After a prolonged period of trying to make sketchbooks happen, I discovered that the site of touchdown for my ideas is actually, a notebook.
I have always brimmed with romantic notions of a pretty bound book in which to keep my words. But each early attempt to maintain such an object flopped when unruly handwriting stunted my desire to further mar its pages.
When, at the start of this year, I decided to give a print planner a try, I found the tidy day blocks could not contain my frenzied writing. Abandoning the expectations of sustaining a "pretty book," I re-embraced the journal form.
Now I can hardly begin a project without a book in which to transcribe my thought process. Having a place to collect stray ideas and concept trajectories provides not only comfort, but unlikely parallels that emerge when old scribbles are read alongside fresh ones.
This is the firstborn iteration of my project, The Old Man and the Pool. I encountered many technical challenges in the process of trying to accommodate the unconventional formal features of the book. Though the first attempt at construction was unsuccessful, I am fond of it because it provided me with a guide for how to move forward.
After successfully completing the final book in two editions, I am even more intrigued by the aesthetic of the demo's premature deterioration, and find it consistent with themes in the content.