Michael Nobbs

Category: Studio Notes

Short updates from my studio about the day’s work, small moments of practice, and the gentle rhythm of making.

  • Moleskine Invoice

    A screenshot of a digital invoice dated 10 March 2023. The page lists two sketchbooks — a Moleskine Sketchbook and a Moleskine Pocket Sketchbook — with item codes, prices, VAT, and delivery details. The document layout is plain and administrative, with black text on a white background, order number and billing address at the top, and confirmation of next-day delivery at the bottom.

    On the face of it, this little piece of digital ephemera shouldn’t matter. It’s simply an order for two Moleskine sketchbooks made two and a half years ago. But it’s much more than that…

    Firstly, these two sketchbooks were the first I bought after returning to drawing following a ten-year break.

    Secondly, the date of the invoice shows that they were bought on the same day I heard that my friend Mary Gordon had died.

    Mary dying was the catalyst for my restarting to draw. I remember clearly that when I heard she’d died, I knew — suddenly and without doubt — that I needed to draw again. That I didn’t want to die without at least trying to get back to a drawing practice.

    What I didn’t remember was just how closely these two events — hearing of her death, and ordering sketchbooks — sat together. According to the invoice, they were not just related, but simultaneous. The sketchbooks were bought on the same day.

    That realisation has given this little digital record a much greater significance — it has become a timestamp that shows not just when I returned to drawing, but why.

    See also: Finding out that Mary had Died and Drawing Mary (upside down)

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  • Drawing with the Stub of my Pencil at 5.00am

    A view of a gentle early-morning tea-tray scene arranged on a crocheted blanket. An open sketchbook sits on a tray decorated with tiny hens, its pages filled with loose line drawings of birds, a Barista oat-milk carton, and a handwritten reflection about drawing with a pencil stub at 5 a.m. A warm yellow clip-light illuminates the pages. Around the sketchbook are the familiar objects of the morning ritual: a **lime-green teapot**, a tall stainless-steel flask, and a bright **orange Stanley insulated mug** whose **Perspex lid is softly clouded with condensation**. A Barista oat-milk carton stands at the back of the tray. On the right-hand side, resting on the patterned surface, are a **brass pencil sharpener** and the **tiny pencil stub** the drawing was made with — small tools emphasising the quiet, handmade nature of the moment. The atmosphere is cosy, domestic, and attentive — an early pocket of comfort and drawing.

    I just used a pencil for today’s drawing. I wondered about adding some colour, but wanted to keep things simple.

    I found myself revealing a little more about my habits and routines than perhaps I intended — talking about my need to use a pencil to its stubbly end and how I’ve developed a routine of saving the old stubs in a jar — with another for the shavings.

    The new insulated mug is present again, not quite fully on the page. The new chicken illustrated tray-mat too. Both feeling much more familiar — enjoyable even – to draw.

    The text reads:

    Drawing with the stub of my pencil at 5.00am. I’m reluctant to let it go, bo but I can’t sharpen it any more (sic). I have a jar where I keep the old stubs

    A close-up view of an open sketchbook resting on a tray patterned with tiny illustrated hens. Warm yellow lamplight softens the cream pages. On the left page is a handwritten note about drawing with the stub of a pencil at 5 a.m., with a row of small bird sketches beneath it. On the right page is a loose line drawing of a Barista oat-milk carton beside a **round orange Stanley insulated mug**, seen from above with its **Perspex lid lightly misted with condensation**. At the top of the image, the real orange insulated mug sits just above the sketchbook, and to the left the curved edge of a **lime-green teapot** enters the frame. On the tray beside the sketchbook lie a **tiny pencil stub** and a **small brass pencil sharpener**, catching a little of the lamplight. The whole scene feels intimate and quietly early — a small pocket of drawing before dawn.

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  • Risking Cold Tea

    A warm, early-morning bedroom scene lit by a small reading light illuminating a tray on a crocheted blanket. On the tray — which is illustrated with Moomins — are a jug, a mug, a dish holding a used teabag, crayons, and a sketchbook open to a drawing of the mug, teabag and Moomins from the tray. A book rests behind the tray, and the light casts a soft glow across the scene.

    Back to the much more familiar this morning — drawing with the light on and drawing my Go Gently Louise mug on my Moomin tray.

    I was awake VERY early this morning (about 2.00 am) and couldn’t go back to sleep, so decided to make myself a mug of tea.

    I need everything to feel as familiar as possible at that time in the morning and so, as I boiled the kettle was picturing my routine of taking my tea back to bed, reaching into my drawing bag and pulling out my sketchbook and Lochby pouch containing my very stubby Blackwing 3 stub and settling down to draw.

    In that mental picture I saw not my new orange insulate mug on my tea tray, but rather my friendly old Louise Go Gently mug. Likewise, my tray wasn’t the large chicken one with the new tray mat on it, but my comforting Moomin tray.

    These choices would dictate what I would draw this morning. Familiarity stacked on top of familiarity. Lovely!

    The text in the drawing reads:

    As much as I like my new insulated mug, I realise that I’ve been missing my Louise Go Gently mug. So I’m risking cold tea and having it on my tray again this morning.

