud enough in the cacophony of spirit and talent and color and film and animation and… Facebook? Who knows? But it has to end so I must shut up and fight to end it.