I have wasted months, if not years, of my life with an ink pen and a sketchbook. Wasted time that could have been used to produce something of tangible value. Wasted time that could have been used to actively learn something or help someone. If the statement that time is money is true, then these scribbles represent what is most likely my most expensive pursuit. They are insignificant and disposable. Most are sloppily drawn with no regard to draftsmanship or craft. There is no meaning that a viewer can extract, other than what occurs by coincidence. They do serve as records of obsessive, compulsive tendencies, but they have done little to reduce the other less desirable compulsions from blocking my life. I am fully aware of this. But I continue to do it, and it is one of the things that feels most pure to me. It is okay to look.
These images are from sketchbook pages approximately 9 x 12 inches. A collection of 100 drawings is being planned for publication. Send an E-mail to be on the mailing list for notification of publication and other news.
* The issue of everything being a waste of time in the grand scheme of things is something I’m often confronted with. Since I only have so much time, and often wish I used it differently, deriding my choices seems inevitable. But deriding things takes a lot of my time and that makes me want to deride the act of deriding. So it seems I’m in a no-win situation with the battle against time and meaning. And now I have your wasted your time by causing you to read this.