…where I’m in my 17 year-old fantasy world, and I’m compiling my portfolio to go to RISD, and sure that art school will be fabulous, my sketchbooks looked like this:

(Not really.) (Seriously, you think that’s MY sketchbook? You’re hilarious.)

In reality, my sketch books looked like un-finished to-do lists with half-drawn hands and eyes and coffee cups and doodles of the trees outside of the Dharma coffeehouse in Fairfax. Covered in Skinny Puppy and Therapy? lyrics, they were generally not fit for human consumption. I also didn’t like “art people” much by 17 and a half.

I went to school for engineering and advertising instead. My sketch books still look like to-do lists. I still don’t like 18 year-old art people much. I suppose it was all for the best.