Michael Nobbs

  • 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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  • Needs Must in a Crisis

    A full view of the drawing “Needs Must in a Crisis,” made in the middle of the night after Michael discovered all his favourite mugs were in the dishwasher. The drawing shows a glass mug of decaffeinated tea on his familiar tray, drawn in Blackwing 3 pencil with subtle areas of Neocolor II Light Olive. Above the drawn mug, the handwritten text reads: “Middle of the night (decaffeinated) tea – all my favourite mugs are in the dishwasher, so I’m making do with this glass one (once a favourite 25 plus years ago). Needs must in a crisis…” The page sits open in a large Moleskine sketchbook, lit softly by lamplight, continuing the ongoing Tea-Tray drawing series that documents daily rituals and recovery.

    Middle of the night. Decaffeinated tea.
    All my favourite mugs were in the dishwasher, so I reached for this glass one — a forgotten favourite from more than twenty-five years ago.

    So, I made this drawing (Needs Must in a Crisis) in my current sketchbook (29-08-2025 – ), a large Moleskine that I’m enjoying using. It was made with a Blackwing 3 pencil and Neocolor II Light Olive. I’m not very sure about it. Drawing the glass mug felt quite alien, not as satisfying as drawing one of my Go Gently hen mugs. Nothing familiar about it. Making me realise just how much of these drawings are from memory (perhaps something easier to do when my brain is tired?) and how little from observation. Last night I was forced to observe and don’t feel that I did very well. That feels a little disappointing, but good to note.

    Anyway, sometimes it really is needs must in a crisis — and sometimes that’s enough to keep the rhythm going.
    A small reminder that even when things don’t go to plan, there’s always something to draw, something to notice, something to keep you company in the quiet, dark hours.

    A close-up, straight-on view of an open Moleskine sketchbook showing my “Needs Must in a Crisis” drawing, focusing on the sketchbook itself, with the tea-tray and glass mug of tea peeking out from behind it. The image conveys the intimacy of a late-night drawing session — quiet, domestic, and gently self-observant.

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  • Finding a Tracey Emin Instagram Post

    Screenshot of a written Instagram post by Tracey Emin (@traceyeminstudio). The caption describes seeing a small Roman artefact at Frieze Masters — “a tiny little Roman hand” — and reflects on illness, exhaustion, and changing priorities, ending with: “I want to be cosy and safe, making my work, singing to my cats. The list of priorities has began.”

    I came across this Instagram post from Tracey Emin in the middle of the night — drinking (decaffeinated) tea, drawing, and quietly scrolling on my phone.

    She wrote about the aftermath of Frieze Masters — the exhaustion that followed, days spent in bed with chronic flu and infection, and the sense that her “going out days are vastly coming to an end.”

    There’s a raw honesty in her words, and a tenderness too. Reading them in my half-awake, foggy-brained state, I felt an immediate recognition — the pull toward stillness, the need to stay close to what matters, to accept the body’s limits and still keep making.

    “I want to be cosy and safe, making my work, singing to my cats. The list of priorities has began.”
    — Tracey Emin

    That line lingers. A reminder that slowing down isn’t necessarily stopping — that work, care, and living can continue quietly, within smaller boundaries. Sometimes the most enduring persistence is simply remaining present.

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  • Back to Tea Made with a Teabag

    A sketchbook drawing of a morning tea tray showing an oat milk carton, a mug, a spoon, and a small dish holding a used teabag. Soft green wash surrounds the objects, and handwritten text reads “Back to tea made with a teabag…”

    Today’s Tea-Tray drawing. The text reads:

    Back to tea made with a teabag…

    It almost feels like the drawing is sighing along with me. Recovery, it seems, isn’t all in one direction…

    I kept this one as simple as possible. I was tempted — ready with my Forest Green Derwent Lightfast pencil in hand — to draw the Moomins too, but in the end decided I couldn’t quite face it. I’m trying to let this be enough today.

    The oat milk carton, the mug, the used teabag — small, familiar company on the tray. A quiet morning, drawn as best I could.

    A close-up of the same drawing, focusing on the mug and the small dish with the used teabag. The pencil lines and green wash are clearly visible, with the handwritten words “Back to tea made with a teabag…” just above.

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  • Two Cartons of Oat Milk

    Sketchbook drawing showing two cartons of oat milk, a mug, and a teapot. Handwritten text reads: ‘Two cartons of oat milk on my tray this morning. I’m feeling very jittery. Am I drinking too much tea? I hope not!

    Here’s today’s Tea-Tray drawing. The text reads:

    Two cartons of oat milk on my tray this morning.
    I’m feeling very jittery.
    Am I drinking too much tea? I hope not.

    Often (usually?) my drawings are simply a record of a moment, of what’s here in front of me — the clutter, the small absurdities of my tiny life, the quiet noticing of how I feel. Today it’s two oat-milk cartons, a teapot, and a cup of tea that’s probably gone cold while I was drawing.

    Open sketchbook on a tray beside a mug of tea, two cartons of oat milk, and a green teapot. The drawing on the page shows the same scene with handwritten reflections about drinking too much tea.

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