Selecting a handful of works which represent my practice feels like drowning kittens. It's not that I believe the ones I don't pick aren't worth saving, I just can't save them all. There's a good chance I will select what someone else will see as the runt of the litter, too.

My ancient little Mac Powerbook is full. Yup, full. Imagine that? I was downloading some photographs from my camera several days ago, and an alert popped up to tell me that there was not enough room. So I have had to do a purge. My mac at home has a terrapin (or something) of space, which I can't imagine I will ever need. Having said that, I probably didn't think I would ever run out of room on this little silver machine, either.

Speaking of which, my sketchbook/notebook/scribblebook has only a few blank pages left. I am sure I have mentioned before that I only use one sketchbook at a time, just to note down ideas. I want them all in the same place - I have to do this to keep organised; if I use pads and loose sheets of paper (as I used to do) I lose things, more specifically, ideas. This means that a new notebook is giving me a come-hither look.

I have had this new notebook for almost three years (I know because I asked the guy that made it - a book maker and leather worker here in France - to sign it for me), since not long after I started the current one. You may be surprised that a notebook should last such a long time, but it is not unusual for a single page to contain perhaps a dozen little sketched ideas and scores of notes. Anyway, here it is: naturally flawed, soft, already looking lived in. Not unlike me, I suppose.
The old, precious, notebook underneath.


Today is my 'day off', and I have had a couple of satisfying and mostly productive and rewarding hours, developing some of the ideas I have been kicking around. Feels good.

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