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This would've been a funny photo if only it wasn't so true.

(But the good news is, I recognize it. And I fight it. And I'm on my way to conquering it.)

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Sketchbooks and life; sketchbook is life

I'm doing a major overhaul of my craft corner/home office/workstation, going through every bit of paper and journal and sketchbook, with the intent of keeping, discarding, and donating the supplies I have accumulated since the pandemic and beyond. I realized that my pandemic anxiety manifested itself in my restlessness and dissatisfaction, as evidenced by all these unfinished and (some) barely-used art journals and sketchbooks. Each one had so much hope and potential in the beginning, and somewhere along the way I fucked up a drawing, a sketch, a painting, and I gave up. A few pages on I tried again, fucked up again, and just got discouraged. Multiply that by about a dozen or so sketchbooks and you pretty much have an idea of how my life works. Fuck up, give up, try again. Rinse and repeat. There's a fine line between giving up and giving up for good, and I've been consciously avoiding crossing that line. Somewhere between these two frames of mind, there's a small windo...

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