Introduction
The point an artist decides a piece is done is an absolutely mysterious moment. In fact, it’s as mysterious as the moment of inspiration in the first place. Think about it — the artist can work on that piece ad nauseam for the rest of their lives, so what compels them to believe that they’ve finished it? At what point does that happen? And why? Indeed, it’s very strange. But it’s a tremendously important moment, too. It marks the moment when the artist has decided they cannot contribute any more to the piece, but what does that even mean?
How ever it happens, calling “done” is just as important an act as starting the piece. Why? Because when we call done, that’s the moment when we’ve decided to trust our instincts and our skills and, more importantly, we trust our inspiration that birthed it from the start. It’s the moment when we honor that inspiration by saying, “I have fulfilled you to the best of my ability with love and good faith,” and that’s monumental in so many ways!
So let’s talk about calling done. It seems quite a few artists have a hard time with it, deciding when it should happen, either calling done prematurely or not calling done soon enough. It’s truly a tricky balance, but we can find it with practice and wisdom. The thing to remember though is this: There’s never a single clear answer. There’s only the answer that works for you, and everyone is different. So in that spirit, let’s just get right to it!
We Should Like It
While this may seem obvious, it should still be stated: We should like our piece as-is, in entirety, to call it done. Yet that’s a mysterious, instinctive, intuitive call all the same, granted. However, it should be emphasized that “done” isn’t about attaining perfection. That’s fundamentally impossible as only Nature can make a perfect equine and we’re fallible human beings. Don’t go chasing windmills! In truth, there may be some portions you wished were a little different, but you can still accept them anyway — that happens. So instead, calling done should be more about trusting yourself and your skills, and allowing yourself to stop because you truly like the piece as it is. And if you’re very lucky, you’ll absolutely love your piece! Now there’s a gem of an accomplishment! Embrace it!
Know The Limit
We should call done when we’ve reached the limit on the piece. What does that mean? Well, every piece has a finite point after which you’re faced with diminishing returns with every new tool stroke. Yes, every piece has one. Indeed, at that point every aspect should work and harmonize together in a way that no aspect could be further improved by more fiddling, when adding anything more would not make it any better, where just one more tool stroke would detract from it rather than support it, where nothing more needs fixing. It marks the point where you believe your finished work is as good as it’s ever going to get at that moment, when you’ve gone as far as you want to go, as you can go, with every inch of it. Now stop. No—seriously…stop. Just stop. Put the paintbrush or sculpting tool down, and let go. Stop.
Because overworking is a very real thing! What is overworking? It’s when you’ve gone past that critical limit and into the realm of ruining it. How do you ruin it? Well, you erase all the happy accidents that serendipitously happened. You squelch many of its best points in “perfecting” them, or not even recognizing them as already perfect. And you can indeed kill a piece by overworking it! It just snuffs out that inexplicable energy every piece of great art has. Energy? Yes! It’s real! See, an unquantifiable, mysterious energy got injected into the piece in the initial stages of its creation, and it’s now your job as the artist to preserve and protect that energy in its pure form to completion — that’s your prime directive. So be painfully mindful of the piece’s limit! It’s real! Because you’ll ruin your piece, kill it outright, in your pursuit of perfection if you aren’t painfully aware of that very real limitation point. If you have this tendency then or you’re just unsure, think of your piece as done when 90% of the meaning or intention is already in there. Why 90%? Because the viewers aren’t going to notice the remaining 10% you want to agonize over and potentially sabotage yourself with. Or stop twenty minutes before you actually feel the need to finish, that works too. When it comes to art, even equine realism, less can truly be more. Without a doubt, overworking can sap the piece of its spontaneity and life and “organic chaos,” making it instead cold, dull, too clinical, too “tight”…overworked…dead. But when we preserve that transcendent energy, the piece will have an ease and immediacy, a freshness and life to it attainable no other way than through preservation. Because make no mistake: Once that energy is gone—it’s gone forever! So err on the side of stopping a snidge too early than too late. Preserving that energy should be your top priority that overrides everything else because, honestly, there's no point of perfection worth destroying it. It's far far better that your piece be “imperfect” and full of that energy in its pure, potent form than “perfect” and bereft of it, lifeless and overworked.
