So. There comes a time in the process when it is apparent that the painting will not be or become what you have envisioned. A true single point where no decision will cause the truth you hoped to occur.
From this point your own reluctance to face and endure will determine how the painting will progress if at all. This is where I can become paralyzed. Darting about searching for my fading concept, my dying child.
Now, the less sensitive among us may offer their derisive snorts. Those of us more personally involved must grieve. Searching each painting for the skeletal remains of the truth intended. Not every painting, but those that matter.