A few days ago, I came across a video showing the creation of a watercolour painting I had made more than a year ago. Watching it felt surprisingly strange. For a moment, I almost wondered if it was really me holding the pencil.

 

And yet, I remember that period very clearly. I remember the ideas I was exploring, the materials I wanted to use, the textures I was curious about and the effects I hoped to achieve. As is often the case when creating, I was completely immersed in the process, focused on solving one visual problem after another and trying to bring an idea to life.

When I work on a painting or a drawing, I carry much more than the artwork itself. There are expectations, doubts, excitement, frustrations and moments of discovery. All of these things influence the way I see a piece while I am creating it.

Perhaps that is why it can be so difficult to judge our own work objectively when it has just been finished.

 

The Emotional Memory of an Artwork

Over the years, I have realised that I unconsciously place my artworks into different categories.

There are the pieces that leave me feeling frustrated because they did not achieve what I had hoped for. There are the ones I genuinely love, the paintings that feel especially successful to me. And then there is everything in between.

What fascinates me is that I remember the works connected to strong emotions remarkably well. Whether the feeling was excitement or disappointment, those artworks tend to stay with me.

The ones in the middle are often harder to recall. They did not create a strong emotional reaction at the time. They were simply... fine. Not a masterpiece, not a failure either.

When I revisit an older painting, I am not only seeing the image again. I am reconnecting with the emotions and expectations that surrounded its creation.

 

How Time Changes the Way We See a Painting

Time has a curious effect on artwork. It softens expectations.

The goals I had when creating the piece become less important. The frustrations lose some of their weight. The comparisons I may have been making at the time gradually disappear.

What remains is simply the artwork itself.

And that is often when something interesting happens.

I begin to notice qualities I had overlooked before. A texture that feels more alive than I remembered. A colour combination that works surprisingly well. A spontaneous mark that brings energy to the piece.

At other times, I notice habits, limitations or decisions that I would approach differently today.

Either way, the experience is valuable because it allows me to see the work with fresh eyes.

An Artwork Continues to Evolve After It Is Finished

It is tempting to think that a painting is complete the moment the artist puts down the brush.

In reality, I do not think that is entirely true.

The artwork may remain physically unchanged, but our relationship with it continues to evolve. We grow, we learn new techniques, we develop different interests and we gain experience. As artists, we are constantly changing.

When we encounter an artwork months or years later, we bring all of that change with us.

The painting belongs to a specific moment in time, but the conversation we have with it does not end when it leaves the easel.

That is why I believe an artwork is never completely fixed in time.

 

What My Older Paintings Still Teach Me

Looking back at older work often leads to unexpected discoveries.

Sometimes I realise how much my use of colour has evolved. Sometimes I rediscover a texture or technique that I had completely forgotten about.

And then there is a situation that happens far more often than I would like to admit.

I find myself looking at a detail and thinking:

"I love that effect. That colour works beautifully. That line has exactly the quality I am looking for today."

A few seconds later, another thought appears: "Wait... how did I do that again?"

Because I spend so much time experimenting and testing new approaches, I occasionally forget how I achieved a result that I genuinely love. Hello, frustration 👋

But perhaps that frustration is not entirely a bad thing.

It encourages me to explore again, to experiment, to search for new solutions and, sometimes, to rediscover techniques that had quietly disappeared along the way.

And maybe that is one of the things I love most about the creative process: there is always something new to learn, even from our own work.

When Our Own Art Surprises Us

This is exactly what happened while watching that old watercolour painting come to life again on screen.

More than a year had passed since I created it, and yet I still found myself surprised by certain choices, textures and effects. Some of them felt familiar, while others seemed completely new, as if they had been made by a different version of myself.

It was a reminder that our artworks continue to reveal things long after they are finished.

Sometimes they show us how much we have changed. Sometimes they remind us of things we have forgotten. And sometimes they simply surprise us.

 

What About You?

When you come across an old painting or drawing, what do you notice first?

Do you see the progress you have made, the mistakes you would avoid today, or perhaps qualities you had forgotten were there all along?