My Ever-Evolving Sketchbook Philosophy: A Personal Journey for Artists
- Jun 28
- 6 min read
"The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." - Sylvia Plath (American poet and novelist)
"The creative process is a process of surrender, not control." - Julia Cameron (American author, artist, and teacher)
Grappling with a sketchbook? This is my personal journey through sketchbook struggles, breakthroughs, and methods. It's how I turned it into a private university, abandoned perfection, and built a sustainable creative rhythm. If you're an artist who avoids sketchbooks, keep reading.
After discussing the nature of ideas, I briefly mentioned "No. 2", my current catch-all sketchbook. Over the days following that post, sketchbooks and their place in my life stayed in an uncanny, steady orbit within my mind. So I decided to share my journey: the good, the bad, and especially the ugly.
As a kid, I started drawing quite young. It was the perfect escape then, and it still is. I revel in sketching, bringing something (usually) tangible from nothing. That's the main facet that hooked me at the start. There must be countless benefits from making odd, mysterious marks on paper. I'm certain I might never realize all of them, and honestly, I'm delightfully settled in the seat of unknowing.
But I need to tell you: I floundered with trying to keep a sketchbook for much of my adulthood. I was completely struggle-bound. Let me explain.
The Struggle: Perfectionism and Fear of the Bound Sketchbook
As a little me, I drew on computer paper, not in a sketchbook. We had an IBM desktop and a dot matrix printer. I can still hear its whirring back-and-forth. That paper was glorious to a kid like me in the 70s.
I don't remember owning a sketchbook back then. I drew endlessly on that computer paper or pads, ripping pages out, never keeping a collection of my young (all-too-ambitious) efforts.
It wasn't until college that I made a serious attempt at keeping a sketchbook. I say "attempted," because that's what I did. I tried, but the effort was laborious. The experience was a rollercoaster. On one hand, I felt I had arrived having just departed childhood (kind of!). Among my peers in art school for the first time, armed with the excitement of a fresh-faced artist hoping to gain maturity, I faced a reality: I had never dedicated myself to a sketchbook before.
My classmates did, or most had it seemed. Some had acclimated remarkably to this mysterious habit. Being a newbie surrounded by very good artists, some incredible, what habit did I naturally adopt?
I compared myself to others. Hey, this is common. We all do it. If you look online in the wrong state of mind, you can rip a hole so big in the bottom of your boat that you start sinking.
Back then, the web was in its infancy. I compared myself the old-fashioned way: observing my peers, glancing at their sketchbooks and methods. But credit to young me: I tried, despite the fear of the unknown, the trepidation, the shiver down my spine about sharing my first attempts. I plunged into the cold water, hopeful I wouldn't hit a shadowy seafloor.
Truth be told, I didn't hit rocks or encounter predators per se but I did encounter myself.
That was a rough stretch. I feared the bound book and the commitment, allowing mistakes to unfold within those intimidating covers forever, as a misguided mind might conceive. I didn't want to stumble through blunders and be reminded of them later. Seemingly random, mismatched ideas hanging out together? The thought of that, haha!
I came with a perfectionist's mind, poison for an artist, and in my rarely humble opinion, the rest of the human race, minus brain surgeons (inside joke).
See the blank page: that caught-in-the-headlights moment when your mind blinks silent and every sensory ability takes an unscheduled and sometimes extended coffee break, leaving you alone with sheer anxiety. Imagine facing a stack of blank pages. Sorry to say, that commonality we artists and creative folk all share.
I felt like this was a hurdle I might not clear. But over the years, regular practice awarded me the skills to clear it, set up again, and, with a full heart, bring fascination to start another tome of unexplored lands.
The Breakthrough: Abandoning Comparison, Treating It as a Private University
I deserted the comparison game. It never served me, that jersey didn't fit, fabric as itchy as a wool baseball uniform. I took my sketchbook into solitude where I could stumble and muster the determination to get up off the canvas. "If I wanna be a stronger artist: Let's dance!" Repetition of that process is the road we're all plodding upon, fellow creative cronies.
