My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.
My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.
My husband has a chronic illness and frequently spends weeks in the hospital. I have been doodling each day while sitting with him and many of them reflect my thoughts at the time. Often appearing are desperation, hope, frustration, sarcasm, fear.
These were drawn on different days, in different places.
A salt shaker and sugar rack at Beans & Barley on Milwaukee’s East Side—a place that is gone now. A chair at Starbucks, which is still there.
When I go places, I wait.
Waiting is filled with observation.
Observation is recorded with marks.
Marks spark memory.
I can look at a few pencil lines years later and remember where I was.
Maybe that’s what a sketchbook really keeps. Not drawings of things, but evidence of moments.
For Doodle Addicts, I would use this rather than making Beans & Barley the whole story. The loss of Beans & Barley gives one sketch poignancy, but your larger idea is better: drawing converts otherwise disposable waiting into memory.
A quick observational sketch from the chess meet—boards, pieces, and the strange architecture of waiting. The chessmen seemed to be rehearsing before the players arrived.
Two pens resting on the table, drawn quickly before they were put back to work. The lines wander and double back, but that is part of looking: an ordinary object becomes particular when we give it our full attention.
Ink sketch from observation.
