 If you've followed me for a while, you've probably heard me say this before—but I was reminded of it again recently, and it’s worth repeating: when you’re in the final stretch of a painting and something feels off, the best thing you can do is stop looking at the whole thing. That might sound counterintuitive. After all, isn’t the goal to step back and assess the entire piece? Yes… but not yet. Sometimes, you reach a point where the painting looks finished at first glance—but you still have that nagging feeling that it’s not quite there. In those moments, trying to evaluate the whole composition can actually make things harder. It becomes overwhelming, and instead of getting clarity, you end up second-guessing yourself or even making changes you’ll regret. That’s when I find it most helpful to zoom in and focus on one small area. Take my current piece, for example. I found myself stuck, unsure what—if anything—needed to be adjusted. But instead of staring at the entire canvas and spinning my wheels, I zeroed in on one table in the scene. Suddenly, I knew what it needed: a bit more contrast here, a subtle reflection there, maybe a stronger highlight to draw the eye. That shift in focus turned confusion into clarity. Working this way is not only more productive—it’s far less stressful. You stop trying to solve a hundred tiny problems at once and instead give your full attention to one manageable section. And more often than not, improving that one part naturally enhances the whole. To make this process even more streamlined, I think it might help to follow a path—literally. As someone who reads from left to right, that's probably the direction I would choose to move in across the painting when doing my final checks. If you’re from a culture that reads right to left or top to bottom, consider following that instinctive path instead. Your eye already knows how to travel that way, so use it to your advantage. So the next time you’re unsure what your painting needs, try narrowing your focus. The answer might be waiting in just one corner of the canvas.  Update: While photographing this painting for the blog, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before—the hair on one of the seated figures looks strangely flat and unfinished. I painted it gray, which was accurate for the scene, but in the context of the colorful, light-filled environment, it doesn't quite sit right. That’s when it hit me: it's not the color that was the problem—it's the lack of depth. Everything else in the painting has light, reflection, and dimension, but the hair doesn't. By zeroing in on just that one element, I'm realizing it needs subtle reflections to carry the same life as the rest of the scene. This is exactly the kind of moment that reinforces why narrowing your focus works. When you give one area your full attention, even something as small as the treatment of hair can suddenly become clear.
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 I’m planning to start an Impressionistic painting soon. It’s not a style I usually work in, but my local art group has chosen it as our theme for October—and honestly, it never hurts to stretch your boundaries. One of the first things I had to consider was the paint itself. Impressionism is all about visible brushwork and texture, so I knew I’d need something thicker than the paint I typically use. To figure out the best approach, I experimented with two options: thickening my Liquitex Basics paint with medium, or investing in some Heavy Body acrylics. While Liquithick did give my Basics paint a heavier consistency, the Heavy Body paint offered a much smoother, creamier experience overall—and a noticeable jump in pigment quality. No amount of thickening medium will give you more pigment. For a style that depends so heavily on vibrant, confident marks, that matters. So I went with the Heavy Body paints. I also made a deliberate choice to work with more opaque pigments than I typically do—like phthalo blue. Normally, I lean toward layering transparent colors, but Impressionism calls for bold, direct application, and opacities help support that. For my surface, I ordered a Blick Studio heavyweight canvas—20 oz, sturdy enough to handle thick, expressive strokes. As for the subject of the painting? I’m keeping it close to home—literally. I’ll be painting my backyard, in a quiet nod to the original Impressionists, who often painted scenes near their homes or studios. I won’t be painting it plein air, but it’s close enough. To help shift my mindset, I processed the reference photo in Canva. I boosted the brightness, contrast, and saturation, and then deliberately reduced the sharpness—blurring it just enough so I can’t see fine details like individual blades of grass. That way, I’ll be forced to focus on light and shadow rather than outlines or textures. The result will be a painting built on the interplay of shape, color, and movement rather than detail.   Sometimes, the next step in a painting doesn’t come as a grand vision. Sometimes, you can only think of one thing to do. Well—go do it. Pick up the brush. Go to the easel. Do that one thing. It might be a tiny highlight, a shadow adjustment, or just darkening one crease in the ground. That’s enough. Because once you’ve done it, you might find yourself doing the next thing. And the next. And if not? If that one thing is all you do today? That’s still progress. You’ll feel better spending five minutes painting than telling yourself, “I can only think of one thing, so I won’t bother.” That kind of thinking stalls momentum. Doing the one thing—even if it’s the only thing—keeps the painting alive. I’m working on a piece right now that’s in that exact in-between place. All the major elements are finished. It’s not technically done, but it’s no longer screaming for attention either. So most days, I sit down at the easel literally only planning to fix or adjust one thing. And more often than not, that’s enough to get me going. Here's a pic of that painting by the way.  Happy painting!
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