Brook & Bramble Art

This was meant to be a victory lap.

A reworking of an older painting, the kind you come back to with better paper, better brushes, and the quiet confidence that time has done its job. I wanted that satisfying moment where you compare the two and think, yes, there it is. Look how far I’ve come.

Instead, I managed to undo the whole thing.

From the start, it felt tight. Overthought. Like I was trying too hard to prove something rather than just paint. The drawing stiffened, the space flattened, and the sea, which should have been the easiest, most forgiving part, never quite settled into itself. Everything feels slightly off-kilter, not in an interesting way, just in a nagging, won’t-leave-you-alone way.

What bothers me most isn’t even the individual problems. It’s the missed opportunity. This page was supposed to mark progress, and instead it highlights how fragile confidence can be when expectation gets involved. I didn’t approach it with curiosity. I approached it with an agenda. And the painting knew.

I actually loathe it now, which feels dramatic but accurate. It irritates me every time I turn the page, sitting there like a sulk in an otherwise cooperative sketchbook. I keep wishing I’d just left it blank. Or stopped earlier. Or chosen literally anything else to repaint.

But, annoyingly, that’s part of the record too.

Progress isn’t linear, and sketchbooks don’t exist solely to reassure us. Sometimes they document the days where you push too hard, rush the comparison, or try to force a narrative that hasn’t earned its ending yet. This one does all of that, loudly.

So it stays. Not because it deserves to, but because it happened. A reminder that improvement doesn’t arrive on command, and that revisiting old work requires more patience than confidence. Apparently, I wasn’t ready for that page yet.

Next time, I’ll wait longer. Or expect less. Or both.