It seems that some work never is finished. It can take an hour, a day, or 20 years, I can always change things about it. And I do.
Some paintings grow old in my studio and keep on developing there.
For some works I am very aware that they are not yet complete, but others can trick me. I can think for years that they are okay like they are and need no more changing. But then suddenly they wisper or scream that they want something else from me. It can be that I change small things, add some details. But some paintings are completely born again, since they keep nothing, no color, no form like it was before. They enter a new phase of my art, like I can do.
I find this an interesting proces.
I used to think that it was my insecurity, indecisiveness that kept me from 'finishing' my work. Nowadays I think about all these unfinished works like my friends. They live and grow with me, they grow old with me, they change with me.
Just like my human friends do.