On Throwing Away My Sketchbook
* Preface, oh hello. One day a very long time ago, you subscribed to my blog. If you care to no longer receive these verbose attempts at unimportant tales of my life, please hit the unsubscribe button below. I'm assuming there's one of those, it would be really shitty if there wasn't one, Blogger. Last week, a pile that was festering beside my bedside nightstand finally grabbed my attention. The pile was my lovely turquoise art bin overflowing with tangled embroidery thread, various art supplies which escaped from their respective sets, and a stack of articles I printed out. Yes, I enjoy reading papers especially in bed, instead of being attached to my digital device 24x7. This art bin always needs a bit of a wrestle to close, so as one may assume, I hardly ever close both latches. I pretty much set myself up for this vicious cycle of disorganization when it concerns my art supply bin, but it feels like the ultimate embodiment of an artist. Messy, disorganized, and frustr