Work continues in my Full Tilt Boogie journal, sometimes frantically and sometimes leisurely. This type of journal is very easy to work on in five to ten minute increments and I have only skipped days altogether when my migraine brain is in high gear for the majority of the day. And even on those days, I sit and sift through my scrap box, grabbing things that tickle my fancy and trying them out on various pages.
I've mostly been using this as my "daily diary," squeezing my mundane ramblings in between all the collaged images that inspire me. I've been doing a lot of thinking though about how my journals can function as more than just a container for the everyday. I want my journals to help illuminate my hopes, dreams, personality quirks, and interests. Of course, journals do that indirectly through the visual content I choose and create but I feel as though my writing could get a little deeper.
I've never really been one for using prompts although I love collecting them and certainly use them with my middle school art students. I'm not sure why that is but I've been rethinking the use of prompts to help me focus and generate content that moves beyond weather observations and the daily pain assessment. Recording and unloading, as journaling styles, serve a purpose but so does list-making and daydreaming. I want to do more of the latter.I'm also feeling twinges of guilt over all the collage in this journal. I am adding a lot of handwriting and hand carved images (find them here!) but not as much original art as I would like. In the past, collage work was agonizing and since this breakthrough of sorts, it goes much pleasantly. I wonder if all this second-guessing is common or if I'm just overanalytical. (Don't everyone chime in at once! lol) I'm deeply happy working in this manner so why all the doubts? It is super helpful to remind myself that art journals are akin to living creatures and they evolve as influenced by their creator. I am free to push and pull in any direction I see fit and there are no missteps or dead ends, only new paths that miraculously appear to take me places I could never imagine or plan.