Since before I could write I kept journals. Fond memories dating back to childhood recall an evening ritual with my mother. Every night, she diligently transcribed my child self's gratitudes into a little mermaid notebook. This practice carried forward, progressing into school agendas coated in fruit stickers and neon gel pen and into it’s current incarnation: elaborate volumes where drawing and text collide. The melting pot of daily life. The mind made visible. Welcome to the artist journal.
It's an idea vault; a garden in which to nurture creative seeds. Years later it reflects life back at you, serving as a mirror of your psyche and charting your growth. Ultimately the journal becomes a most dynamic memoir, an informal autobiography. Fabulous for it's stains, tears, experiments, mistakes and dog eared corners; a testament of it's life.
Every page greets you with a new surprise. These covers protect pages of cryptic micro-text, mind maps, notes, reflections, lists, epiphanies, botanical pressings and drawings. Life progressing before our eyes, a page at a time. What would Leonardo Da Vinci be without the legacy of his genius passed forward in his journals?