Instead of making a decision, step back and watch yourself decide
Another fun way to look at my paintings involves time travel. Each layer is a single loop distinguished from its neighbors by color. Look where the lines vibrate and you’ll see which layers fall where in the stack from front to back. You can see evidence of how things started, and identify layer by layer what revisions and adjustments led all the elements to emerge toward their final formal equilibrium. The lower layers are the physical memories of the uppermost. The painting narrates everything that happened to bring it to its current state with full transparency. There is an intimacy in that.
I have yet another fun option to describe, though this painting might be at the very edge of complexity beyond which said approach might no longer be possible. Try to hold the whole of the swirling shape in your head at once. Specifically, pick some loop, look at the larger shape made when it combines with its immediate neighbors, gradually annex contiguous curves and clusters to enlarge the shape you’ve defined until it encompasses the whole single tangle as just one indivisible thing. This takes some work to accomplish, but it pays off. It feels like an exercise in strengthening your peripheral vision, though I make no claim that it does. That notwithstanding, as the cones on your retina start to deplete, and the afterimage starts to burn in, something like a magic-eye transformation can briefly occur, wherein the whole of the linear figure lifts up and hovers above the canvas surface, snapping together like a tile mosaic made of light, feeling like the ideal form toward which the iterated loops have been asymptotically converging, made manifest in the air, a rune warding against entropy, summoned by no more magic than that afforded by an attentive gaze.