Deep breath. I already wrote everything I wanted to say, and it has disappeared into the ether. Sigh.
I discovered the other day why I had been feeling so unanchored in my journalling. Whatever else I have on the go, even another journal, I always have a black moleskine on the go as a kind of everything book. I've just had a look and I guess it's the one they call a large sketchbook. It's not meant to be pretty, and mine will contain sketches of images for relief prints, ideas for artist books, shelf dimensions, bad drawings, good drawings, lists, doodles, chopstick wrappers, photos, quotes pasted in, quotes written in. Seriously, everything.
I started this one in Seattle in April. It even has some paintings and drawings that I am very pleased with. At some stage I tucked it away, got involved in some other projects over the summer and forgot it existed. It explains why I always had a niggling feeling that somewhere I had a journal I was working in, so couldn't start a new one. I swear to you I had utterly forgotten about it, and there is work I LOVE in there. There is even a broccoli ninja, I mean, how do you forget about a broccoli ninja?
So to celebrate its rediscovery, I found the paper lace cardstock I'd been saving for stencilling, fixed it lightly with ancient sticky dot sheet adhesive, and sprayed away happily - but only after shaking the turquoise for three minutes during the good bit in the Mr's show. Not popular, me.