So I have a confession; I'm falling behind on things on my real-life to-do lists because I'm spending every spare second that I can find dabbling in my art journal {if i'm not spending it with my amazing fiance. although last night i just packed up a whole basket of art supplies and worked on my journal in the floor of his home office while he worked late into the night, and it was totally the best of all worlds. happy face!}
I used to art journal extensively, for a few years. I could always be found with washi tape in my bag, and plethora of pens for my messy messy journal. Then, last year, the journaling kind of just ... stopped. The need to document my life, to find paint colors that matched the way I felt, just faded away. Maybe instagram took it's place, who knows.
All I know is that a few weeks ago, I met up with one of my dearest friends Betsy. As I knew she would, she plopped down at our lunch table with two HUGE art journals, and opened a page she had already prepped to take notes on our {three hour} lunch conversation. I'm entering a huge transitional period in my life {becoming a wife, becoming a stepmom, moving, moving again, changing jobs} and Betsy questioned whether or not I was giving myself space to dream. I wrote her questions in my {plain, black and white} notepad.
I wasn't giving myself space to dream. I've been drowning in other people's creative work for me, and not nourishing my own. Not at all ironically, fiance and I had a big bonfire the following week, and I took an entire box of old journals and purged them in the firepit. {i ripped out the good stuff first} I went a bought a new art journal the next day and now ... I am obsessed. I need it. Words make me think too much, but finding colors and splashing paint helps me sort out whatever I'm working through. It's better than therapy, really. Or at least somewhat cheaper.
