Friday, October 1, 2010
Page after page.
The journal has always been there. It is a constant, and has been since i was maybe 9 years old. Early on, it was the written word only, page after page in spiral notebooks, the same type of notebook i used for class. Later i added doodles or the occasional photograph, pasted in with rubber cement, which by the way is terrible for posterity. Photos and ephemera fall out of those old journals where i exclusively used rubber cement. (Live and learn.) Then i stopped using notebooks and gravitated towards hard cover, decorated journals. Sometimes i make my own books. Doodles and photos evolved into painted and collaged pages. Soon anything i could glue or attach to my journal was fair game.
My journal can be whatever i want it to be. i can share it with everyone or no one. i can be as open and honest as i want. i can be fully me.
Currently i'm working between two journals, one a Hand Book and the other a Strathmore Field Watercolor Sketch Book. The former doesn't have a single blank page left, so now i'm adding bits and pieces to pages, painting over pages i don't like and journaling on completed pages. The Watercolor Sketch Book is newer and has several blank pages left, though maybe not for long...
When once my journals contained pages and pages of mostly words with little artwork, the opposite is now the norm. It's harder these days to find the words, but the visual pours out onto the pages. What i want to say these days i can't find words to express, so i let the art speak for me.
i need this - a place to make art just for me, a place to record the moments in life that may be forgotten a few years from now. i find peace between these covers.