I was going through some of my old sketchbooks, and revisited some old situations and feelings, as I had interpreted them at the time. My sketchbooks are so precious to me that, -and this is something I have thought about many, many times, if my house were on fire, they are what I would want to pull out (assuming everyone is safe, etc.), along with my thumb drives, since they hold my written journal texts.
When I write, it tends to be in the "I-Hate-My-Life" style, while the sketchbooks hold so many moments of sheer wonder, happiness and pleasure (such as the drawing of my husband's hand with a paper heart next to it, a sketch of someone's toddler asleep on a plane, or an architectural detail on a building...), that words could not convey appropriately. Of course, I could write, "The child was asleep now, her soft, gentle face was peaceful..." and how BORING that would be. There is nothing like drawing it.
I decided to post some old entries from my sketchbooks. There is no specific order or reason that will dictate my postings, just whatever catches my attention and makes me smile at the memory.
I may at some point also post my pages on politics, -some are funny, while most express how helpless I feel in a world that is out of control.
[. . .]
I am not looking for advice; I am not looking for solace. I think that inner peace is something that is gained from life experience, and obviously, I still have a lot to learn.