Sketchbooks - sketchings

sketchbooks

Jetty

Those close to me have called my sketchbooks the vital link by which I hold onto my sanity. They are my arenas of experimentation, my visual diaries, my notebooks on life and my outlet for emotions. I try not to take the books too seriously, to try to just draw whatever I feel at the moment, but sometimes I get intimidated by a blank page. Other days I reach for my pen out of an almost maniacal necessity to get an image out and onto paper.

Many of the images work as inside jokes and rely on hidden messages. They have secret stories behind their scrawling masses. Other renderings are as plain as day in their meanings and emotional context. Some have no meaning at all beyond the exercise of drawing and have no more significance than that. More than a few times I simply have to ask myself what dark and contorted corner of my mind spawned these bizarre thoughts. There is no Rosette Stone to translate my sketchbooks. They can be considered like windows to random dreams in my head; just as beautiful or just as nightmarish.

After Thoughts Many follow the pessimist's path to life. They imagine the worst while secretly hoping for the best. A good plan in theory. What happens when the worse case scenerio actually comes to pass? In practice you are never really ready for it. It never hurts any less, despite all the planning.

As you have no doubt discovered... Two images for the price of one. I was working out a few thoughts on paper with this. The face was a visual expression of a feeling. The mirror was my own flawed view turned back at me. The shadowy creatures in back are my own hobgoblins taunting me and trying my patience. The gentleman in the helmet (made from the bones of an old dead god) knows a thing or two about hope. His advice to me hangs in the air.

Cthulhu Dreams At the time this sketch was done I was reading the works of the renowned horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. Much like the author I was motivated to give a glimpse of something horrible and otherworldly without actually giving away too much.

Danny and the little boy I sometimes picture that there are conversations deep within my head. These conversations take place in a dark place with three chairs. There is a small wooden chair, a hard chair made of stone, and there is a comfy chair with some wear and tear to it. In the wooden chair is a small boy that is me. In the stone chair there is a smiling walking corpse that is me too. The last chair is left open for me when I want to visit.

Diner chatting As its name implies this sketch was done while I was at a diner listening to others talking. The only reason it turned out was because the conversation went on for a very long while.

King of Pain Have you ever heard someone give an in-depth lecture on the artistic and cultural history of soup tureens? Is it not truly amazing how far the mind can wander when it is trying desperately to hold onto its sanity by drowning out its torturous reality? Now you know the story behind this piece.

Lonely Sitting There are times late into the night that a sketch book and a warm cup of tea is the best cure for dealing with that insomnia that comes from having too much to think about and no way to resolve anything. The therapy is simply in moving the pen across the paper. The image is much more honest at times like those.

Misery Have you ever had someone you cared a significant amount for tell you that they prefer the intimate company of someone else? Yeah.

The Mourning After This rendering intricately details the afterglow of the most wretched nights of my mortal existence. The sad part of it was, I orchestrated the whole painful chain of events myself.

Quite a View of Nothing Despite there being twenty four hours in a day I sometimes feel like not one of those hours is sitting through. Like each day is already plotted out and I find none of it appealing. Compound that into a week of such days and you get the sketch here.

Testing This piece was done while I was waiting to take the Praxis exam. It was a way of overcoming ramped nervousness I suppose. I'm still not sure where the wicked subject matter came from and I'm not going to ask.

Thinking about thinking Sometimes I think I can fight off the hobgoblins of my mind by capturing their essence in ink and paper thus rendering them helpless to hurt me. I am not convinced this method works.

Trauma This was just a minor sketch done to get a feeling out of my system by expressing it on paper. It ended up having a certain gruesome charm.

Waiting There is an anxiety in waiting for the phone to ring and the possibility the door to open, thus granting a fragile sense of freedom from the prison of boredom and the torments of a mind left to feed on itself. It was just one of those nights where I was expecting (hoping) for a call. So I drew this while waiting. The call never came by the way.

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After Thoughts	Many follow the pessimist's path to life. They imagine the worst while secretly hoping for the best. A good plan in theory. What happens when the worse case scenerio actually comes to pass? In practice you are never really ready for it. It never hurts any less, despite all the planning.
As you have no doubt discovered...	Two images for the price of one. I was working out a few thoughts on paper with this. The face was a visual expression of a feeling. The mirror was my own flawed view turned back at me. The shadowy creatures in back are my own hobgoblins taunting me and trying my patience. The gentleman in the helmet (made from the bones of an old dead god) knows a thing or two about hope. His advice to me hangs in the air.
Cthulhu Dreams	At the time this sketch was done I was reading the works of the renowned horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. Much like the author I was motivated to give a glimpse of something horrible and otherworldly without actually giving away too much.
Danny and the little boy	I sometimes picture that there are conversations deep within my head. These conversations take place in a dark place with three chairs. There is a small wooden chair, a hard chair made of stone, and there is a comfy chair with some wear and tear to it. In the wooden chair is a small boy that is me. In the stone chair there is a smiling walking corpse that is me too. The last chair is left open for me when I want to visit.
Diner chatting	As its name implies this sketch was done while I was at a diner listening to others talking. The only reason it turned out was because the conversation went on for a very long while.
King of Pain	Have you ever heard someone give an in-depth lecture on the artistic and cultural history of soup tureens? Is it not truly amazing how far the mind can wander when it is trying desperately to hold onto its sanity by drowning out its torturous reality? Now you know the story behind this piece.
Lonely Sitting	There are times late into the night that a sketch book and a warm cup of tea is the best cure for dealing with that insomnia that comes from having too much to think about and no way to resolve anything. The therapy is simply in moving the pen across the paper. The image is much more honest at times like those.
Misery	Have you ever had someone you cared a significant amount for tell you that they prefer the intimate company of someone else? Yeah.
The Mourning After	This rendering intricately details the afterglow of the most wretched nights of my mortal existence. The sad part of it was, I orchestrated the whole painful chain of events myself.
Quite a View of Nothing	Despite there being twenty four hours in a day I sometimes feel like not one of those hours is sitting through. Like each day is already plotted out and I find none of it appealing. Compound that into a week of such days and you get the sketch here.
Testing	This piece was done while I was waiting to take the Praxis exam. It was a way of overcoming ramped nervousness I suppose. I'm still not sure where the wicked subject matter came from and I'm not going to ask.
Thinking about thinking	Sometimes I think I can fight off the hobgoblins of my mind by capturing their essence in ink and paper thus rendering them helpless to hurt me. I am not convinced this method works.
Trauma	This was just a minor sketch done to get a feeling out of my system by expressing it on paper. It ended up having a certain gruesome charm.
Waiting	There is an anxiety in waiting for the phone to ring and the possibility the door to open, thus granting a fragile sense of freedom from the prison of boredom and the torments of a mind left to feed on itself. It was just one of those nights where I was expecting (hoping) for a call. So I drew this while waiting. The call never came by the way.