
From March 2023, this screenshot shows the message sent via my Go Gently website, informing me that my dear friend Mary had died a few days earlier.
See also: Moleskine Invoice and Drawing Mary (upside down).

From March 2023, this screenshot shows the message sent via my Go Gently website, informing me that my dear friend Mary had died a few days earlier.
See also: Moleskine Invoice and Drawing Mary (upside down).
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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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I got this site — my new Studio Diary — online last night, sometime after midnight, once the last bits of code were behaving. It felt good to see it live, sitting quietly in its own corner of the internet.
I realised as I was finishing up that this domain, michaelnobbs.com, has been mine for more than twenty-two years now — first registered back in October 2003. It’s strange and rather comforting to think that this quiet corner has been here all that time, patiently waiting through the different versions of my work and life.
This new version of the site feels like a gentle return as well as small beginning. I hope it can become a gentle record of my days in the studio (or in bed!) — drawings, reflections, fragments of reading — gathered slowly, without pressure. A place where the pace of making can stay close to the pace of living.
In its own quiet way, this site feels like another form of drawing — another way of showing that I exist, that I’m still here, paying attention.
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