My Sketchbook’s Gifts to Me

 

Another partially used sketchbook conquered.

My goal to fill partially used sketchbooks continues. My latest conquest is this Hahnemühle Akademie Aquarelle sketchbook. For student grade, it contains excellent paper, but once I discovered Hahnemühle’s watercolor books containing 100 percent cotton paper, especially on location, there was no turning back.

What makes this book unusual is that it is entirely filled with sketches using reference photos and some imaginary work – not a single page drawn from life. I did a lot of portrait practice, both human and animal, direct watercolor challenges, workshop exercises, composition practices – all done from home.

An exercise in imaginative drawing and watercolor play.

The superpower of working on location is that the sketch becomes permanently infused with sensory memories from the experience. When I look back at an urban sketch, especially from my travels and other experiences that were new to me, all the sounds, smells and feelings of making the sketch come rushing back.

This book doesn’t evoke any memories or feelings in that way. Even when I sketch from a photo I’ve taken myself of a place I know well, the superpower of drawing from life doesn’t work. Although seeing a portrait made of an Earthsworld stranger sometimes  makes me recall whatever struggle or satisfaction I may have felt from an approach or medium I was trying, the subject and experience have no other emotional connection.  

Lots of Earthsworld people! I usually crop images neatly for this blog, but here are the full pages, messy scribbles and all.

This volume, however, is emotionally meaningful in a different way. I began using it in March 2023 in the midst of my most difficult, painful caregiving years. Most pages were filled late at night when I could finally take respite to recover from the day’s challenges so that I could sleep. I now see the book as the direct product of the art therapy that probably saved my life (or at least my sanity). Recalling that time, it’s hard to look through now, but I’m also filled with gratitude.

Composition studies using the Caran d'Ache mixed media set

I also appreciate the purely experimental nature exhibited in this book. With no connection to subject matter, I could focus exclusively on media, technique, approach or whatever else I was exploring. With my grounding in urban sketching, I tend to think of my sketchbooks mainly as repository for my on-location observations. The pages are finished products. But to many artists, a sketchbook is a place for play and experimentation. I have sometimes worried that I don’t do enough of that kind of play in my daily-carry sketchbook, but this book makes me realize I have been doing it all along – I just keep the play in a separate volume.

It is always with great satisfaction that I put away a completed sketchbook into my bookcase designated for that purpose, and my urban-sketch-filled books are usually the most rewarding. This one surprised me for all it has given back to me.

I filled the few remaining pages with doomscrolling prevention tactics and my recent Blick themed Neocolor II palette experiments.

375 and Onward

5/20/12 Magnuson Park, site of my very first USk outing

 A while back, someone in the global USk group had shared that she had reached a personal milestone of USk outings attended. That made me curious about how many I've attended, but I didn’t know how I would count them. Then I realized that I have posted on the USk Seattle blog every time I’ve participated – that made it easy. I went back through all my posts and made a spreadsheet of all the outings I’ve attended. It took a while to log them all, but now it’ll be easy to continue adding to the spreadsheet as I attend more.

Today, the 14^th anniversary of my very first USk outing, is a good day to commemorate the total to date: 375 outings!

My personal best was in 2025: 44 outings. Second best was 2017 with 39 outings. The worst year, of course, was 2020, when we met only for the first two-and-a-half months – five outings.

I’ve missed some outings, especially during the years I traveled heavily, so the spreadsheet is not comprehensive of all USk outings. Now that I’ve logged them all, though, I have a useful list of ideas, including some locations I’d forgotten about.

It’s funny now to read the blog post about that first outing, which took place only a few months after I had begun sketching. Here’s what I wrote:

On a rainy Sunday morning – the kind that would usually see me in my recliner with a second cup of coffee and the Seattle Times’ funnies – I drove out to Magnuson Park to join the Seattle Urban Sketchers at my first sketchcrawl. Introvert that I am, going alone to a social event like this – where I wouldn’t know anyone and I wasn’t sure what it would be like – is usually hard for me. The rain, the coffee and the recliner were all telling me I should skip this and go another time.

 But two things pushed me out the door: One was the Seattle Times’ full-page spreads that very morning of Gabi Campanario’s vibrant sketches of the new Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibition. Talk about inspiring!

 The second was the commitment I had made to myself to give this sketchcrawl thing a try. It’s part of becoming an urban sketcher and getting out into the world – and really seeing the world.

