I scribbled, erased. I ruled straight lines, erased again, not all of it, but just enough. I scribbled some more, I shaved off graphite dust and smeared it. I scrubbed and scumbled using a variety of eraser shapes, thin and wide, and the graphite stick, the side or the edge. Then, I scribbled and used the ruler again to make more lines, short staccato and long swipes– not necessarily straight (the ruler moved). No plan at all, just random marks, that’s what I do every night, I’m just letting it go – go with the flow - internal, interior, thoughts, memories, random stuff here and there, some good, some bad. Where there is darkness, there is light (thankfully). It is what it is. I know it’s a downright mess, but it was worth making it. Does it make sense? Absolutely not, but I’m reading it anyway.
This is a poe-umm about my drawing process—there are times when I start, I feel lost, sometimes, very lost. (Where am I going with this?) The marks become a road map, an atlas, to give me direction—I turn the sketchbook from portrait to landscape, to upside down, to another way sideways—the way truly unknown.
How do I know when I’m done? Sometimes, I don’t know. I peel the tape off the margins and look at it with the stark border. Sometimes I add a little bit here, take away something there—the “sometimes” seems endless. I love what I do and I love how I’m inspired by making a few random marks on a blank piece of paper just before I go to bed. I don’t need to make it look like something, no stress, no fuss—I do it to relax. Sometimes, it takes me longer to come up with a title than making the actual sketch, and usually, the title has nothing to do with the sketch, it’s a word or a few words that “sounds about right.” These little sketches reset my brain before going to bed. This is Sketchbook #26. I’ve been doing a sketch every night since April 15, 2020, right smack in the middle of COVID and I needed to put my brain somewhere away from a screen and doomscrolling. It worked. I could sleep at night.
I have wondered how much longer will I keep it up? I haven’t gotten tired of doing it…I don’t see it as a chore to get through. (I always say, “If it’s not fun, don’t do it.”) I haven’t missed a night. I figure when it gets to the point when I don’t feel like doing it anymore, that’s when I will stop sketching every night.
Pictures from my garden…
I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.
Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and have my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.
A gentle, meandering reflection that honours the creative act as ritual, release, and quiet resistance. Laura J. Wellner’s “poe-umm” is both process and poem an ode to graphite, erasure, and the nightly practice of letting go. The randomness becomes rhythm, the mess becomes meaning. Her sketching is not about outcome, but presence. Paired with tender glimpses of garden life, the post radiates a kind of domestic grace: art stitched into the everyday, healing through habit. A lovely testament to making marks simply because they matter.