It snowed overnight. Shrouded in white, the world looks unsaturated. The light that falls through my bedroom window is cold, the room is half shadow. Open boxes and bags filled with a miscellaneous mix of my personal belongings cover the floor of the room. The shelves are filled with books and knickknacks that tell the story of another person’s life. Photo albums, books from art exhibitions, toys, drawings, family portraits.
When I flick through an old sketchbook, I am always surprised by how well I can remember the circumstances while I was drawing the pictures. Here is my old sketchbook from this year which I didn’t consistently use but has many very different memories concealed in it.
The place where I grew up had no autumn. Once summer ended, it only got colder. And darker.
The colours seemed to seep out of the landscape and into the sea that would swallow them, and toss them about until they sank into its depth.
Darkness envelops us, and we stand huddled together under our umbrellas. Rain falls slowly through the last of summer foliage, left in the trees that surround us. And then we hear it: children’s laughter. Goosebumps rush across my skin. Light flickers in the tree in front of us. Shrieking and giggling come from its crown. I am seriously spooked.
This is the first year that I have ever actively met the decision to take part in Inktober. I even managed to actually pull it through to the end, and now have an adorable sketchbook filled with ink drawings!
I bought the sketchbook (and ripped out enough pages to makes sure I would have exactly 32 pages), bought the pens and decided that I would take the prompts and try to draw animals.
The day of “Feeding the 5000” was a huge day for me. I was excited but also slightly terrified by the prospect that so many people could see my work. So many people who I didn’t know, and who didn’t know me.
The time I spent in Münster doing my internship was an important time for the city. It was overrun with tourists, cameras around their necks, maps in hand. I regularly overhead inhabitants complaining that the tourists had been borrowed bicycles to get around and that the city was now filled with people who “didn’t know how to cycle properly”. It might be important to mention that Münster is known for its cyclists and that there are 3 times as many bicycles in the city as inhabitants. Not used to the crazed way the Münster people race around on their bicycles, I was quite glad to be able to blend into the mass, as I slowly and carefully navigated around the city on my borrowed bicycle.