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       During the process of creating a painting, there are multitudes of decisions for every stroke of the knife or brush. Take 2 notes sitting side by side: each dab of paint could be lighter, darker, thicker, thinner, more chromatic, more neutral, less transparent etc, etc. The choices before us can encompass the entire range of what our paints are capable of , intentionally limit those ranges, or anything in between. In my experience, as long as the key relationships hold, quite a variety of choices can work well. The same is true for shapes --- wider, thinner, taller, shorter, more rounded, squared off, etc. If every choice is considered in terms of its relationship to the whole, chances are those decisions will result in a painting that has a consistent story to tell.

      The further you get into a painting, the more limited the choices become due to the fact that so many of the options our pigments are capable of have already been employed. That's one of the best reasons I can think of for having a clear concept from the very beginning of what the story, and the center of interest in the painting will be. While there is inevitably more thinking and juggling involved in solving the 'puzzle' at the later stages, if you have to make some tough choices , it seems like common sense to me to make those compromises in areas other than the center of interest if possible. Additional issues that frequently pop up are annoying tangents. repetitive lines, and format constraints. As if all of that wasn't enough to consider, once these spots of paint turn into a symbol the brain can easily identify, trying to view that image again as abstract shapes of color, becomes even more problematic.

         Putting finishing touches on a painting reminds me of construction issues in the area of the country where I live. The traditional method of building a genuine adobe structure has been to use more or less free materials like dirt, straw and water to form bricks that are dried and then stacked.  This method produces walls that are charmingly irregular and give a different sort of feel to the architecture.  Unless one is really into sweat equity though, due to the labor intensive process, what was once the least expensive way to build is now the most expensive. That expense is even more amplified if somebody wants to remodel or build on to an old abode structure since sometimes with older houses the foundation part was skipped altogether. Another issue can develop when cement stucco is used for the outside finish. A cement finish is more durable than traditional mud plaster but it can trap moisture causing the bricks inside to disintegrate. This means that nobody quite knows what they are going to be dealing with when they start tearing into an existing adobe wall, and because there are the constraints of some the original features someone is trying to preserve --- the options to deal with whatever comes up can be limited. This is sort of the feeling I have going back into a painting. More limited options and the possibility of having to tear the whole thing down and start again from the ground up. I think this explains why I prefer starting new paintings and will sometimes put off the finishing part as long as I can.

        Choosing from a more limited set of choices can be an interesting challenge though, so once I get into the creative side of adding to or reworking a painting, I almost invariably find it fun. There are a few rules I try to follow that won't guarantee success, but certainly improve the chances;

1) If the original arrangement has been dismantled, I try to recreate the set up (or at least the parts I want to work on) and original lighting as closely as possible.  After 50 plus years of painting, I'm still convinced that my visual response to nature is going to be more interesting than anything I can invent. That isn't to say I never use artistic license, but rather that I respect it's limitations and generally only bring that out as a last resort.

2) While I'm always studying a problem to try to figure out the best solution, at the same time I'm looking for the least invasive approach that might work well. Generally speaking I don't go back into a painting unless there are already some areas I'm relatively pleased with, so the last thing I want to do is mess up the parts I'm trying to build on. Those initial, spontaneous responses I had at the start of the painting won't be easy to recreate if somehow the reworking effort goes too far.

3)--- I almost never touch an area of a painting that is between wet and dry since that's an excellent way to make a goopy mess. When working on top of dry paint one always has the option to take some medium on a cloth or paper towel and wipe off a stroke that isn't working. I proceed slowly, stepping back and judging almost every touch of paint to see how it fits in with the image as a whole.

4)---A light spray of retouch varnish before resuming work will help, but just applied wet paint will never have the exact same look as paint that has dried already. Often in the past that difference in the look of the surface would really mess me up and I'd feel like an area I had just worked on wasn't talking to the rest of the painting. Over time I've learned to just follow my instincts, do what I need to do and then put the piece away until the more recent paint applications have dried and settled in.

5) ---When making changes I always go first for the ones I'm the most certain I want to make and leave all of the 'maybes' for later...or never. My practice is also to return first to whatever adjustments are closest to the center of interest and then proceed out to the other areas that are supporting the primary story of the composition.

      In general most of my work doesn't go through substantial reworking, but there are often a few places where I'll need to slow down and some finishing touches to do later. My favorite paintings of course are the ones that just happen seemingly on their own  --- those rare moments when everything just clicks into place with little or no tweaking. Early on when I would hit one of those magical states I would be convinced I had finally arrived at a level of painting brilliance that would continue forever. I still always hope for painting days like that, but in my opinion they don't arrive often enough and it's when one least expects them.  Whether the painting really was 'blown on in one puff', took a lot of effort to make it appear that way, or perhaps was a complete dud --- all of it is a part of the learning process and with practice, the solutions to the challenges that inevitably arise become more successful.

"Even the knowledge of my own fallibility cannot keep me from making mistakes. Only when I fall do I get up again." --- Vincent Van Gogh

"If you want to learn, be willing to be taught." --- Marcus Aurelius