where we begin
a little background about where i began... and where you can begin, too, to keep a creative notebook.
My first journal was filled my freshman year of college, 1990. It was a black and white speckled composition book, just the very regular normal cheap ones, because my drawing professor at Calvin University that assigned it to me didn’t want us getting too precious about it. It wasn’t to create finished works; it wasn’t to be framed or shown off; it was an assignment. The assignment was to play. We could draw, collage, paste things in there, write, whatever we wanted. Since it was a drawing class, i am sure the main point was the drawing, but it’s not *all* it could be. My professor, brilliant woman that she was, didn’t give us precious materials and she didn’t give us strict guidelines. Play. Experiment. Put things down. Fill it up by the end of the semester.
That was fall 1990, and now, 35 years later, I’m finishing up journal #100.
Some of those 100 books of various sizes and thicknesses have included lots of drawings, but some others have been mostly just page after page of thoughts written down by hand. Many are filled with collages- bits of ephemera (that’s just a fancy word for paper scraps) from my daily life, like the inside of security envelopes and paint sample cards and candy wrappers and empty sugar packets. If you go out for coffee you will witness me sneaking my empty sugar packet into my purse for later use in my journal. Many have plenty of doodles and photos and feathers and anything flat-ish I could paste or tape down. I just play, experiment, put things down, and fill them up. That was the assignment for journal number one. And still 35 years later, that is the assignment.
But with that simple assignment I have been able to explore new ideas for both writing and artmaking projects. I have been able to chart my days—which somehow helps me, just by putting down the details, to sort out the big picture. I have complained and cried and celebrated and put every single emotion down in those journals. That gave those emotions somewhere else to live, outside my body, so they didn’t get stuck there.
I can say with absolute certainty that when I am not journaling regularly, you can TELL. You could clock it across a crowded room thanks to my mood, my fogginess, my slipping sanity.
Just as importantly as the above uses, keeping a journal reconnects me to beauty in the everyday, in the simple things: the beauty of words, the beauty of handwriting even, the beauty of a few colorful bits arranged on a page, the beauty of sitting with the pear in front of you and scratching its contours on paper. The beauty of marks, doodles if you will, repeated over and over on a page. Simple. It only takes a notebook, not too precious, a pen or pencil, and something to stick bits to the page (scotch tape, gluestick, washi, heck i have used that black electrical tape before). It doesn’t require a financial investment. It doesn’t require skill. All it requires is a willingness to play. To put things down. To fill it up.
I’ve taught college kids and children and adults, friends and strangers, to harness the potential of those simple tools. And now I am bringing it to you. I would challenge you to come along, try things out, keep at it until you’ve filled every last page of your first notebook. Then come back and tell me about your experience with this simple, profound practice. Willing to take the challenge? We could start, say, tomorrow. You in?
For now, these weekly posts with experiments, prompts, and visual play ideas are free for everyone. But I’d love for you to support my work:
Today’s experiment: Set up your creative notebook.
Rifle through that shelf with office supplies (or visit a non-Target near you) and pick out a notebook, sketchbook, anything that is a pile of paper bound together. Grab a pen, pencil, or maybe a few different ones for variety. Scrounge through for some tape or glue stick. Set all these next to your bed or on your kitchen table. Plop yourself down, and open to page one. At the bottom of the first page, put your name, “Started on” with the date, and a way for someone to contact you if it gets lost. OH and put “Journal #1” there too (or whatever number you’re on, if you’re joining me for a refresh instead of a new experiment).
This week’s prompt: Write yourself a letter. Be tender with yourself, and tell yourself that you have permission to use this notebook for whatever you need it for. It is just for you, and no one else needs to see any of it. This is your space to fill. You can fill it was whatever you want, whatever you need. Remind yourself that it is okay, and it is good, to allow yourself freedom in this space. Keep writing kindly to yourself for 10 minutes, and see where those kind words of permission take you. What else have you been needing to give yourself permission to do, or say, or be? Here is the space.
Visual play idea: Walk around your home and collect bits and pieces. Wrappers, envelopes, junk mail, receipts, gift bags, ribbons and tags. Don’t forget to check the junk drawer and the recycling bin. Put all those bits in a zippered envelope or basket or shoe box. Keep adding to the pile all week long. Start training your eye to see potential journaling materials all around you. Look for colors and patterns and symbols. They don’t need to mean anything right now. Build your stash. Let’s see what you have accumulated by next week, shall we? I look forward to seeing what treasures you’ve found in your daily lives.
For the next week, let’s just fill some pages, shall we? Let’s start there.