I started a new sketchbook last night. Number 10. I started numbering them during my post-graduate architecture course and have just kept going. I can not just open the new book and start where I left off on the last page of the preceding sketchbook. Oh but no! A new sketchbook has to be eased into. It is akin to that childhood experience of wearing new shoes, trying not to crease or scuff them as you walk home for the first time. For me, my new sketchbook has this almost untouchable air about it. The corners are crisp, unbent or worn from being transported in rucksacks and handbags. The cover is pristine and unmarked by workbench detritus. The spine is completely unruffled to the point that the first page arches and refuses to lie flat. I knew this moment was coming, sketchbook 10 was ready to go, but I continued to pack some last minute ideas into number 9. The last few pages are congested with quickly snatched sketches in pencil of potential projects. None of these drawings are executed with any care. They are as the book suggests, just sketches, aide memoirs.
So here is how sketchbook number 8 began. And as if by magic the pristine spell of 'untouchablenes' is broken and the real work of actually using the book for its intended purpose can begin.
Number 9 started in much the same way. This did not really break the spell as it was stuck on the inside cover. The first page remained blank until...
I cut a hole in it to reveal a tiny fragment of a photograph on the next page.
Number ten demanded something a bit more and so the initiation took place over three pages. Above, is page number two. A hole is cut to allow some favourite lyrics to peek through from the next page. A beautiful Christmas card frames one side of the lyrics, all halos and gold. The other side, a simply styled room of re purposed items. I may add more. There is still some uncovered space. Either way I am confident, come tomorrow morning, I will be able to open it on page four and begin to draw.