 I’m glad I got out the door! Being part of my enthusiastic, supportive USk community has led to many friendships that I cherish. It feels good to be part of a tribe. (The sketch above is from my first USk outing on May 20, 2012.)

Peek-a-Boo View

 

5/12/26 Olympic Mountains from downtown Edmonds

Meeting a friend for lunch in Edmonds, I arrived early so that I could make a sketch to give to her. My intention was to walk around town or even the beach to find a subject, but just after I parked, I glimpsed this peek-a-boo view of the Olympics between buildings.

After lunch, we took a long walk along the beach, and snow-covered Mt. Baker was in her full glory. Although this peak is not too much farther from Seattle than Mt. Rainier is (though in the opposite direction), I don’t know of any viewpoint in Seattle where Baker is visible. It was a gift to see her from Edmonds. 

Mt. Baker from Edmonds beach.

Although Ruth and I had stayed in touch through holiday cards and occasionally on Facebook, we hadn’t spent time together in more than 20 years. A couple of months ago when I was ArtSpot’s featured artist, she saw my name on the promotional flier and surprised me by dropping by! We promised to get together before another couple of decades went by. Thinking about recent regrets when I didn’t act soon enough, I texted Ruth the very next morning to plan this meetup. I’m finally heeding the lessons that life keeps trying to teach me.

The whole day was one gift after another.

An Old Moleskine

 

3/4/26 photo reference

I’ve lately had less need for my doomscrolling prevention program. It helps that we’ve flipped the clocks forward, and the Big Dark is over. Gloom and doom in the news is somehow easier to bear when there’s still light left after dinner. In a few weeks, I’ll be able to take short golden hour walks again – the best time to simply enjoy walking without a fitness goal or destination.

After being inspired initially by Orla Stevens’ mixed media and other approaches (even imaginative), I seem to have settled into monochrome sketches using Derwent Drawing pencils. It’s the most relaxing and therefore the most direct in taking my mind off whatever unpleasantness it might be occupied with.

3/18/26 photo reference

Trees in the urban landscape from my own camera roll are an easy go-to. But recently I was thinking about all the portraiture I practiced several years ago using Earthsworld’s reference photos. I’m very rusty, and portraiture always includes some tension because I can’t shake the desire for resemblance. But portraiture also offers interesting challenges that continue to captivate me, even if more mental energy is required.

The prompt for portraiture came from the sketchbook I used for these three sketches: a very old Moleskine that contains that weird, heavy, manila-folder-like paper. The first half of the book is filled mainly with portraits I made with ballpoint pen or marker – the ideal media for use on this smooth, strangely water-repellent paper. Since the surface feels similar to Stillman & Birn Zeta, I thought I’d give it a try with Derwent Drawing pencils – and I like it! Those soft pencils seem to glide effortlessly. (My mission to complete partially filled sketchbooks continues!)

3/18/26 Earthsworld reference photo

Skimming the portraits gave me a heavy pang. Dated 2022 and 2023, those portraits were a large part of my original doomscrolling prevention program: Instead of news reports of current events, I was doomscrolling my own anxiety as I taught myself how to navigate caregiving responsibilities. Despite all that is going on in the world now, nothing in the current media gives me as much pain and stress as that period of my life did. Seeing the portrait practice gives me compassion for my former self, and I feel much gratitude.

Kenmore Upright

 

3/8/26 Kenmore Progressive upright vacuum cleaner with "True HEPA Filtration"

Like many offspring of parents who had lived through the depression, I grew up hearing the message that if something was still functional, it should continue to be used and never wasted. To replace an appliance simply because it was annoying was unheard of.

For most of my life, I abided by that value. That’s why for many years (decades, actually), I cursed our extraordinarily heavy, loud, cumbersome Kenmore upright vacuum cleaner every time I used it. Bright “utility yellow,” which apparently had been popular for cars, appliances and other stuff back in the ‘90s, it seemed to get increasingly heavy, loud and difficult to push. But I am my mother’s daughter, and push it I did.

Somewhere around the time that I accepted that my life with Greg would no longer be the same as I had always envisioned it, my attitude started to change. When faced with some tedious task, you know how we dismiss it by saying, “Life’s too short for that”? I took that expression to heart in a literal way. When I think of all that he wanted to do, would have done, and will no longer, I remind myself: Life is too damn short for many, many things.

