Is art ever finished? I just recently started focusing on finishing my pieces (within the last year), instead of them being left undone in notebooks, scattered across some undefined time frame, lost to the world. Mostly done in pencil, mostly just outlines, I would start and vow to finish, you know, some time. But after much work undone, I made a personal commitment to follow through on my vision just sometimes.
Hesitantly I added ink, and I liked it. Hesitantly I added color, and I liked it. I composed, and I liked it. So finally, after finding a sense of completion in my work, I boldly tear it out it out the notebook and deem it finished. Then, after this effort, I take this nice sheet of paper that I work so hard on, and I shove it in a drawer.
Next step was someday I will frame this, hang it on my wall, then it will be finished.
After another prolonged time meditating in a desk drawer in an used room, I framed some art today. With frames that don’t quite fit from my local thrift store, and I filled in the gaps with black construction paper, and created a thing that can hang on the wall and interact with the viewer as art.
It looks good almost, except that the black is not quite deep enough. Although this is the closest to being completed I have ever managed to do, there is still work left.