I am beginning to think that I create and forget about more artwork than I realize. For example, I just discovered this while leafing through my sketchbook today:
My wife and I were headed down to Florida for a little family vacation, and I had brought my sketchbook along just in case I had some spare time in which I wouldn’t be able to do much else. Anyone who has ever flown anywhere will be able tell you, when you are in an airport, you usually end up with a little extra time in which you can’t do much else. So there I sat, with my sketchbook propped up against my knee, sitting in the waiting area of gate D12 of the Detroit Metro Airport, doing just what I had planned: Drawing. The conditions weren’t ideal. There wasn’t a table, I had not brought along a ruler, and the subject matter wasn’t that interesting, but it passed the time.
An older woman in a seat across from mine struck up a conversation with me about my art, and I showed her some of the other pictures from this sketchbook, like this one. Her husband returned from the bathroom, and while I continued this drawing, she insisted quietly (he told me later) that he should talk to me as well. I showed him my art also, and thanked them both for their kind compliments.
We boarded. I slept on the plane. We enjoyed Florida. I forgot about my artwork altogether. We returned.
After we got home, we unpacked, and I unpacked my sketchbook without even remembering that I had drawn something new in it. Art has almost become habitual, something that I can almost do on autopilot, setting my mind free to think about other things. I wonder if I have any more artwork hiding around the house somewhere…