The thought of keeping a sketchbook strikes fear into my heart… the same type of fear I experienced as a child when I heard a garbage disposal. (By “child” I mean a 20-something year old college graduate.)
Give me loose paper, call it doodling & put me in a meeting or on the phone & I’m overrun with artsy ideas. Bind it & call it a sketchbook & I’m suddenly devoid of creative thoughts. It’s true… lazy sketchbooks suffering from agoraphobia snap to attention when I peruse the art supply store, practically leaping off the shelves. They want to go home with me.
So in an effort to “get out of my own way” to borrow a writer-friend’s quote, I’m going to trade in my desire to keep a sketchbook for what will possibly result in a drawer or shoebox full of bits of paper… but bits of raucous, adventurous, creative & doodled upon paper.