No More Nagging
Another way to determine “done” is when you look at your piece from every angle and nothing is nagging you about it. You just can’t find anything you dislike about it any longer, no portion of it unpleasantly catches the eye or catches it too much. Even when you come at it with a fresh eye later, still…nothing leaps out at you. At that point, your piece is most likely done.
Try Some Rules
Some artist employ some rules to call done. For example, once they’ve signed the work, that’s it. It’s officially finished and any remaining flaws simply become part of the work. Or, for instance, some artists simply quit while they’re having fun. The moment it becomes frustrating or a grind is the moment they call “done” and walk away. For others, they don’t try to fix every little flaw but ignore most of them to instead allow themselves only a certain number of flaws per piece, making a mental note of what to avoid in the next work. In fact, you can measure your progression this way in a more quantifiable approach. Yet other artists have a rule never to work from a photograph as that just sets you up for inevitable disappointment. Rather, they just envision what they want to portray and once the piece has attained that, it’s done, mission accomplished. And other artists establish planned mission objectives for a piece, required criteria to meet, to help them decide when it's finished.
And yet others employ a system that looks like this:
Step 1: Fresh eye the work after not looking at it for a few days, even a few weeks.
Step 2: Look at some of your favorite works you consider masterful and cogitate what makes them feel complete to you. Does the piece you’re working on now contain those elements, too?
Step 3: Focus on structure, expression, organic chaos, and composition — are they feeling finished or do they have more to say?
Step 4: Ask these hard questions with fruitful results:
- Have you accomplished your goals for the piece in terms of what you wanted to portray or express?
- Does your piece keep the eye engaged? Is the composition balanced and harmonized?
- Are your anatomical and biomechanical points correct? How about breed type, age type, and gender type? What about the points of conformation? How about color genetics? Does you piece read with “organic chaos” or is it too regimented? Check all of that again.
- Are there any hard lines that shouldn’t be there? Areas that are unsmoothed or unblended that should be? Or conversely, are there areas that are too blended or too smoothed that need more definition? Check your textures and intensities again.
- Are areas that need cleanliness and precision actually clean and precise? Does anything need tidying up?
- Does the sculpture or paintwork look great from a distance and up close?
- Does your piece have an eye-catching “wow factor” to it? Does it have a visual hook?
Let The Piece Speak
This may sound weird, but the piece is like a living thing — it will speak to you very clearly if you listen. As such, it will tell you when it’s done, even before you think it’s finished. But listen to it — always always always listen to the piece first and foremost. It knows what it needs. And, hey, you can listen to it and have a lovely relationship, a nice conversation, as it brings itself to life, or you can fight it and work it to death and kill it. It’s up to you. But just know that all great art is alive, not dead. But you are the sole means in all the universe by which the piece can create itself, so stay open to it so it can direct you to the satisfactory completion of its vessel. It will say done when it’s truly happy with it, when it’s truly all it could ever be, and then kicks you out of the process to fly on its own. That’s a beautiful, poignant, bittersweet moment when it does this…when it says “enough” and goes into the world on its own terms, like a child leaving home to live their own life. So stay open and listen. Indeed, it’s when you stop listening and shut down down conversation with your piece that you tend to lose sight of when to call done and end up spinning your wheels or overworking it. Keep your work alive and thriving by always listening.
The Process Determines Done
On the other hand, sometimes our own process calls done for us out of necessity. It could be that the process has hard points of “stop” that cannot be worked around. For instance, this is common in ceramics or bronze casting. Once that piece is fixed, that’s it.
Or because we can become blind to our work, finding ourselves analyzing rather than arting, hoping that by dissecting our decisions into smaller and smaller pieces we’ll find clarity and real answers when, in truth, by parsing them thusly we actually lose clarity and certainty to become ever more lost in our process. At this point, we no longer trust ourselves and by sheer necessity, we need to call “done” and let go. So when we find that our correction of smaller and smaller areas reaches a point where they’re ineffective or worse, harmful, we’ve reached a terrible point that needs to have an immediate stop. Put the piece down and walk away. You can come back to it much later if you wish, but at that point — stop.
