Some paintings are best left unfinished.
They rest in the prime of their beauty precisely because they are incomplete.
To finish them would be to mute the brilliance that lives in the visible strokes,
the exposed pencil marks, the raw edges that whisper of becoming.
It is almost a crime to complete such paintings for in doing so, we risk burying the very parts that made them beautiful.
No painting is ever truly finished.
As long as it exists, the painter may return
to add a shadow, remove a highlight, alter the mood.
To call a painting “finished” is merely to abandon it.
And even then, it may carry unpainted corners, a ghost of the sketch beneath,
a reminder that beauty sometimes lives in the undone.