I paint and I write and it's the same in both media. I have looked back at something I wrote eons ago and with new life in my eyes from later experiences I've perhaps tweaked or added. When I pick up a poem or a short story I once wrote, and the re-read offers up no further suggestions - it is done - and I smile. The same with my paintings, though with them if I go back and find one I am inclined to alter, I either redo the whole thing or simply blank over and paint something new. Those I finally sell or get into a frame are the only ones I consider complete for I can add no more, even if the mood takes me to do so. Life gives us new experiences and outlooks and lessons, so we are ever evolving in our outlook and perspective. Maybe no art is ever really complete???