For me, nothing’s ever really done. I have to be cut off because I could record infinitely, so usually a record is done when it has to be, with some kind of created deadline. Or if somebody I’m working with says it’s done, that helps, because I’m just so unhinged that I need limitation. You can make a really great record with limitations. Limitations help incubate a specific thing. If you got to do whatever you want for as long as you want, you might not have that kind of magic.

My pieces are never done, at least for me. It’s an open-ended inquiry process driven by curiosity. I might have a sense that a piece “is completed” for a premiere, or for a showcase, but there’s always the possibility of going back and revisiting it, and I think leaving it open-ended is also a way for me to keep my sanity.

It really comes down to instincts. If I feel good about it and the people that I trust that are listening to it feel good about it, then it’s good to go. But it’s definitely just a feeling you get in your gut that it’s done, and it’s time to either release it or can it and move on.

Time. I just use lashings of time. I’ve got a method actually. In the morning, I come into the studio, take my coat off, put everything down and walk into the middle of the room just looking at the floor. When I’m ready I look up. If the painting stands up to me, it may be finished. But if the painting is talking back or something comes into my mind, then I’m still on the journey. But if it resists or has an air of independence then maybe I’ve got somewhere—but that is not very often.