I love paper. I love thick, bumpy thirsty paper.
So I do what most people who have Pulp Love do, I bought a sketchbook. It wasn’t cheap but self, I said, you’re an artisty-type of a person and artisty-types should have good paper. Splurge!
I don’t know why, but whenever the artisty side of me makes decisions, the logical side of me gets shafted.
Case in point- this sketchbook. It’s horrible. The binding is made out of steel so the pages don’t lay flat. The paper is about as thick as a roll of 25-cent toilet paper and it’s labeled as ‘heavyweight’.
When I think heavyweight I think of this:
That’s Haye the Hayemaker. That’s the kind of brutality I want from my paper. I want paper that can swing a hammer the size of Canada. Paper that can make women blush. Paper that can… hang on- getting a bit carried away there.
So! Instead of Power Paper I get this:
Cute? Yes. Looks great? Yes. Absorbent? Probably. Will it leak more than it will hold? Definitely.
So, thanks to paper manufacturing being in the state it is These Days (get off my lawn!) I end up with little blotty marks under the page of the work I’m currently on. This leads me to go through sketchbooks at twice the normal rate. Unacceptable! This does bring the ire of me, or something like that. Something like that but that sounded better in my head.
So here’s my response: