Brook & Bramble Art

This one has a title that promises more confidence than I actually feel about it.

Everyone else seems to like it. They talk about the drama, the movement, the moon hanging there like it knows what it’s doing. I nod along, smile politely, and try not to immediately point out the steps. The shadow. The places where my hand hesitated and then committed to the wrong decision anyway.

Because I see them. Constantly.

The steps are just off enough to bother me. The shadow falls where it shouldn’t, stubborn and incorrect, refusing to be explained away by artistic licence. Once I noticed it, that was it. My eye goes straight there every time, skipping past the parts that apparently work just fine.

What makes this one tricky is that it’s not a failure. The wave has energy. The splash does what I hoped it would do. There’s atmosphere here, and intention, and a sense of place I’m usually chasing rather than catching. Which almost makes the flaws worse. They feel louder because the rest of it is trying so hard to convince me I should be proud.

This is the uncomfortable space between external approval and internal satisfaction. The bit where improvement means you can no longer unsee certain things, even when everyone else happily does. Growth sharpens your eye long before it softens your judgement.

I don’t hate this one, exactly. But I don’t like it either. It sits there, haunted by its own almosts. A painting that did many things right and a few things wrong in exactly the places I care about most.

Maybe that’s still progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it. Seeing the flaws clearly means I know what I’m aiming for next time. It just doesn’t make living with them any easier in the meantime.

So this one stays too. Not because it makes me happy, but because it tells the truth about where I am right now, capable of more, aware of more, and still learning how to let something be imperfect without letting it follow me around the room.