From samanthadionbaker.substack.com
By Samantha Dion Baker
If writing is a form of drawing, then every diary can be seen as a sketchbook. And if all artwork represents a moment in time captured by the artist’s hand, then every sketchbook is, in essence, a diary. This connection between writing and drawing reveals why there is no single right way to keep a visual diary. It’s something I emphasise every time I teach—I’m not here to show students how to draw like me; my way is just one of many.
Recently, this idea became even more personal as I accompanied my son on visits to potential colleges and universities. He’s been strongly encouraged by the schools he wants to attend to keep a sketchbook to show process, ideas and exploration, yet ironically, even with me as his mom, he doesn’t keep one himself. Coaching him on what this practice could mean—beyond what he’s observed me doing his entire life—has been a challenge. He’s resistant, which is understandable. I’ve shown him examples of how sketchbooks can take countless forms and how his process doesn’t have to mirror mine. Still, I’ve come to realize that the push to embrace this practice has to come from within him, not from me.
My fascination with illustrated diaries extends beyond my own work and teaching. When I visit galleries and museums, I find myself drawn to the sketchbooks and preliminary works of artists as much as, if not more than, their finished pieces. There is something deeply inspiring in seeing scribbles, notes, and raw thoughts on paper—especially when accompanied by the artist’s own handwriting. I have a particular love for old handwriting, and the unfinished quality of sketches often feels more intimate and revealing than a polished final piece. A recent visit to the Royal Academy of Art in London reminded me of this as I admired a tiny book of Leonardo da Vinci’s filled with his intricate sketches and thoughts.
Despite my experience, I often find myself unsure of how I want my own sketchbooks to look and feel. As a result, each spread ends up wildly different from the next. Perhaps this is why my sketchbooks offer a wide variety of styles—none of them perfectly executed but each capturing a different facet of my artistic journey. This diversity allows me to share examples that, I hope, can inspire people of all skill levels, tastes, and goals to embrace their own way of visual storytelling.
In 2018, I was invited to speak on a panel at the British Library alongside writer and humourist David Sedaris and Helen Fielding, author of the Bridget Jones series. It was an experience I will never forget. Not only was I honoured to be in such talented company, but I loved the deep dive into what a diary can mean and look like. From transforming personal diaries into novels, as Fielding has (which then became a whole cultural phenomenon), to using small personal tidbits to inspire jokes and creative stories, like Sedaris does, each of us shared how diaries shape our creative process. Unfortunately, I can’t share images from the evening because Sedaris has a strict no-photography rule, but here are links to the other artists I spoke on the panel with and shared my work alongside: Kev F. Sutherland (My 1970s Diary) and Patti Keane. One of my favourite David Sedaris books that many people don’t know about is David Sedaris Diaries: A Visual Compendium.
Ultimately, illustrated diaries are as unique as the individuals who create them. Whether they are filled with precise sketches, messy scribbles, or detailed notes, they serve as a reflection of personal experiences and perspectives. There is no right or wrong way—only the deeply personal act of capturing life on paper. Here is another nice piece I found on the topic.
On that note, here are some of my recent pages:
My super talented friend, Charlotte Hamilton, hosted a drawing class on Zoom all about Colette, and the page above is what I created during the session.
No comments:
Post a Comment