An Open Letter To My Sketchbook

Sketchbook 6 (11.20.12. – 11.09.13.)

The following is an open letter to my latest completed sketchbook. A funny, but serious reminder that the process of sketch-booking is one of private and professional thinking. It is a personal dialogue much like journaling. It is a necessary and far too often under-appreciated form of artistic expression that continues to be a golden standard in abstract brainstorming.

Sketchbook 6Dear Sketchbook 6,

You are too fat, too big, & too lumbering. Yet, like a plump dog wagging his tail for affection, I couldn’t help but love you. Your heft challenges lesser backpacks. Stitches burst and sutures pop when they see your bullying mass. I am über proud of you in those moments.  Only Remington, my nearing 20 yr. old tried-and-true gun backpack can handle your contents. This only cemented my adoration for you both. You are unashamed. For that, I’m grateful.

Did I ever tell you that 6  is my favorite number?

…Well, it’s in equal standing with 2. Whatever, don’t judge me. I’m complicated.

Sketchbook 6 next to new Sketchbook 7
Sketchbook 6 next to new Sketchbook 7

As for you, Mr. Edge-Binding, I’m a  little less impressed with your performance. Indeed, I am aware that quadrupling the page numbers in your care might cause an issue. Having said that, I still expected more from you. After all, isn’t there a colloquialism that goes something like, “Grow a backbone!”?

Striking ToolsOver all, I’m quite satisfied with our relationship, Sketchbook 6. The journey in these pages seemed to be one of mystery, intrigue, & development. Your dog-eared pages will urge me to love Sketchbook 7 with equal passion. I do not regret anything. We’ve had a good run, but it is now time to move on. You will be remembered fondly and I vow to visit you regularly. Ok, well, maybe not that regularly. But, I will visit… I promise. Like, when I’m in the neighborhood or when it’s late and I’m lonely. Maybe I’ll drunk text you. Yes, I’m aware that I don’t get drunk. You got me. But, I’ll pretend to drunk text you. And you can pretend that I’m actually drunk. We can laugh about it next time we see each other. Ok?

Promises to Sketchbook 7

I Promise To:

  1. wear you in like my favorite jeans
  2. strike your birthdate into your face for all to see
  3. carry you with me everywhere (even when in makes no sense)
  4. let others enjoy you
  5. add to you often and with fervent passion
  6. spill things on you, because I love you
  7. use you to cut other things on, in, and around
  8. grace your cover with stickers that remind others (and myself) that I have other hobbies, I think
  9. mend your edge-binding when it become frayed and separated from your body
  10. add a wide red ribbon as to locate my last known placement (and to make you look sophisticated)
  11. tape things into your body
  12. no, you don’t understand… you will get the brunt of my excessive tape habit
  13. …. I have a tape problem—-> prepare yourself
  14. and I will love you like I loved 1-6. But don’t tell them that I said that. They won’t understand.

I hereby dub you Sketchbook 7. God’s number. I expect great things!

My sketchbook
My sketchbook


6 thoughts on “An Open Letter To My Sketchbook

  1. I think you would be an interesting writer of some sort, kiddo. No, really…. You say so much with your art. I bet your words would be intriguing, too.


    1. I’ve often thought about being a writer as well. In fact, I took enough courses in college pertaining to writing and philosophy that I think both could technically be considered my minor. According to my sister (an English teacher) I suffer from improper comma usage. =) Aside from that, I think there’s plenty of room in my life to pursue a writing career. That is of course if people seem to like what I write. It’s nice to hear that someone thinks that I hold that capacity. Who knows? Maybe this blog is my practice platform for far greater writing achievements. Thanks for the encouragement!


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