Michael Nobbs

Tag: Sketchbook

  • Dealing With Last Page / First Page Anxiety

    A view of a tea tray arranged on a bed covered with a crocheted blanket. On the tray is a patterned hen tray mat, and resting on the mat are a white milk jug, an orange insulated mug, a tall stainless-steel flask, a lime-green teapot, and a slim reading light rising just behind them. In front of the tray lies an open sketchbook. **On its left page is a dense pencil drawing of some of the items from the tray — the reading light and the milk jug — shown sitting on the hen-patterned mat.** On its right page, centred within a large area of blank paper, is a small hand-drawn version of the Stanley logo — a winged bear wearing a crown — with “STANLEY. Since 1913” written beneath it. Warm lamplight falls across the scene.

    This morning I woke with a tightness around the idea of making my morning drawing — a physical resistance to picking up my sketchbook. I’ve been working backwards through this sketchbook, so although I’d reached what was, for me, the final blank spread, it was also the first pair of pages after opening the cover. I’d been feeling it coming for days and, unusually, it had been haunting me.

    I’ve been working this way through sketchbooks for more than two and a half years — since I first returned to drawing after Mary Gordon died. It was a strategy born out of needing to avoid the paralysing pressure of a perfect first page. At first I simply chose random places to draw, but soon I settled into working from back to front. It has served me well, but with this sketchbook that first-page paralysis has reared its head again — maybe because of the recent stress around my health and all the newness.

    Interestingly, in worrying about meeting this page, I’d forgotten about the power of routine. Simply making my tea, arranging my tea-things on the tray, and bringing it back to bed found me reaching for my sketchbook and pencil and beginning to draw. I stayed gentle and started with something small and contained: the Stanley logo on my insulated mug. I’ve been wanting to draw it for a while, and its sparseness felt like the right entry point. Once that was on the page, the drawing grew easily — the reading light, the illustrated hen mat, the milk jug. Familiar shapes. Familiar company.

    I decided not to add any colour, and as I dated the drawing to mark it as finished, I felt a quiet satisfaction at having made it through that moment of resistance — and at having filled another sketchbook, one drawing at a time, from back to front.

    A close-up view of an open sketchbook resting on a bed. On the left page is a dense line drawing made with pencil showing a reading light and a milk jug, both sitting on a patterned hen tray mat. The hens form a repeating background across the whole page. On the right page, centred within a large area of blank paper, is a small hand-drawn version of the Stanley logo — a winged bear wearing a crown — with “STANLEY. Since 1913” written beneath it. The date “17–11–25” appears in the lower corner. Above the sketchbook the edges of the tray from the drawing can be seen showing the base of the reading lamp and part of the hen patterned tray mat from the drawing, along with a short pencil with a gold point guard and what looks like the base of an orange mug and a silver flask. Warm lamplight softens the edges of the paper.

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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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  • 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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