i painted the same window twice. not as an exercise — i didn't plan it. i just found myself setting up in the same spot, same light, same subject, and only realized halfway through the second painting that i'd done this before.
the first painting is in a private collection now. i have photographs of it. looking at those photographs while working on the second one was strange — like reading a letter you wrote to yourself and finding out you've changed more than you thought.
the window is the same window. the light comes from the same direction at the same time of day. but the second painting is different in ways i can't fully account for. the shadows are more specific. the glass has a quality the first one missed. i don't know if that's skill or just a different day.
the painting process of painting process talks about this — how returning to a subject reveals what you were actually looking at the first time versus what you thought you were looking at. the first painting is always partly about the painter's assumptions. the second one has fewer of those.
there's something humbling about it. you think you saw the thing. you painted it. you moved on. and then you come back and realize you saw a version of it filtered through everything you already believed about light and glass and windows. the second painting is an argument with the first.
i've started doing this deliberately now. not always — some subjects don't need it. but when i feel like i got something wrong, or when i feel like i got it too right, too easily, i go back. the creative community of creative community has a word for this: revision. painters don't use that word enough.
the daily practice of daily practice is built on repetition. not the same painting over and over, but the same attention over and over. the subject changes what it shows you depending on when you look. more at calitoymuse.