Michael Nobbs

Tag: anxiety

  • Morning anxiety

    A photograph of a small, homemade sketchbook held open in one hand, with the artist's pyjama-clad legs visible beneath it. The page contains a black ink self-portrait showing a bald head, round glasses and a tired, slightly anxious expression. Beneath the drawing, handwritten words read: “My anxiety levels are very high. Drawing myself to see if I can find a calmer place.” The date, 23-10-26, is written at the bottom. In the background, a round mirror reflects the artist holding a yellow phone. A blue and white crocheted blanket is visible beneath the mirror, and a black fountain pen is held alongside the sketchbook.

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  • Letting myself get used to where I am

    A view of an early-morning drawing setup on a bed covered in a colourful crocheted blanket. A large open sketchbook shows a drawing of a tea tray, with a mug, a jug, a tea strainer and a chicken-patterned cloth rendered in black line and blocks of blue, turquoise, grey and deep pink Neocolor II. The left-hand page includes handwritten notes about finding comfort in the familiar and the date 1-10-26. Above the sketchbook is the real tea tray, holding a bright green teapot and the mug, tea strainer and striped earthenware jug from the drawing. Drawing tools, including some Neocolor II crayons, a short yellow pencil and a purple fountain pen, are also lying in view on the tray.
    Close-up of an open sketchbook on a bed covered in a crocheted blanket, showing an early-morning drawing of a tea tray. The right-hand page contains line drawings of a mug, a jug and a tea strainer among areas of blue, turquoise, grey and deep pink Neocolor II. A chicken-patterned tray cloth is drawn beneath the objects. On the left-hand page, handwritten text begins “5:10am” and reflects on finding comfort in the familiar after a period of stretching himself creatively. We can see pens and pencils on one corner of the actual tea tray from the drawing, just visible above the sketchbook.

    This morning I found myself returning to drawing my tea tray again.

    I wrote:

    Finding comfort in the familiar. I’ve been stretching myself recently. It’s time to stop that for a while and let myself get used to where I am.

    I suspect the biggest stretch last month wouldn’t look like much of a stretch at all to someone looking in: a gentle half-hour chat over Zoom with an artist and educator I admire. But the anticipation of the conversation had left me in a state of anxiety from the moment I arranged it.

    In the end — as the me underneath the anxiety knew it would be — the conversation was very good. Useful, encouraging, and something I think is going to become an important monthly part of my creative life.

    The anxiety beforehand was another matter.

    I’ve recently started using an app called FatigueSense that gives me an allowance of energy points for each day. I usually begin with somewhere around 60. By the time yesterday’s conversation was over, I had eight left, and I was down to zero soon after.

    That feels like quite a clear measure of what anticipation and anxiety can cost me, even when the thing I’m anxious about turns out to be good.

    So this morning it felt important to return to something familiar: the tea tray, the chicken-patterned cloth, the things that are around me every day. Drawing first with the stub of a Blackwing 3, and then reaching for some well-used Neocolor IIs.

    I need plenty more mornings like this in October while I get used to the place all my recent stretching has left me.

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  • Drawing without firm ground

    A sketchbook lies open on a blue patterned tea tray resting on a multicoloured crocheted blanket. The tray is white with cut-out handles and lined with a cloth covered in repeating hen shapes. Beside the sketchbook and on the tray sit a lime-green teapot, an orange insulated Stanley mug with steam condensing under the perspex lid, and a carton of barista oat milk. The drawing across the two sketchbook pages shows the same objects arranged on the tray: the mug in the foreground, the teapot above it, and the oat-milk carton to the left, all outlined in loose pencil lines. The background of the drawing is filled with many small hen motifs, repeating across both pages. Handwritten text within the drawing reads “Looking for comfort in the familiar” and “Trying to find some ground. Is there any?”.

    I made a drawing this morning hoping for a little comfort. I drew the objects I know: mug, teapot, oat milk, tray. Familiar companions to steady anxious hands.

    As I worked, I found myself thinking about “firm ground” — the feeling of being steadied by something reliable. I’d hoped the drawing might give me that today. But as the lines unfolded, I realised that hunting for ground might be what pulls me off balance in the first place.

    Maybe there isn’t firm ground in the way I keep wanting it. Maybe drawing is simply a way of staying with that uncertainty for a few minutes at a time — accepting the unsteady surface, line by line, rather than trying to find something solid underneath.

    A note to self: perhaps comfort can come from letting go of the search.

    A closer view of the open sketchbook resting on a blue hen-patterned tray cloth. Only the drawing and a small portion of the white tray edge are visible. The two-page spread shows loose pencil outlines of a lime-green teapot, an orange insulated Stanley mug, and a barista oat-milk carton arranged across the tray. The pages are densely filled with repeated hen motifs drawn beneath and around the objects. Handwritten phrases inside the drawing read “Looking for comfort in the familiar” near the top edge and “Trying to find some ground. Is there any?” along the lower right corner.

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  • Trying to Draw My Teapot to Calm Myself

    An open sketchbook lies on a patterned blanket beside a tea-tray with a familiar lime green _Teapot For Life_ teapot, a comforting white _Louise Go Gently_ mug, and pencils. The pages show large handwritten text in turquoise-blue reading “Trying to draw my teapot to calm myself down (I’m going to the dentist today!), but don’t seem to be able to draw today.” On the right page is a loose drawing of the same teapot in Light Olive and Grey, set against a background of Silver Grey Neocolor and dark scribbled marks. The whole scene conveys a mix of anxiety and tenderness — an attempt to find calm through drawing.

    I’d been okay last night, but this morning I woke up feeling very anxious about today’s dental appointment. Early-morning anxiety used to be a regular occurrence when I was first diagnosed with ME, and a more generalised social anxiety has followed me through my life — though I wasn’t always aware of it. I’ve always struggled with going to the dentist.

    I’d hoped that my current morning routine of making tea followed by making a drawing would help to calm me today, as it did to some extent yesterday. I decided to keep it simple and just draw my teapot — something I’ve done hundreds of times. But today nothing felt right. I tried to draw slowly, beginning with the teapot’s spout, then gradually adding the top of the pot, its handle and hinge.

    I’m not someone who worries much about perspective, but I do look for something that feels satisfying — something that works within its own small visual world. After three attempts, filling the page in ways I wouldn’t normally do, I found I was adding drawing anxiety to my dental anxiety. I drew one more version of the teapot and decided that it would have to do, no matter how it turned out.

    I added some colour to distinguish it from the earlier attempts, then layered a heavy scribble of Silver Grey Neocolor II over the top to partly obscure them. At that point I began to enjoy myself, and the drawing anxiety (if not the dental) began to recede. There’s something satisfying about those semi-hidden lines under the grey — a quiet record of my anxious searching for calm.

    Home now from my appointment and resting on the bed with a second pot of tea, the dental anxiety has passed. Perhaps it was an anxiety that no amount of drawing could dampen. But drawing could record it — and distract me for a while — and maybe that’s enough.

    The full text reads:

    Trying to draw my teapot to calm myself down (I’m going to the dentist today!), but I don’t seem to be able to draw today!

    A close view of the sketchbook page focusing on the teapot drawing. The familiar _Teapot For Life_ teapot is rendered in Light Olive and Grey, with black and red marks around the rim, set against a softly worked Silver Grey background. The turquoise handwriting in Chrysocolla Blue pencil is visible on the opposite page. Pencil and crayon lines show three earlier attempts to find the form. The image feels both unsettled and intimate — the drawing and words merging into a small act of self-soothing.

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