The perils and payoff of the last 10%
The perfect ribbon on a carefully wrapped parcel.
The dollop of cream swirled into the top of a hot pumpkin soup.
The extra three second hold on a hug with someone dear to you
The last 10% of focus, effort or thought of ANYTHING is where something simple has the potential to become extraordinary - or not …
In the context of creating a painting.
Let me be honest about what actually happens when I get close to finishing a piece.
There's excitement - that fizzing, can't-quite-believe-it feeling that something you've been dreaming about and working toward is nearly real. That part is wonderful.
But right alongside it? Fear. Pure, irrational, completely paralysing fear of ruining it. All those hours, all that detail, all that love - and one wrong decision in the final stretch could unravel the whole thing. It is the reason why a lot of people don’t even try.
And then there's impatience. Oh, the impatience.
That trigger-happy energy where your brain starts firing ideas faster than your hands can keep up and you just want to finish finish finish - which is precisely when you need to put the brush down and walk away.
I call it going rogue. And I have ABSOLUTELY done it. More times than I care to admit.
The time I painted a random person into a perfectly good painting …
True story.
Years ago, I had nearly completed a beautiful symbolic painting. It was simple, cohesive, meaningful, it was working. And then doubt crept in - that quiet, insidious voice suggesting it wasn't clever enough. That it needed a larger element of skill and difficulty to prove its worth. Never mind the fact that it was soft, harmonious, and straight up cool. Apparently pleasing to look at wasn't sufficient for my ego.
So naturally, I decided to paint a random person in the corner.
A person in the corner would impress people. A person in the corner would validate my skill as an artist. A person in the corner would make people understand that I was a REAL artist.
Yikes.
I am cringing as I write this but it is absolutely the truth of the matter.
So I did it. Without thinking. Without asking whether it made any sense. Without pausing to consider that I was simply having a moment of insecurity - I painted the blimmin' person in!
Breaking news - she didn't belong. (No sh*t)
Suddenly I had a painting with a random woman standing in it who had absolutely nothing to do with anything else happening on the canvas. She was painted well, I guess (as far as random people go) - so I posted a pic of her (why? For validation, of course! More cringe). It received some likes. One person even said - oh, she's so cute! - which only made things worse, because then I felt obliged to make her make sense - make her MORE cute - I changed the background to give her some context. Gave her some props in her hands. Added text to explain her existence. (Can people die from cringe? Asking for a friend …)
When I tell you it was a trainwreck, I mean it with every cell in my body.
Not surprisingly, that painting ended up a lone ranger - too random to sit in the series it was meant for. So (like many of her shameful friends) she got relegated to the corner of the studio with a sheet over her and filed firmly under “deal with this later”.
Other ways to blow it in the last 10%
Having a hissy fit and walking away with nothing else to work on.
If I stop completely - no other tasks, no other projects, nothing to keep my hands busy - I overthink everything. I get anxious. I overanalyse. I second guess every single decision I've ever made about the piece and end up doing absolutely nothing. Which makes everything worse.
Putting it away completely.
If a painting goes away into a cupboard, into a corner, face to the wall - it is out of my mind. Possibly forever. I have paintings I haven't touched in a year because I made the mistake of putting them away at the wrong moment. The studio equivalent of ghosting someone and then feeling too awkward to text back.
What I actually do now
I've learned. Slowly and sometimes painfully, but I've learned.
Painting is essentially a very long series of mistakes and creative problem-solving - and the last 10% is just the final round of that process. I believe, the artist who finishes well isn't the one who suddenly “gets it right”. It's the one who keeps showing up, keeps problem-solving, and doesn't panic when things get complicated close to the end.
Here's what that looks like in practice.
I keep the painting on the wall. Always visible. Always in my peripheral vision as I move through the studio. If it's in front of me, I keep thinking about it - glancing at it over my cup of tea, clocking something that needs attention as I walk past. The painting and I stay in conversation even when I'm not holding a brush.
I plan ahead deliberately. Before I get to the last 10% of any piece I make sure I have at least two weeks worth of other tasks lined up and ready to go. Varnishing. Sanding. Sketching out the next piece. Functional work that keeps me moving forward without requiring any big creative decisions on the painting I'm wrestling with.
I go digital. This is one of my favourite tricks. I photograph the painting and look at it on my computer. I test colour changes in Photoshop. I look at those photos on the couch while I'm watching a movie, completely out of the studio context. Something shifts when you see your painting on a screen instead of on an easel — your brain switches from creator mode to viewer mode. You suddenly see the imbalance in the composition you couldn't see up close. You notice the corner that needs something. You spot the thing that's not quite working. Psychological distance is everything.
And then I wait until I'm ready. There's no forcing it. I keep the painting visible, in my consciousness - and one morning when I'm feeling energised, or one evening when I feel satisfied about my day, I pick up the brush and get to it. No method. No schedule. Just readiness.
The funny thing about my latest work -Aloha
I thought I was at the last 10% WEEKS ago.
Turns out I was at the last 30%!
What I thought was nearly a complete painting was actually the beginning to an entirely new world I was yet to create - a sweeping portal between the natural and spiritual world (what on earth?) fauna I hadn't planned (had never even considered it), layers of meaning I hadn't anticipated! The painting told me what it needed and I had to be patient enough to listen.
Gosh I am so glad I did!
Sometimes - if you're patient enough to stay in conversation with your work - it becomes something so much more than you originally imagined.
It is a moment worth planning, persevering and waiting for. Don’t give up!
Briar x
