One Book Down
Two days after Christmas, I finally "finished" a sketchbook for the first time in maybe 15 years. I've had good track records of finishing notebooks, but I used to draw on loose sheets so a completed volume you could flip through is pretty novel. It should have been an accomplishment, it was an accomplishment that I managed to hang on. This particular sketchbook was custom-made in 2015, originally meant to hold pictures I did for someone who had since faded out of my personal history.
Instead my head was filled with excuses. The first couple pages were the stuff I drew back in 2015. The last couple pages were color swatches. My newer stuff usually took only one side because alcohol markers would bleed through the backside. I could still use the backside with opaque medium like acrylic markers or something... so this can't be counted as finished... right? Do I draw because I want to draw or am I just chasing the high of "finishing"? Is this even important to think about?
I know at this point it's mostly mental gymnastics on my part and I can argue this a dozen different ways, but I really want to get over this book so I could start anew. I like my newer stuff, but the memories of the book and its original purpose weighed down on me more than I could let myself care about. Besides, I'm actually fond of the bleedthrough on the backside of the alcohol marker pages and don't feel like covering them. I'd always liked to see ink seeping into the fibers and feather. It sounds weird, but I think the bleedthrough form shadow-images that are just as interesting as the face side.
There's no wrong way to use a sketchbook other than not using it at all. I have scanned the pictures I drew for the last six months, so I think I'm ready to archive this book after all.
There are still some days left in the year, so I'm hoping to get a moment to sit down and draw some more things before I wrap up. Morale is sort of low because my AC unit leaked all over my bookcase on Christmas Eve, and I couldn't get ahold of anyone who would be willing to come fix it till today. Still waiting for the landlord's approval because they'd have to knock some walls down and reroute the piping system. My books are strewn across my bed for days now, the mere sight of them send me spiraling down.
Downside of living in the tropics. I feel most comfortable in a dark and cool place. I suppose that's taking the wind out of my sails a bit. Maybe I'll be able to look at the sketchbook later and think it's actually pretty sweet. My favorite pictures are obviously the one I did when the markers were still fresh, juicy, full of possibilities. The later pictures, while still pretty decent in my eyes, lacked contrasts and could use some softer colors (I had run out of these softer colors by this point).
Overall though? I still draw. Wet media still scares me somewhat. Brushpens are wonderful. Sketching is fun.
Slowly digesting Rick Rubin's The Creative Act. Some parts are downright beautiful while some parts remind me of those dubious business self-help books you find lining bookstore shelves in the airports. It's a light read fitting the mood of the moment, and does suggest interesting exercises to try later.
I think I'm in a place where making stuff begins to drown me again as I submerge neck deep in comparisons and I'm hanging on by a thread grasping for air. Eventually, the fear will subside, I'd be back up on my feet.
Would have to tackle my old bookcase for spring cleaning if I'm going to store the sketchbook properly. They have their places and I'd mostly thrown out things I don't want to keep, I just need time and energy to actually organize them in the box so they look like an actual collection instead of a bird's hoard.