This is the 19th sketchbook that I’ve filled in the past six years. My obsession with sketchbooks started with a small moleskine that I found in my mother’s craft closet and ever since I’ve had some kind of sketchbook as my constant companion. And, yes, I am surprised that I’ve been able to fill up that many. Unfortunately, I’ve lost several along the way. I hope whoever found them is enjoying them.
There is no perfect sketchbook. I waiver between Moleskine watercolor sketchbooks and a newer brand called hand•book. Neither is perfect. I can’t stand the landscape format of the Moleskine’s but the paper in the hand•book is kinda wonky. It’s not unlike trying to find the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. There’s the hint of a long-forgotten memory of the perfect marriage of cheese and toasted bread that we all have. But every bite we take falls far short of that perfect and non-existent sandwich that is served up in our minds.
Also, I never fill up every page of a sketchbook. Call it the force of habit or plain old superstition, but I just can’t bring myself to close a book completely. Since my brother suddenly passed away several years ago I’ve become afraid of finality. And these little books seem like such an extension of myself that I can’t bring myself to fill the pages up to the brim. If there’s still pages to be filled with ink, there’s still life to live.
In this sketchbook, I’ve tried some new things, combining ink and wax pencils on a nicely colored paper. Fun stuff.
Most of what you see is done on the commuter train to my work in Salt Lake City.