How much of my remaining time on earth do I want to spend pushing a vacuum cleaner that is extraordinarily heavy, loud and cumbersome (not to mention utility yellow)? Last week, I answered that question without even finishing the room. I immediately started researching a replacement, and by the end of the day, I had ordered a “stick” style vacuum cleaner that weighs less than 10 pounds. As a side benefit, its detachable handheld unit will replace my portable dust buster that also annoys me (I hadn’t yet gotten around to replacing it).

My new Shark PowerDetect Ultra-Light came the other day, and I finished vacuuming the floor. It’s so much lighter, quieter and easier to maneuver! I wish I’d replaced that old Kenmore years ago! Buh-bye, utility yellow.

Beyond Doomscrolling Prevention

 

2/23/26 Neocolor II in Hahnemuhle sketchbook

2/23/26 Derwent Drawing pencil in Stillman & Birn Zeta sketchbook (all sketches from photo references)

An interesting thing is happening with my evening sketches from photos that began as my doomscrolling prevention program. Keeping me from reaching for my phone is still an immediate benefit, but the long-term advantage is that I’m encouraged to use more materials from my vast stash – and sometimes experiment with using them together in ways that probably wouldn’t have occurred to me otherwise.

2/26/26 Derwent Drawing pencil in S&B Zeta sketchbook

You may recall a period a few years ago when I made more than a hundred portraits based on Earthsworld’s photos. I didn’t talk about it at the time, but that late-evening practice began as self-care during what was often my only respite as a caregiver. Drawing the faces of random strangers took me outside my anxious, agitated mind and gave me a focus. After a while, though, the practice went beyond self-care; I found myself learning from the enjoyable portraiture practice and using materials I rarely used on location.

2/26/26 Neocolor II in Hahnemuhle sketchbook

My 407 consecutive days of drawing my hand had a similar outcome: What began as self-care during a historic time became a project that took on a life of its own.

2/26/26 Inktense Blocks, Neocolor II in Hahnemuhle sketchbook

Like the random Earthsworld people, the subjects of these seemingly mundane neighborhood photos don’t mean much to me beyond their composition potential or high-contrast values. I’m having so much fun just grabbing materials that feel good in my hand and seeing what happens when I apply them to paper. Who knew that doomscrolling (or avoiding it) could have such benefits?

3/2/26 This experiment was a mix of more materials than I typically use together. I first used Prismacolor Art Stix (the block form of Prismacolor colored pencils) for the areas that I wanted to remain relatively sharp. Then I used Inktense Blocks and Neocolor II crayons for foliage that I activated with a water spritzer. Finally, I used a Fibralo brush marker to give the central tree stronger definition. 

The Pencil I Never Sent

 

For many years now, I’ve been a member of the Erasable Podcast Community on Facebook, where the main topic of conversation is – you guessed it – pencils. In addition to geeking out about all things pencil, we also do a lot of swapping and some buying/selling. That group is how I acquired some of my vintage collection. I’ve had many ultra-geeky chats with certain members who fly the same colored pencil freak flag as I do.

A highly skilled colored pencil artist and budding urban sketcher, Gary had many of the same pencil interests as I do, not to mention deep knowledge of some esoteric pencil subsectors I had no clue about. We’ve had numerous chats that would make unwitting eavesdroppers’ eyes roll if their heads weren’t already spinning from discontinued color numbers or pencil brand logo changes.

I knew that Gary was seeking the red version of Field Notes Brand’s carpenter pencil. Although the notebook company has periodically offered various versions, the red one has been out of production for years. Gary has surprised me with numerous vintage and contemporary colored pencils and other gifts from the UK over the years (he gave me the King Charles III coronation commemorative Bic 4-Color Pen!). He is well known in the Erasable community for his generosity. I wanted to surprise him with that red carpenter pencil. It took me a while, but I worked out a swap with another member, and I managed to acquire his coveted pencil.

That was more than a year ago. It would have been a simple task to package up the pencil and ship it to him in the UK, but it seemed silly to ship only one pencil across the pond. I kept thinking I’d add a few more things to the package. Meanwhile, I was going through all my downsizing shenanigans and various other distractions, but I kept the red Field Notes pencil on my desktop as a reminder.

A reminder.

Every now and then I’d see the pencil, think of Gary, and tell myself to just put it into the mail. And then I’d ponder what else to put in the box – he’s a vast collector who owns many pencils; what else would he possibly want? – and that would prompt me to procrastinate further.

