I am brave with words, but haven't been so with visual arts.  If my pages are clunky, smeared, poorly designed, amateur, lacking proper technique...well, they are indeed.  The point is to find confidence in the pages of a private journal, a book that closes, that can be tucked under a pillow, hidden from company. 

The problem is that I'm a closet exhibitionist...if that's possible.  And so my first pages are begging to strut their stuff on a public stage, and so they end up here. 

If you don't find my own work interesting, I have begun a rich library of visual journaling and art-related links under the "Blogville" heading to the right.  There are some incredible artists our there that can serve as inspiration where I fail.  Also, I've included links to resources related to visual journaling and private art as a therapuetic exercise.  It is a powerful thing to quiet the mind and focus on beautiful colors and lines.  I feel some kind of intent and productivity when I have ink and paint under my nails, paper mache glue splashed on my clothing (I've come to love aprons), and a messy work desk.  This intent brings peace to my mind.  Even if the end product is dorky and only has any real significance for me. 

The piece of printed page in the green journal page corner (below) is torn from an old hardcover edition of Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson.