The Slow Time Machine Sketchbook

I finished another sketchbook today (and when I say another, I mean not to imply that this is any kind of common occurrence). What makes this moment rather special, you see, is the fact that I actually drew (or doodled) something on the last few pages instead of just writing them off in my eagerness to begin anew with a fresh sketchbook. Too many of my journals suffer in that particular state of incompletion.

As I thumbed through the pages, and thus back through time, I realized that far too much life had transpired between these end-sheets. Four year’s worth, to be precise. How embarrassing is that? To consider myself even remotely an “artiste” and to take this long to fill up one lousy, flimsy sketchbook? Uhg. Painful. And the twist of the knife here is that there seem to be far more words than pictures! (Not that there’s anything wrong with that, in fact I seem to be using a fair amount of those here these days). Come to think of it, a fair amount of those “pictures” are actually really bad doodles of page-layouts for projects I can’t even remember. This must not continue!  Barron would not be proud.

But I have a plan. I have a plan and I have a new sketchbook*. I have a plan that will keep me drawing, possibly until my thumbs fall off. Rest assured, all will be revealed soon. (Okay—some will be revealed soon).

*As I have the nasty habit of indiscriminately purchasing blank books and journals with the grandiose notions of filling them with wonderful, creative, profound, inspirational, and downright astounding feats of digital (as in digits=fingers) dexterity, and given the going rate mentioned at the beginning of this post, I am somewhere shy of 48 years away from filling up all the sketch books I have already. And this doesn’t even count the pages I’ll end up leaving blank.