We had not chatted in a while, and I hadn’t seen his witty comments in the group for a long time. A few days ago, I learned that he had passed away recently after a bout with cancer.

I have no use for the red Field Notes carpenter pencil, and I don’t really want it. But I’m displaying it prominently for a while as a reminder to myself not to procrastinate with intended gifts or other acts that might make someone happy. Meanwhile, if I hear that another Erasable member wants it, I will not hesitate to ship it off immediately. Life keeps trying to teach me this lesson; it’s time to start learning.

The Collective Joy of Super Bowl

 

2/8/26 Pre-game snacking and sketching at Project 9 Brewing Co., Maple Leaf neighborhood

I have an unusual perspective on the Super Bowl game that captured the country’s (and especially Seattle’s) attention last Sunday: It was my first time watching one.

An hour before I was to leave for the game, I realized
I couldn't go to a sports bar on Super Bowl
Sunday without wearing Seahawks gear!
Thankfully, my neighbor across the street had
exactly what I needed.

It’s probably stating the obvious to say that I have no interest in any sports, nor have I ever. In fact, when I was in college, I used to feel resentful that sports received so much funding and attention while liberal arts programs were barely hanging on. Over the years, my attitude mellowed to basic indifference, and I note the date of the Super Bowl only to take advantage of empty stores and light traffic.

As I’ve grown older, my lack of interest in sports has not changed, but I’ve learned to appreciate the bonding mechanism that sports provide in our culture. Beginning with a Mariners game I watched last fall, I realized that I could observe fandom energy the way an anthropologist studies a culture – with sketchbook in hand.

I invited Ching and Natalie to join me at Project 9 Brewing Co., my neighborhood brew pub, to watch and sketch the big game. Arriving early enough to find seats in the huge venue, we found an ideal table: It was at a bad angle from the TV screens, so it would not appeal to most patrons, but we could face Seahawks fans without their noticing us sketching them!

For a different viewpoint, I sometimes walked out to the entirely empty heated patio where no screens could be seen, but I could sketch other patrons easily.

In general, I didn’t understand what was going on (though Natalie tried her best to explain the rules to me), but it was fun to observe the explosive exclamations of joy or disappointment with each score or fumble. (The three of us left after half time, so I missed the final triumph. It must have been an ear-shattering roar, but I appreciated it from a distance when I heard fireworks in the neighborhood.)

Aside from the game, I was moved by the significance of the primary half-time entertainer, the Puerto Rican performer known as Bad Bunny, who sang entirely in Spanish (apparently a historic first at the Super Bowl). During the past year when all immigrants, especially Spanish speakers, have been oppressed and tortured, I hope we all heard the message of Bad Bunny’s exuberant, proud performance: “The only thing more powerful than hate is love.”

Even without being a Seahawks fan, I appreciate the collective joy and celebration that the team’s triumph gave Seattle. This year, we needed this, more than ever.

A Chance Meeting

 

1/26/26 (photo reference)

Laura and I had not been close friends, but we had been friends a long time – nearly 40 years.

We ran into each other at Swansons Nursery a couple of years ago, where I was attending an Urban Sketchers outing. We didn’t have much time to chat, but I had snapped a selfie of us – one that clearly captured her sometimes goofy nature. We laughed, hugged, and vowed to get together soon for a better chat.

Wanting to let her know what was going on in my life, I went home and emailed her that I was in the throes of caregiving duties. Compassionate and supportive, Laura invited me to get together for coffee. I said it was difficult at the time, but that I would get back in touch when I could. I always meant to, once my life was put back together.

A recent Facebook post informed me that Laura had passed away the day before. I did not even know that she had had cancer. We never know when a chance meeting with someone might be the last time we see them.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

 

Last year was all about figuring out what my life’s “normal” setting is, learning to live in that new normal, and downsizing. Finally settled in 2025, I began looking ahead – to something that has been on my mind, unfulfilled for years.

Twenty years ago, a significant portion of my freelance income came from teaching – work that I genuinely enjoyed. In early 2020, I had been planning and looking forward to begin teaching in the Urban Sketchers workshop program – and then 2020 happened (my blog post announcing it was literally only a month before the world shut down for COVID). The workshop program never resumed when the world reopened, and by then, my full attention was on Greg. Some part of me, though, kept the idea of teaching tucked away for another time.

