Last night I had the great honor of looking through an old man's sketchbooks. That may sound like a strange honor to some, but to me, it's like someone trusting you with their diary.
There were hundreds of books varying in size, all filled with momentary pieces of time. It was quite amazing to look through them and find that some were annotated with their location, date etc. I recognized some of the places that were being represented, and realized that the quality of each sketch was very high.
Thin, delicate & thoroughly British lines flitting across the page. (Quite the opposite of the hard and thick lines that seem to be in much of my work.) And it really made me think. Why am I not drawing every available second of the day? Have I grown complacent, or am I simply less interested than I once was?
It's a scary thought to be steadily losing something that was, at a point, the single most important thing in my life. With this in mind, I resolve to set aside time to complete at least one drawing a week which I will upload to this page. Then at least there is some sort of accountability factor to remind me.
Anyway, I'm off now to paint some furniture.