THE LAKE IN JULY

nessart16
Jul 31
4 min read

Welcome to The Lake in July, the seventh blog post in my 2025 Calendar Blog Series. Over the rest of this year, I’ll be taking you behind the scenes of each month’s illustration, sharing stories, memories, and reflections that continue to shape my creative journey.

For 2025, I created a collection that bridges my childhood art with my current skill level - I’ve revisited some of my old oil pastel drawings and watercolour paintings, recreated them digitally, and added reflective thoughts, messages, and affirmations that connect what they meant to me then with what they mean to me now. Each month is crafted with care, representing both the season and a personal story.

Sometimes, I have a hard time trusting that life has better plans for me. You can work and plan and imagine a very specific future in your head and still have no idea if that’s truly where you’re meant to go.

So many times, I’ve set my heart on a plan. I’ve convinced myself that it’s the only way something could work. But then, life steps in. Circumstances shift, plans fall apart, doors close and I’m left wondering why.

It can feel disorienting, like being pulled off a path I’d already committed to in my mind.

But when I look back, most of the time, those redirections weren’t detours, they were guidance.

In the moment, I couldn't always see it. I was too attached to what I thought should happen. But with hindsight, I realise now I was being rerouted toward something better. Something more aligned. Something I couldn't yet imagine. And now, I can’t help but be grateful that some of the things I once desperately wished for… didn’t work out.

This is a lesson I keep learning. Again and again. You do your part. You show up, you do the work, you paddle. But after a while, once you’ve put in the effort, you can lean back. You can float. You can trust the water to carry you.

Because the lake... this life, this universe... has a current of its own. It’s moving you, slowly and gently, toward where you’re meant to go. You may not know the direction. You may not even understand it. But the lake knows. It’s always known.

And yes, it’s uncertain. And yes, that surrender can feel scary. But it can also be beautiful. To just look up at the sky, to breathe, to let go, and just… float.

The illustration for this month has its own version of this story.

It was a turning point in my art journey, though it didn’t feel like that at first. I remember sitting in art class, working on this oil pastel piece, and feeling completely disconnected from what I was making. The drawing felt unfinished. There were awkward white spaces and it just didn’t look or feel right, and I was frustrated.

I could have left it there. But something nudged me to try again. With a little encouragement from my teacher, I gave the exact same drawing another go. She demonstrated to me first, and then I tried again on my own. I approached it differently this time, with more attention, more curiosity, and maybe a little more heart. And somehow, it clicked. It turned out to be one of my favourite drawings.

*first and second attempt, left to right*

What’s funny is, that pattern repeated itself. I redrew this same piece again when I worked on the digital version. The first time, I didn’t like the style. I had pictured a very specific flavour that I wanted to bring out in the drawing, but it just wasn't sitting right with me. I was starting to feel like the artwork wasn't something I'd create, like I was trying to be someone else. So I redid it. I approached it with a different lens, and followed my intuition and tried not to "make it turn out a certain way". And once again, it turned out better.

It felt like a reminder and confirmation of the message of this month: sometimes, things don’t work out the first time. Or even the second. But each version is part of the process.

Sometimes, the redirection is the lesson.

the first attempt and the second attempt (digitally), left to right

So this month’s message is this: Trust the lake.

Do your part. Put in the effort. But when it’s time, allow yourself to stop paddling. Allow yourself to float. To be led. Because maybe the current knows something you don’t yet understand. Maybe it's taking you somewhere better than you ever imagined.

Not everything you dream of will happen exactly the way you want.And that’s okay. Because sometimes what doesn’t work out is what makes space for something better. And like my little oil pastel painting, sometimes the second, or third, or even fourth version of something is where the real magic lives.