My sketchbook became a training ground. My private university, and that's how I treated it: private, intentional, focused on the cause. Over time, I gained confidence, accepted mistakes, and evolved into a steadfast sketchbook aficionado.
Sometimes I find gold in the once-percieved flaws and mistakes...that can be a bonus down the road.
I hadn't yet discovered my drawing tools of choice. Back then, I didn't know what to use. Pens were terrifying, almost as much as the sketchbook. Too permanent, too little room for error. I was inexperienced, so I avoided them. Pencils smudge, which disappoints perfectionists, but better than pen, more forgiven. So I chose a pencil.
My Current Method: How I Use Sketchbook No. 2 (Tools, Spine, Front Pages)
My current catch-all is Sketchbook No. 2:
The why: perfect size for scanning sketches, has ideal tooth for ballpoint pen, plus it's inexpensive
Front pages: List of current favorite artists, creative resources, inspiring quotes and random worldbuilding notes
Spine reinforcement: Duct tape so it holds up to abuse from me and repetitive scanning
Tools:
How I sketch: quick and rough layering, iteration, thinking through blue lines to create the underdrawing (an old animators' trick, love it!) then refining with ballpoint. Currently nothing beats that for me. Bringing the scanned sketches into Clip Studio Paint, I'm able to remove the blue line completely, or (as I prefer) turn the entire sketch to grayscale. Oddly this process offers back an image resembling pencil work. Loophole!
What I fill it with: studies, concepts, problem-solving mind maps, ideas, and dreams for the future.
I've also started keeping dedicated sketchbooks for three main projects, liking one place to stay focused and refer back to. It makes working within a single world or idea easier without constantly switching gears. Still new for me, so I'm balancing intention with flexibility. For now, I like it. It helps me decide what I'm actually working on: loose sketching, standalone illustration ideas, or a particular story/world. Oddly (?) I can typically remember where a sketch might be if it resides in a catch-all sketchbook prior the a project dedicated book's implementation, so for now...it works.
I do share selected sketches for my site and social media, but only the ones I'm really proud of...ones I think others might enjoy seeing, or worthy sketches that continue offering more of a world or character's story.
The Rhythm: Daily Drawing, Dry Spells, and Returning to Practice
Sometimes I draw daily, for hours. Then natural breaks, dry spells. Then I realize, as if waking from a dream, that something's off. I need to return.
When filling sketchbooks: I flow better. Drawing's easier. I think visually through concepts. In the desert, it's harder to pull ideas into lines. Drawing is my favorite thing. I feel unbalanced without it.
What It Adds: Visual Thinking, Confidence, and the Sketchbook as a Sacred Witness
The first sketchbook I filled became a great friend, a faithful companion. I felt kinship, a sacred, patient witness. Spiritual in a sense. The bond hooked me and I didn't blink to buy my next new one!
Treating it as a private drawing dojo gave me something I wouldn't have recieved any other way: a trustworthy partner for visual thinking. Where I solve problems, test ideas, build skills without judgment.
My Sketchbook as a Visual Journal
I transform emotion and situation into characters and their stories. When something hits hard: joy, grief, confusion, I don't just write about it. I draw it. I give it a face, a body, a narrative. I externalize it so that I am better able to see what's happening from a different perspective. It's a powerful practice. The sketchbook becomes the place where inner life aquires its outer forms, where feelings become characters who walk through pages and live out their arcs. It's not just a practice. I kid you not...it's alchemy.
A General Sketchbook Philosophy for Artists Who Struggle
If you struggle with keeping a sketchbook:
Let go of its sacredness: mar the cover, draw on it, add stickers
Abandon perfection: treat it as experiments to advance skills, stay curious
Keep it private: hiding contents is healthy; it helps
Use it as training: a private place to build skills
Commit to rhythm: fill pages when you can, accept dry spells, return when something's off or needs to exist through line and shape
This is my journey. My sketchbook philosophy keeps evolving based on my needs. But the core hasn't changed: it's private, intentional, and mine (for better or worse!)
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