In last week's little daily entries--I was struggling with a Monday, and journaled all about it, every which way and even stamped and glued on a flower--but it's mostly just writing, and that is fine. I used to keep a little art journal in my bag, all the time. At least, back then, I called them art journals. One was a pretty silk bound little book a friend brought me from China. I have written thoughts, quotes, verses, sermons I've heard at church, and designs and sketches in this little book. I LOVE looking at it now. I get new ideas from those entries all the time. So, I've never been a person to diary, or just straight journal--I'm just not the type to be so intensely deep into the exact happenings and feelings of the day in the diary style (maybe that's shallow, because what would we do without Anne Frank) but if I'm feeling inspired one day, I love to write down those thoughts and draw something, or sketch a cool display I saw, or write down what my cat looked like he was thinking with a fun sketch of him, or sketch a flower and that's the difference. That's the art I love. It's personal--and not completely defining as I change and grow. It captures a moment, a thought, without playing out a defined scene.
|My little old silk art journal|
This chilly afternoon--cozy in a corner, spending a little time smashing up a thought or two.
Eat a cheeseburger, Write about Indian Summer, Dream in paint, Stitch in color.