I was taking a look back at one of my first sketchbooks when I decided I would throw all inhibitions aside and commit to completing it. My most recent just has scribbles of love affairs and hopes and dreams, more of a journal than an actual art book. I have accepted that that’s what it wants to be. An inner perspective of all things real and yet want to run a way from. I say all this as I want to start a new one… It may not seem like a big deal but it kinda is to me. They each represent a transformation, a beginning and an end. But looking back has given me hope. Much needed hope as I want to turn my scribbles and pain into my best work. I dug the already reserved book out of storage and dusted it off. It still smells fresh, untouched and still in perfect condition. I hope this time not only my heart pours out onto it; But my soul.