Likewise, maybe our skillset has reached its limit with a piece and we need to develop further to manifest it according to our expectations. So call “done for now” and put the piece on a shelf while your skillset percolates to come back to it later. The point is — yes — you did do your best, but it wasn’t good enough, and that’s okay. It happens. Just call it a day, no biggie. Every artist has had to do that with some piece, at some point. It’s normal. The trick is to realize that this has happened to avoid overworking it and killing the piece outright, to stop before that happens. There’s absolutely no shame in admitting your skillset needs work, ever! In fact, that’s a great point to do some pro-active study and research, to take classes and workshops, and to do some artistic exercises to jumpstart beefing it up.
Another Set Of Eyes
Some artists think about their piece with the viewer in mind. In this, they ask themselves if another person would really notice a fiddly tweak? If not, then stop. Or if the casual viewer would deem the work done, that’s sufficient to call done to avoid that perfectionist or overworking trap. And there’s this: People probably aren’t even going to notice the things you would consider flaws! They’ll just think they’re part of the work and be happy with it. Like my wedding cake — the baker dropped the box full of sugar flowers meant to be decorating it and stomped off in a huff, leaving the wedding manager with that hot potato. Bless her, she jammed some of the still-intact flowers upright in the cake, bursting out like hatching aliens, thinking that was sufficient. Boy was I shocked to see my wedding cake for the first time! But the fact is that my guests thought that the cake was supposed to be that way! They just thought it was supposed to be as eccentric as I am. And ultimately — they didn’t care! The cake was delicious and that’s what they cared about, not how it looked. And it’s that same way with our art. Ultimately, people will be more invested in how our art makes them feel and less concerned with how it looks insofar as the flaws we may see. They’ll just see the whole piece and fall in love with it regardless! So ease up on yourself and the flaws you perceive in your work as chances are, you’re the only one seeing them.
And remember that the you of today is going to notice the errors the you of yesterday made — you are ever-evolving in your artistic savvy. So show yourself some grace, give yourself some leeway. Look at your piece after putting it away for a few days, or from different angles, or backwards in a mirror for some new views. If you find yourself constantly wanting to futz with it without end, it’s time to stop outright.
Instinct
Learning to stop takes skill and practice, but most of all, it takes instinct. That innate intuition, that attunement to the piece, that tells you to stop when you’ve reached that limit. Indeed, most of what artists do with their work is instinctive and intuitive. Sure, there are artists who plan their works to the nth degree, but many just jump into head first and figure it out as they go, more or less, doing things that feel right to them. And they continue until their instinct tells them they can do no more, that all that could be done has been done, and it’s time to stop and let the work go. In this, it takes some emotional detachment from the piece to stop and let it go, and that comes easy to some, less easily for others. In this, some can be very adroit calling done whereas other aren’t so skilled at it, which can be a problem for them.
Truly, one of the biggest problems with arting is knowing instinctively when to stop! And see, if you simply strive for perfection, you’ll inevitably become your own worst critic so that all the great stuff about your work disappears in your eyes and only the errors leap out at you, giving you a skewed sense of your abilities and the nature of the work. But the best art comes not from the conscious mind, but from a deeper place, the soul. Now — yes — you need your conscious mind for motor control and coordination. Yet it is your conscious mind that obsesses over perfection, too, and stresses over every minute detail. In contrast, your soul knows the truth of things — it knows the true nature of the piece, where the real feeling is coming from, from where the piece was birthed, and from where your arting instincts arise. So at the end of the day, which would you rather satisfy? Your hyper-critical conscious mind that doesn’t quite tell you the truth? Or your soul that truly knows and beams with authenticity? Indeed, if your soul is happy with your piece — that’s enough. The piece may not be “perfect,” but if your soul loves it, it’s somehow completely perfect, isn’t it?
Ultimately then, calling “done” may just come down to an intuitive, instinctive feeling, something that can actually serve you better than intellect when it comes to arting because so much about art is done from the soul. And there’s something profoundly beautiful with that, isn’t there? And so stopping, calling done, can be an equally beautiful moment, too, yes?
