One of my favorite things these days is my friend, the sketchbook.
My sketchbook gladly accepts scribbling.
The handwritten word lands on each page.
From other artists art I find inspiration and draw to my hearts content.
Getting glue all over the place, I make collage.
I capture ideas—they come to me, they are not mine.
My sketchbook is my friend.
I am on a journey of unknown destination. My friend, the sketchbook allows the meanderings and musings to be captured, recorded, honored, and saved.
I’m in that liminal place between where I’ve been and where I’m going. I am uncomfortable and a little scared. I will stay here, in the pages of my sketchbook, until I know exactly which direction I’m headed next.
Will there ever be an exactly? A knowing? A clear and undeniable answer?
Likely, not. My sketchbook is one of my favorite things, and my friend, because I can rely on the pages to take what I have to offer.
When I need comfort, she’s here for me. When I need an outlet, he takes a beating.
My friend, the sketchbook knows that to be silly is to use one’s highest intelligence because laughter heals.
I have learned in life, that what I write down, and what I pay attention to grows and becomes real life, eventuality. The sketchbook, knows this too and the seeds spread far and wide.
The impossible becomes possible and what is impermanent becomes permanent inside the pages of a sketchbook filled from curiosity.
Picking up images, words, and musings everywhere I go, and everyday absorbing and applying them in my friend, the sketchbook. This is a place of unrestrained containment. My favorite place to be, with a friend—myself.