As much as I like peeking into other people’s sketchbooks, my own is a surprise, too. It kind of tickles me, to see the doodles and bits that make me gasp just a little, as if I almost got some magic on the page. There are also plenty of awful and awkward and disastrous sketches, and being in a sketchbook makes it okay. A sketchbook should be full of awful and awkward.
I like seeing that I recorded things and episodes that angered me, that made me feel an aching disappointment in the world and how it behaves. And then, beside it, beside the notes, the writing and drawing, I’ve so often re-worked the whole thing. I’m pleased I made the effort to re-see, re-think, and imagine an alternative.
That habit keeps glimmers shimmering.