Years of sketchbooks. Thousands of lines. Still drawing. These pages were never made for a feed — they exist because the hand kept moving. Pen, paper, people. The way a stranger holds a cup, the weight of a glance. Observed, never performed. Ink dries fast and forgives nothing — which is precisely the point. Everything here is the residue of a habit I never grew out of.
Vol. 01 — Ink & Observation
Est. 2009 · Still drawing
It started in the margins of school notebooks and never really stopped. Faces, hands, the people across the train carriage — drawn quickly, before they noticed, before they moved.
Most of it lives in sketchbooks nobody asked me to fill. I keep filling them anyway. The work is a record of paying attention — to gesture, to posture, to the small honest things a person does when they think no one is watching.
Black ink, mostly. It is unforgiving, and that keeps me honest. A line is committed the moment it lands. There is no undo on paper, only the next page.
A loose timeline
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Studio & process
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Years of pages, loosely sorted. Every piece below is a plate awaiting its drawing — click any one to view it large.
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