Brook & Bramble Art

Lemon

Another miniature, but this time, I behaved myself.

I remember approaching this one more slowly than usual, which already made it feel different. No rushing to see what it might become, no piling decisions on top of still-wet paint. I let each layer sit. I waited. And, somewhat miraculously, nothing fell apart in the meantime.

It helped that everything was simple. A slice of lemon, a couple of leaves, plenty of breathing room. There was nothing to wrestle into place, no complicated perspective threatening to unravel. The shapes were clear, the colours knew what they were meant to do, and for once I trusted that restraint might be enough.

This was also one of the first outings for my new brushes, which felt like a small but significant shift. The point held. The lines did what I asked. There was a sense of control I hadn’t quite experienced before, not because I’d suddenly improved overnight, but because my tools had stopped fighting me. It’s amazing how much calmer the process becomes when you’re not compensating for frayed bristles and guesswork.

What I like most about this piece is how settled it feels. The yellow stays luminous without shouting. The shadows know where they belong. Even the ink behaves, crisp where it needs to be, quiet where it doesn’t. It doesn’t try to impress, and I think that’s why it works.

It’s still on my fridge, which feels like the right place for it. A small, everyday reminder that slowing down helps, that decent tools matter, and that sometimes taking your time really does show. Not every painting needs to be a lesson learned the hard way. Occasionally, it’s allowed to just… work.

More of that, please.