Lately I’ve been carrying around a composition notebook. It feels less precious than my neat little sketchbook, and it gives me space to write or draw very imperfectly. I’ve nearly filled the whole of it in a month, which is not always usual for me. My mind has been burning with ideas, and sometimes I get a little fire in my belly that I must make something right now. Like, if I don’t, everything bad will only be worse, all deflated and lackluster. I start to crave the kind of gratification that only the combined effort of my mind and hands can bring. This feeling had been dormant for a little while, but it’s been happening a lot more lately, and I think it has something to do with my notebook.
I feel like every time I open my browser, everything seems crowded and my voice is drowned out. I can’t hear myself think. Our minds need space to be creative. And so many are creating so many wonderful things, it’s easy to scare ourselves with our good taste* into being timid and very much afraid of making our own things. But when I write in my notebook, I feel like I have space (pages and pages!) and I feel productive.
Last night when everything was golden and I was all alone, I felt like I couldn’t possibly wait to make something until someone else was available. Self-portraits often feel silly and narcissistic if you make them without the same need that you always have. Because sometimes the subject happens to be yourself because you were there, and that’s all.
So I haven’t really shared anything here for a while because my head needs space and computers are too two-dimensional right now. And because I want this space to always feel refreshing, and not too contrived, so sometimes that means leaving it alone for awhile in favor of a notebook.
*this is a reference to the quote by Ira Glass on good taste.