I draw. I have always done so. With time, the knights and castles of my childhood made way for other, more ambitious efforts. Drawing became a tool, an exercise in observation. Its aim became an attempt to convey the essence of a moment. It taught me to notice negative space, that place where apparently there is nothing to be had. Those doodles in my moleskin serve me as mnemonic tags. Some of them will morph into other creatures. Others will sit tight on the page, content with themselves as what they invoke in me is sufficient.

This book is a quiet nod to those little thumbnail sketches. It has no beginning and it has no end. It bridges my past and my present. It revisits points of light and moments of laughter. It peers over the abyss into the blackness of my lowest moments, the inky smudges of my personal defeats. It has served me to reflect on all that is good whilst learning to accept that which I cannot change. These are sketches of an inward journey.