Brook & Bramble Art

This is one of those paintings that lives firmly in the grey area. I didn’t hate it, which, in itself, felt like progress, but I didn’t love it either. It exists in that uncomfortable middle ground where nothing is disastrously wrong, yet nothing quite sings.

The idea was there. Snowy peaks, soft light, a sense of stillness reflected back from the water. On paper (literally and figuratively), it should have worked. But once again, I was battling the same old enemies: paper that refused to cooperate and brushes that seemed determined to do their own thing. Every wash felt like a negotiation. Every edge was either too sharp or vanished entirely, with very little in between.

The mountains behaved… mostly. The sky had moments I genuinely liked. The reflection, surprisingly, didn’t completely betray me. And yet, when I stepped back, the overall feeling was a shrug rather than a spark. It lacked that click, that moment where everything settles and you think, yes, that’s it.

Still, there’s value in paintings like this. They don’t demand attention or praise, but they quietly mark a stage in the learning process. This one showed me where my control starts to slip, how much my materials still limit me, and how close I’m getting to something I haven’t quite reached yet.

Not every painting needs to be a triumph or a disaster. Some are just stepping stones, imperfect, slightly frustrating, but necessary. This was one of those. A reminder that progress isn’t always dramatic, and that “not hating it” can still count as moving forward.

It stays. Not as a favourite, but as proof that I’m learning, slowly and stubbornly, even when the paper is naff and the brushes are rubbish.