“Finished” is a moving target. I’ve ruined pieces with one stroke too many and abandoned others that were probably fine. Over time I’ve collected a few checks that aren’t magical but they keep me from spiraling.

It answers the question it asked

Every piece starts with a problem—maybe emotional, maybe formal. When the work stops nagging me with the same unresolved question, that’s a sign. Not because it’s perfect, but because continuing would change the subject rather than deepen it.

I squint and nothing screams

Blurring my eyes reveals dominant shapes and accidental hotspots. If one corner still pulls all the attention for no reason, I address it. If the rhythm holds, I listen.

Distance beats staring

Turning the canvas to the wall, sleeping on it, or photographing it for the gallery often exposes what the live stare hides. If I still smile—or still feel the intended tension—after a break, that’s data.

The trap: “just one more tweak”

Fatigue masquerades as discernment. When I notice I’m adjusting the same inch for an hour, I stop. Better to sign it, ship it, or set a literal timer. Done is a decision as much as a state.