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Struggling with "done."

I grew up with a painting by my Grandpa Swann hanging in our living room. I have photos of me, as a baby, sitting on my grandparents' laps under it. To me it was always the most beautiful thing in the world. A path through the woods on a fall day. I would stare at that painting for hours, wishing I was on that path wandering through an unknown woods. I think that painting, in part, is responsible for my love of fall in all its red, yellow, and orange glory. My style is very different from his, but I have wanted to paint a similar work since I started painting in graduate school, and now I have. The problem is, that when I compare it to his, they are nothing alike other than the oil paint and a few of the colors. I used his palette knife, something I am sure he never painted with, and a few of his brushes but my trees look nothing like his. My path is different, literally and figuratively. I hope that he would hav loved mine, even if only half as much as I love his. I have put it in the drying rack three times now and brought it back out to tweak it. I think it is least until tomorrow.


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