That time is finally here, and I’m excited to announce that I’ll be teaching in 2026! Prompted by the pet portraits I drew for ArtSpot’s fundraiser last summer, the Edmonds art supply store invited me to offer workshops related to animal portraiture. I’ll be offering two this spring: Pet Portraits in Brush Pen and Animal Portraits in Colored Pencil.

All the practice I did during InkTober and Pencilvember this year was, in fact, not just practice; I was also refining techniques so that I could articulate them to students. I’m looking forward to getting back into the creative process of helping others to learn.

Although we all like the neatness of closing an old year and beginning a fresh one, I’m more of the mind that life is a perpetual continuum.  To honor the unfinished continuity of life, shown here are sketches that got interrupted and were never finished. Life goes on, whether the sketch gets finished or not, and I’m looking forward to it.

Happy New Year!

Year-End Skyscapitos

 

12/22/25 sunrise, Maple Leaf neighborhood

After many consecutive days (weeks?) of gloomy, gray and wet sunrises, the dawn after the solstice brought a colorful one (at left). I think I missed the best of it by the time I got upstairs, but I was too delighted not to sketch its tail end. The other surprise was seeing how far south the sun rises this time of year (which is why I could see the colors so well). Yes, it happens every year, and yet it always surprises me!

There’s a chance for more, but looking at the weather forecast, these are likely the last skyscapitos of 2025. This is also a wrap for the Uglybook that I began on Nov. 10, 2022.

It’s the third white Uglybook I’ve filled. The others contain skyscapitos, but they also contain more randomness than this one does. When I bought the first three-pack, I was skeptical that I’d have enough uses for white Uglybooks; after all, I have plenty of high-quality sketchbooks containing white paper. I realized quickly, though, that the 80-pound paper is sufficient for the light washes I use with watercolor pencils in thumbnail-size sketches. More significantly, the inexpensive book invites small color captures of sky scenes that are changing by the second. It shouts, “Hey, we’re not making plein air paintings here! Just grab the color before it’s gone! Now!” Realizing that I did have a use for them, I eventually got a second three-pack. I’m glad I did; Uglybooks stopped making white books a long time ago, probably realizing that they didn’t need to compete in the traditional white sketchbook market.

12/12/25 sunset

Although book No. 3 contains a few random sketches, and some skyscapitos required different colored papers (like the dark blue one at right), for the most part, it’s a continuous chronology of sunrises and sunsets I’ve sketched the past three years. I appreciate that kind of continuity.

My life three years ago was very different from now. Back then, I sometimes sketched sunrises not with joyful anticipation but with dread of what the day might bring. Sometimes my sunset sketches were brief moments of respite after long days of pain and anxiety. Now I finish the book with peace and gratitude, looking forward to more skyscapitos in 2026.

Three years of sky color

A Trip to Winslow

 

12/18/25 Light rail and ferry riders

Once my life settled again after I knew Greg was safe and well taken care of, one of my priorities was to get back in touch with people. I have certain friends whom I have stayed in contact with through holiday cards or occasional emails, but it had been years and sometimes decades since I had last seen them, even though they lived locally. If there is one lesson I have learned over the past several difficult years, it is that life is short and unpredictable. If I want to see people, I can’t wait for “someday” when I’m – what, “less busy”? When would that ever be? It must be now.

One of those people was my fourth grade teacher at John Muir Elementary. Amazingly, I have kept in touch with Nan ever since. Truthfully, though, I must thank my mom for doing the heavy lifting. Always a prolific letter writer, my mother and Nan had made a connection and corresponded regularly all through my busy early adult life. I was more sporadic with my communication, but our connection was never lost.

I had seen Nan in person a couple of times as an adult – first at my wedding in 1989, and then again about 20 years ago. She lived on the peninsula – only a ferry ride and a drive away. On Thursday we got together on Bainbridge Island about halfway between us. We spent a lovely few hours catching up and becoming reacquainted in a way that we never had time for during our working (and, for her, child-rearing) years. We vowed to get together again soon.

These sketches I made around my ferry rides are not about that lifelong friendship directly, but I thought about her as I made them, both coming and going. I know they will always remind me of her and the day we reconnected over a leisurely lunch.

My Longitudinal Study Continues

The past and the future, five years at a time. (This is a terrible image. . . the new book's cover is forest green, not black.)

How often do we get to easily see what we were doing or feeling or thinking exactly one year ago on this date – or two years ago or five?