    A close-up of an open sketchbook resting on a crocheted blanket. The pages show a drawing of a mug and a dish holding a used teabag sitting on a Moomin-themed tray. The drawing is made with pencil and the tray is coloured in olive green crayon. At the top of the drawing is handwritten text about missing a familiar mug. Part of the real tea tray with a mug, jug, and teabag dish is visible at the top edge of the image.

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  • Drawing in the Dark (Again)

    A softly lit tea-tray scene resting on a crocheted blanket. On the patterned tray are a lime-green teapot, orange Stanley mug, stainless-steel flask, and a carton of Alpro Barista Oat milk. In front of them lies an open sketchbook showing a bold drawing of the same objects, partly coloured with red, blue, and ochre Neocolor crayon. A small lamp casts a warm yellow light across the page and teapot, turning the whole arrangement into a cosy night-time study in repetition and reflection.

    I was excited to pick up my sketchbook this morning. After yesterday’s experience of drawing in the dark, I was keen to experiment a little more.

    Only a little light

    There was a small pool of light cast from my bedside reading lamp to the left, but the tray in its usual position on the bed was mostly in darkness. I could just make out the familiar shapes of the things on it, but much wasn’t clear.

    I began with the ninety-degree Perspex handle on the lid of my new bright orange insulated mug. I drew the gentle curve of the top of the mug and immediately felt the comfort and pleasure that can come from drawing. I couldn’t see the shape of the mug’s handle, so I drew that from memory — and did the same with the Stanley motif on the front.

    Next came the flask, drawn a little less clumsily than yesterday, and the milk jug — a mix of what I could see and what I remembered from drawing it so many times before. Then the oat-milk carton. The top half was lit better and I could observe it directly, but this wasn’t my usual brand, so when I reached the darker lower half I left much of it undrawn. Then my teapot: familiar from memory, but not quite right.

    Choosing colour by instinct

    Finally I added the crocheted blanket the tray was sitting on. As yesterday, I chose colours without seeing them clearly — relying on the remembered length of each crayon and a sense of how light or dark it felt. I did better at choosing today, though I didn’t know for sure which colours I’d picked until daylight began to seep into the room.

    At first, I hadn’t planned to include the illustrated hens on the mat (or to colour it), but I was enjoying the session and gaining confidence in drawing from memory. As the room brightened, I could make out the white shapes of the hens, though not their details, so I added a few approximations. To finish, I coloured the mat with what I hoped was a Neocolor II Ochre crayon — it was.

    A litte fiddling!

    When I decided the drawing was finished, I realised there wasn’t much space left to add the date, so I tucked it into one of the white borders of the crocheted blanket squares. Unable to stop myself fiddling (and breaking my rule of the drawing being finished when I add the date), I added a couple of small touches of colour where I’d missed before — the only moment of dissatisfaction in an otherwise deeply satisfying drawing.

    A closer view of the open sketchbook resting on the tray, its pages filled with a line drawing of the morning tea-tray — the Alpro carton, flask, teapot, and Stanley mug — outlined in black and filled with bright blocks of ochre, red, and blue. The yellow lamplight gives the page a golden tone, echoing the warmth of the objects around it. The date “12-11-25” appears in the top corner, anchoring the drawing as part of the ongoing Tea-Tray series.

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  • Sometimes Things Just Can Work Out

    A close-up of an open Moleskine sketchbook showing a late-night drawing of an Oatly Barista Edition carton and an Energizer light bulb box on a green surface (the tea-tray). The handwritten text records a 4:30 a.m. moment when George found a replacement bulb just after one had blown. The drawing was made with a Blackwing 3 pencil and two Neocolor II crayons (black and light olive). The real objects — carton, bulb box, and Onion Soup mug — rest on the tea tray behind the sketchbook, all on a plaid blanket. The image conveys quiet domestic calm and the small satisfaction of things unexpectedly working out.

    Today’s Tea-Tray drawing, made at 4:30 a.m. when I couldn’t sleep.

    An Oatly Barista carton, an Energizer light bulb box, and my Onion Soup mug were all on the tea tray, though the mug didn’t find its way into the drawing.

    G. had just found the bulb while looking for something else, moments after one of the lights blew — a small thing, but it felt like a sign that maybe not everything has to be difficult. I was about to put the bulb box into the recycling and then decided I could draw it instead. A tiny decision, but one that changed today’s drawing from my more usual composition. (I’m going to put the bulb box into my physical Ephemera archive.)

    It was drawn with my Blackwing 3 pencil and two Neocolor II crayons (black and light olive). I felt very dopey and suspected I wasn’t equal to the task, but I’m glad I persevered — so that now this drawing exists as a tiny record of a quiet moment of domestic calm, and the small satisfaction of things unexpectedly working out.

    The full text reads:

    4:30 a.m.
    Very dopey drawing. G. found this bulb when looking for something else. Perfect as one of my bulbs had just blown (do low-energy bulbs blow?). Sometimes things can just work out.

    A closer view of the drawing in the sketchbook, showing the loose pencil and crayon lines depicting the Oatly carton and Energizer bulb box. The handwritten notes describe tiredness, coincidence, and the relief of a small thing going right. The textures of pencil and crayon are visible on the paper, revealing the dopey, half-awake energy of the 4:30 a.m. drawing.

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