Despite the sprogs & I having our own, personal sketchbooks, there is one large one which gets kicked around the house, often lives on the top of the fridge or in my basket of ongoing projects, which has attained communal status. As someone who tends to view her sketchbooks as being as intimate as journals I fully encourage this as it indulges my voyeuristic tendencies without the guilt of prying into their personal things and I get to giggle when the munchkins come across anatomically correct life drawings and cluck their tongues and rather emphatically come out with things like ‘Mom! Come on! You did NOT draw a PENIS in here!’ Luckily any pink parts don’t belong to anyone they know as I keep all of the good porn in my own personal sketchbooks. See why I wouldn’t want to go snooping through theirs? I also have serious issues with sharing my work. As such, this particular sketchbook has proven to be a valuable contribution to Me Getting Over Myself(tm) and it’s much cheaper than therapy.
My kids are not the obsessive doodlers and drawers that I am so the thing I love most especially about this sketchbook is that it’s ultimately mine. After the loin fruits have been through therapy, realised all of the ways that I’ve screwed with their minds, have flown the coop to start lives and families of their own leaving me with empty-nest syndrome and a new-found sense of passive aggression (c’mon, it’s unavoidable, really) I have pieces of them to look back upon – a visual representation of their development as human beings and possibly a wee bit of their souls…mwuhahahaha…and stuff.
But I digress. Let’s talk about the contents.
I love this figure study by the son. It’s so testosterone-fueled and I think he was flowing with instructions from a manga how-to book when he did it but some of the poses are so wonderfully fluid it through my eyes it looks like a split second under the strobes at a rave.
Shoes by the daughter. These must be at least 2 years old and I think they’re a pretty astounding attempt at perspective and 3 dimensional output from the hands of an 8 year old.
That’s an unfinished robot drawing of mine.
That’s the son’s re-imagining of it. It’s so cute that his robot has a shiney, new, badass helmet but maintains the same desperate pose.
Another old one. I think this is a comment on my drinking habits (see? unavoidable!) but I love the stylized shadow from an unknown light source and the presence of the sun from the wrong direction for casting said shadow and the misplaced apostrophe and that the bottle looks a bit like it’s screaming and about to explode.
That’s a collaborative piece between the daughter and nephew #1. There is an almost 4 year age gap between the two of them and and their drawings and need to label it all show it (notice the daughter has a handle on shadows and light sources now?) but it all came out as a pretty cohesive piece in terms of colours and style. I really think that nephew #1 (#1 only because he’s the eldest, not because he’s a favourite) is the recipient of the obsessive doodler/pack rat/maker of things gene.
And just to prove that I can get over myself, that’s a doodle I did Friday evening which inspired the above drawing by the nephew & daughter. It’s a bird’s eye view of a fort my sister, my cousin and I established under some cedar trees on our grandparents farm when we were youngins. Remembering it makes me laugh. We really did makes lists of chores to do; we created a fire pit rather responsibly placed just outside the dwelling which never ever held a fire. We made brooms out of cedar boughs to sweep the joint. We also had a bathroom which my sister reminded me of but I forgot to put in. The fort’s not there anymore because the gravel pit ate it up but we had some fun times in that spot…even if we did take ourselves a little too seriously.