I blogged most recently in February this year about my five-year diary, a Leuchtturm 1917 Some Lines a Day. I’ve also written about it several times at the Well-Appointed Desk (my initial product review in 2020, a progress report in 2022, and a final follow-up in February).

Although it’s one of few things I talk about here that aren’t related to sketching, it’s similar to my daily sketch journal in that it tracks the ordinary day-to-dayness of my life. As I write each evening in my Some Lines book, I read the previous entries for that date on the same page, and I’m often moved or surprised by whatever I was doing in prior years. Any kind of diary (or sketchbook) will do this, of course, but a five-year diary puts all the years on one page so conveniently. It’s a compact longitudinal study of my life.

[An aside: Called a perpetual journal, nature journalists use a similar format to track year-to-year seasonal changes in plants and weather. I have often thought about how a perpetual urban sketch journal could be made. The main problem is physical: It would have to be a large, not-very-portable book to fit several sketches on a single page – in a heavy volume of 366 pages. A more compact idea would be to make a concertina booklet for each date, and the entire booklet unfolded would show five (or however many) years of sketches. But that would mean making 366 booklets (or half that if I used both sides)! And then how would they all be stored? Although the platform is dubious, I must say that Facebook very elegantly performs this perpetual sketch journal function for me in a digital format: Every time I look at my “Memories,” I can see every sketch I’ve ever posted on that date going back through my history on Facebook (which coincides fairly closely with how long I’ve been sketching). Well, maybe someday I’ll think of a workable format.]

I’m writing about my five-year diary again now because I finally completed the one I began on Nov. 16, 2020. That might seem like an odd date to start a dated diary that begins, like all diaries, on Jan. 1. I chose that date, however, because it’s my birthday, and I liked the idea of beginning a diary on my life’s anniversary rather than a date based on an arbitrary and meaningless Gregorian calendar.

The past five years have been, by far, the hardest and most painful of my entire life. Although it is often difficult to be reminded of what I was going through in years past, it is also gratifying to realize that I had pushed past that day’s hardship, survived, and even grown from it. I often feel compassionate toward my former self, wishing I could go back in time to reassure myself that things will get better eventually. Reading those entries never fails to fill me with gratitude.

I just cracked open a fresh volume on Nov. 16. Using the Some Lines a Day format has taught me how and what to write in it. Rather than record only what happened, I want to note how I felt about it. For example, the fact that a huge storm occurred is not nearly as moving as recalling that I felt scared because it was the first time I would worry about losing power while living alone in the house. The more specific the memory, the more interesting it is to read.

I skipped entire months in 2021, but I don't beatmyself up about it.
Sometimes absence of words speaks volumes.

I also find that some of the most rewarding entries to read are those that mentioned people I interacted with that day. This was especially challenging during the pandemic heyday when I hardly saw anyone, but it was gratifying to later remember the kindness of a grocery worker who loaded my food in the pickup lot or friendly words exchanged with an Amazon driver. It also makes me realize a whole year (or two or three) has gone by since I last had lunch with a particular friend – and seeing them again is long overdue.

I know historians like to read people’s diaries (God forbid mine should fall into the hands of a historian!) to learn about events of the times, but I avoid writing about current events unless I have thoughts or feelings that might interest me in the future. Mere facts can be Googled; my feelings about them cannot.

Gratitude, wonder, joy – those are the things I want to read about in the future. And although grief, pain and sadness are not easy to reread, I also appreciate that everything I felt in the past makes me who I am now. Reading those entries gives me perspective and insight.

Retrospection is a gift to myself, and my five-year diary is that daily gift. 

Bolex H16 Reflex

 

11/6/25 (photo reference)

In the deepest, darkest recesses of the attic were things Greg had shipped here when he initially moved from the Twin Cities. First in the basement and then later in the attic (after the attic was built, along with the second story), the relics from his young adulthood got stored away. Other, newer stuff piled up in front of them until eventually they were completely concealed from view. My archaeological excavation that began a few weeks ago finally unearthed them: Filmmaking equipment in big, heavy cases.

With an art degree in cinematography, he made numerous short films in the ‘70s with a camera that was old even back then: a Swiss-made Bolex H16 Reflex. According to Wikipedia, the model was first produced in 1956.

Hauling the leather case out, I couldn’t believe how heavy it was – more than 11 pounds! How in the world did filmmakers carry and use cameras like that? I started remembering stories he had told about all the equipment that was necessary even for a short film (and a small crew of friends just to haul it all).

