Jamie Risbourg, February 24, 2025
The Sketchbook Friends
When I was a child I often felt out of place, like I did not belong in my family nor my community. And while I hadn't lived enough to understand the reasons, I was able to develop creative ways of coping with the private loneliness I held. Sketchbooks became more than an artistic tool for me. They became friends.
How, do you ask? How is a sketchbook anything like a friend?
It was like a pen pal. They, more appropriately, as there were many over the years.
The first step in the sketchbook friend process was choosing just the right book. I would go to the art supply stores in my area, sometimes driving a city or two away, to puruse selections with an eye that was particularly careful for a teenager. The quality of the paper was important to me. I had an affinity for handmade papers but preferred anything over the thin, stark white options. I wanted quality and I wanted it to feel natural. Each book was different to some degree, but each was just the right fit for their moment, purchased with a feeling of love and excitement in my chest.
Once the book was mine, a collection of new possibilities in my hands, the next step was to name it. This is where the personification takes root. A lot of thought and consideration went into choosing these names. Sometimes my young self would name a book based on its meaning (ex. "Mirabella": beautiful to look upon), sometimes they were named for those I admired, or sometimes for something I was looking for in my life (ex. "Patience"). Once the name was chosen, the book was ready to be filled with art and writing.
This is the part of the story which unveils the sensitivity and emotional vulnerability of my younger self, and how these books became companions. Everyday, every time I would touch pencil to paper in my sketchbook, I would address it to the book's name. I would pretend that the name belonged to a dear friend that I had not yet met, who lived far away, and wanted to know everything about my daily life. This led me to be descriptive, not leaving out any details even when mentioning things and people who were especially familiar. It made the writing better. It made the experience feel real, like my wording was important within those pages. As if these private entries of words and images could very well make a significant difference in the mind of its dear reader.
My sketchbooks always included as many writing entries as they did drawings. I liked to make every page count, each one to have substance, cleanliness, and good design. The content mattered too. I could never allow any other person, even a friend or family member, to hold my sketchbooks. This is because I bared my soul into them at a time in my life where I had never experienced that kind of honesty shared with another living, breathing person. No, there was no one that I could speak openly to other than my sketchbooks. Looking back, I'm so proud of my young self for the innovative idea of personifying them. I had wisdom floating in me amongst all my teenage angst and silliness, and it aided me on my journey.
What did I draw in these books?
Oh, what do teenagers draw in their visual diaries? I drew portraits of people who intrigued me, the scenes around me, deep concepts that my mind was exploring (on topics like the soul, feeling invisible, inner persistance, and external fragility). Often I would write to the book telling it how special it was to me, that my sketchbooks were the best friends that I had ever had and the only ones who really knew me. I think this had an incredibly valuable impact on the role that art would play throughout the rest of my life. It was never treated as a hobby. It's always been my companion.
The cover of the sketchbooks developed into an important feature for customization. Eventually I only wanted books whose covers I could decorate with my drawings. I wanted everything about these books to mean something, and it did, for a while.
I had begun to love art history. I read art history books with pen and highlighter in hand, annotating and marking as the words lit up my heart. Their images and stories connected me to something much bigger than myself and my suburban surroundings. As someone who felt different, art history was the ultimate glorification of one's differentness. It felt authentic and more enduring, more substantial than pop culture. I wanted to be one of them, the artists in these books. I wanted to dedicate myself to a big lifelong mission of artistic success- not for money or recognition, I didn't even understand the way that artists may be influential in their own time. I just knew that I wanted to exist in those art history book pages for a future "me" who might need someone in which to relate.
And so how did this respect for art history affect my teenage sketchbooks?
I knew I was born a nobody. The only daughter of a lower middle class family living just outside New Orleans in a small, conservative, Catholic city. There were no artists in my life, with exception to my art teacher. There were no liberal adults in my life, not that I was even aware of such terms or what they represented. I felt very alone in my ideas, beliefs, and desire to live a creative life. But I had incredible faith in my persistance of these inner drives. I knew without question that I was an artist and would always be an artist. And so, these books took on a special importance. My plan as a teenager was to keep these sketchbooks over the course of my entire life. Whenever I died, however old I may be, I figured this collection of books would be discovered and could potentially become my legacy. Then one day, I too, could be in an art history book. I would simply spend my life writing my story. When it comes to art and writing, I've always been a worker bee anyway.
Do these sketchbooks still exist?
No, most of them don't. I kept them, kept my life in these named books, from 15 to 23 years old. At age 23, Hurricane Katrina made landfall in my hometown and life changed forever. I ended up on a long, painful evacuation and then moved to the Caribbean island of St. Croix after a few weeks of enduring the hard realities of life after the storm.
Upon my first significant trip back home from the island, I came across the box of my sketchbooks. These books that I had believed would one day be my big artistic contribution. (What a heavy weight to apply to these old friends!) As I looked through them, my traumatized self was unimpressed with her teenaged sketches and writings. I decided to pull out the best pages and throw the rest away. Their importance was hard to see amidst the backdrop of a Post-Katrina world. Anything that survived that day still exists. I have them. I cherish them. But they will never make me an important artist, and that's okay.
When I look back at this period of my life and the role these sketchbooks played, I have only warm feelings. I wish I could hug that version of myself with her big emotions and dreams. And in my career now I always feel most successful when I'm honoring the teenage artist in me, and all the purity of her creative pursuits. Art is something that we need, not a luxury. It's how we nurture our inner selves, connect with the world around us, and aspire to achieve. It's the journey, the goal, and the reward all wrapped up in one. It's how we find our way when there's no one else to ask, or when asking wouldn't fulfill us. It's turning to something within you instead of to something external. It's finding that shimmer of your own divinity and then keeping yourself in its light. It's knowing that the magic will continue to catch you if you continue to believe in it.
Photographs of sketchbook entries from the years 1999-2001, ages 16-19.
*Yellow arrow indicates a reference to a former sketchbook named "Isabella".
For more examples of my artwork, as well as links to detailed information on live wedding paintings, please visit JRisbourgArt.com/portfolio.
Most of my blog posts contain time lapse videos for a sneak peek into my process, and all can be accessed at JRisbourgArt.com/blog.
Thank you for spending time here with me. It's a pleasure to connect with others through artwork and writing. I'd love to hear from you too. JRisbourgArt.com/contact
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