Brook & Bramble Art

This one comes from the long stretch before I finally accepted that decent paper might be worth the investment. At the time, I remember liking it, genuinely. The colours felt bold, the flowers felt cheerful, and I was riding the small high of something that looked vaguely intentional.

Looking at it now… less so.

The paper, unsurprisingly, did me no favours. Colours sit on the surface rather than settling into it, and everything feels a bit flatter and louder than I’d choose these days. The petals are heavy, the leaves overworked, and there’s a general sense of me trying to force vibrancy rather than letting it develop naturally.

It’s not terrible. It’s just… not me anymore.

That’s the strange thing about looking back at older work, it holds the memory of how you felt at the time, even when your taste has moved on. This painting reflects a version of me who was excited by colour and pattern, less concerned with subtlety, and completely unaware of how much materials were holding things back.

I don’t regret it. It served its purpose. It kept me painting. It let me experiment. And it was part of the long, stubborn road toward eventually investing in paper that didn’t fight me every step of the way.

So, this one stays as a reminder: liking something once doesn’t mean you have to like it forever. Growth changes your eye, and that’s not a bad thing, even when it makes past enthusiasm feel a little embarrassing in hindsight.