The burden I felt then was not just of his history; I also felt the weight of his dream unfulfilled. He had always wanted to continue making films, but all the usual grownup barriers got in the way: The need for income; lack of time, money and space for production; lack of energy once the day job work was done.

I didn’t feel ready to get rid of the camera, but what would I do instead? I certainly didn’t want to leave it in the attic. Display it in the house (and worry about it getting dusty)? Maybe if I sketched it first, I’d feel better?

The thought I kept coming back to was that the object itself meant nothing to me. Although it was obviously a cool-looking antique, I wasn’t interested in drawing all those tiny knobs and levers. The camera was only important to me because I knew what it meant to Greg.

I took the camera with me on my next visit. He recognized it immediately as he fiddled with the mechanical parts. I asked him to tell me about it, but he doesn’t articulate much anymore. It was enough for me, though, to see him hold and recognize it one last time.

It was the closure I needed. Now I can let it go.

The Last Space

About 20 years ago, I was making abstract paintings, collages and fiber works to sell in group shows and galleries. Everything had to be ready to hang to show, so I started using three-dimensional canvas-covered boards that didn’t need expensive glass framing. I sold some, but not enough to make a dent in my sizeable collection. They took up a lot of space.

After I decided to stop selling, I stashed them all. I didn’t have a plan, but I also wasn’t ready to dump them.

This week I began tackling the last space needing downsizing during Phase 3: The small attic behind my original studio where that old work has been all this time. One thing I’ve learned from downsizing these past two years is that much of what I held onto decades ago is now easy to let go of. I unceremoniously added the artwork to the heap that will be hauled away by my junk guy next week.

As the heap grew, I realized I still appreciate the process that was behind the work – without having to keep the work itself. That’s what made it easy to dump it. Making the work brought me to where I am today and will continue taking me on my creative journey. Whether that work exists is not related to the growth it represents. It was a good feeling to acknowledge that.

Actually, I didn’t get rid of everything. I saved four collages that I still like and that have meaning for me. Instead of putting them back in the attic, I went through the house and took down some other old collages that I had tired of long ago. I tossed those and replaced them with the ones I hadn’t seen in decades. They seemed fresh again.

Mom’s Sewing Basket

 

9/2/25 My mom's (and now my) sewing basket

During some recent reshuffling of stuff *, I unearthed my mom’s sewing basket. It was one of few things I had claimed for purely sentimental reasons after she died. At the time, I was a fiber artist, so I had some vague ideas of using the basket as part of an art piece. Mainly, though, I was still grieving too much to even look at it, so I simply wrapped it up to keep it clean and stored it behind a pile of other stuff. Out of sight, out of mind – for 16 years.

When I unwrapped the basket, I knew instantly what I would do: Use it! My own sewing basket had been an ugly plastic bin that you get at craft stores. Made of a woven material that was getting a bit shabby, my mom’s basket wasn’t anything special except that she had used it for many decades. I kept her notions and sewing tools that were still inside and added my own sewing stuff (which I rarely use except to mend or hem, but everyone needs a sewing kit, right?).

At some point, the basket’s clasp had broken. Child of the depression and of farmers, my mom wouldn’t dream of replacing the whole basket just because the clasp had broken. She rigged up a Bic ballpoint cap to replace it – so practical and utilitarian! That’s my mom. I know she would be pleased that her basket is still being used.

9/3/25 Cloud City Coffee

* Downsizing, Phase 3, has begun! My original plan was to replace the carpeting upstairs after I finished clearing out the last two attic areas that need to be downsized. I’m proceeding with the attic tasks, but I’ve decided to defer replacing the carpet for a while. Instead, I had all the existing carpeting deep-cleaned – which was just as tedious as getting new flooring because every single, tiny thing had to be removed from the floor! That meant that all the remaining random dribs and drabs in my studio/office that I hadn’t brought downstairs or gotten rid of in the spring now needed to be moved or removed permanently.

The good news is that the carpet is now cleaner than it has been in 35 years (even a sizeable Platinum Carbon Black ink spill and numerous small paint stains came out)! And instead of dreading it, I’m actually looking forward to the remaining downsizing tasks because now I know the deep satisfaction that awaits me when I’m done. My goal is to finish by year’s end. Of course, I’m also looking forward to the small celebrations along the way!