Sketchbooks – Permission

May 30, 2012 § 2 Comments

© Pierr Morgan 2000 – gouache & Pierre Noire Conte Crayon-HB, B, 3B – 5 x 8″ recycled

Been rifling through a huge box of sketchbooks looking for certain images that won’t leave my mind no matter how long it’s been. This is one of those.

I remember being on the Carey bus coming into New York City from Laguardia airport so excited to be visiting again. I had this sketchbook open on my lap and my Pilot “Precise V7” Rolling Ball pen ready to jot a thought or image. As a Lefty I write and sketch from the upper right corner of a page then down and across to the left in narrow columns so I won’t smudge, sure, and also to feel close to what I’m working on. Like being in my tree fort with a magnifying glass looking at the wings of a moth. Over and over in my life I have created small spaces to safely be in, to dream and design and create.

Sketchbooks are a perfect world in that way. Treasury of aliveness. So much energy on the page when you open one up or see one in the flesh through the glass of a museum display. The Soul leaps off the pages.

I saw a Picasso exhibit once at MOMA in LA. Tons of his sketchbooks. To me they made his paintings pale. One in particular – it was a very expensively large bound book with beautiful white paper (also looked expensive…at the time I believed it was more important to eat than purchase such a book for “just sketching”) – and on this one page of his sketchbook he had drawn – with a soft pencil – one vertical line. That’s all.

My attitude toward sketchbooks changed that minute and forever. I can still see his line. Reminds me to give myself permission – always – to draw any thing in any way that I please, in my sketchbooks. Got one?

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§ 2 Responses to Sketchbooks – Permission

  • Yes I do. I love my sketchbook because it’s full of memories. There are little notes to myself by drawings, little notes from my kids to myself by drawings they’ve done, quick jots of images that I’ve seen while out walking the dog, mostly cute looking elderly people. Page after page of moments that I’ve wanted to remember.

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