The Click
Or perhaps the piece is done when everything simply “clicks” into place, when each portion is a series of perfect clicks adding up into one big click with the very last touch. What’s a “click”? It’s that nebulous moment when that portion seems just right. It’s hard to describe beyond that, but it just feels right. Like it was supposed to be that way all along — that the piece wanted it that way and you had to find the right configuration, the right combination to unlock that rightness. And you just know it in your guts, like the cosmos was dictating things. You become a vessel and the piece flows through you into clicked rightness in your hands. This is how I personally work, with this series of clicks, until the final moment, that final touch, that final click that locks it all into place together perfectly. That’s when I call “done.”
But this is intuitive and instinctive and mysterious because it often goes beyond being what is barebones necessary to be correct and into a realm of “what is needed.” See, there’s a difference between what is required and what is needed, and the click operates in the latter layer. So how I work is first attain what is required—check. Then beyond that, I work to attain what the piece needs, what it wants and needs on its own terms, and that’s found through the click. And how do I know when I’ve attained that click? I just know in my guts, and it’s instantaneous and immediate, too. There’s no waffling — you just know. It’s like falling in love — you just know.
No, Not The Final Say — The Only Say
Calling “done” is a highly personal determination by the artist predicated on their Eye, their inspiration, their motivations, and their skill level. And everyone is different! Someone else could walk in the door and make suggestions of what to alter to “improve” the piece but the fact is that their determination is based on their own Eye, inspirations, motivations, and skill level, right? Likewise, a thousand people could walk through that door with their own baggage and each will have their own opinion about if the piece is truly done or not, too. It can get truly ridiculous. So the important point here is: Only the artist gets to call done, no one else. Really, if this moment is as important as the moment of inspiration, it’s an equally creative moment, isn’t it? It’s part of the art process, part of the creation of the piece, right? That being the case, only one person gets to take part in that moment: The artist themselves. That’s it, that’s all. No one else. Everything else is just noise. Never forget that. Only you get to call done with your piece — remember that, always.
Conclusion
The fact of the matter is that you improve faster the more works you finish imperfectly rather than spinning your wheels on one piece to get it “perfect.” So volume counts, and counts big time. That’s the smart long game. That in mind then, it’s better to call “done” and take what you’ve learned to the next piece rather than grind away at one indefinitely. Rehashing hardly ever generates evolution! We need new pieces, new opportunities to learn and apply our upgraded skills to feed our advancement. “Each piece is practice for the next,” said Ed Gonzales, and he is absolutely right.
And there’s a timing to a work, much like music. It has a rhythm, a pace to it and it has that limit, that end, and we must be instinctively sensitive to it to know when to stop. Just know that a “divine dissatisfaction,” as Martha Graham phrased it, will plague you with each piece you create, but that’s okay. In its own way, it keeps us hungry and advancing, challenging ourselves to improve and stretch. If we were always self-satisfied, we’d wouldn’t grow, would we?
But even so, for some it can be really challenging to know when to stop. In fact, it can take a great deal of strength for them to call “done.” Honestly, after investing all the time and energy and passion into a piece, they find it can be quite hard to stop and let go. And that’s okay, too. Nevertheless, call done we must. One way or ‘nuther, we must. In fact, our piece is depending on us to call done at some point! I wants to join the world on its own terms and it can only do that when we stop and let it go. So close your eyes, take a deep breath, muster your gumption and say, “I have done my level best and gone as far as I can go; I have fulfilled my inspiration in good faith and love and it’s time to let go.” Then open your heart, loosen your grasp…and let it go. And it will get easier over time. The more works you complete, the easier it’ll become to find that critical limit and recognize it for what it is. Learning to call done may be instinctive, but it can be honed and sensitized with practice. So this is a great opportunity to do some artistic exercises to put it to work, isn’t it? Do some sketching, some small works, and maybe some maquettes and quick studies to sensitize your ability to call done. Your art will thank you for it.
“Great is the art of beginning; but greater is the art of ending.”
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow