For two months I was fortunate to have paid work. For anonymity’s sake, let’s say that my job title was “Artist Resentful of The Imposition of needing a paying job, yet Still very Thankful for said job,” or ARTIST for short.
During my time as an ARTIST, most of the marks I made in my sketchbook were words. Words of various sizes, placed in different parts of the page, with lines, numbers, circles, colors— the kinds of marks that guided my eye to the right spot at the right time. An organized system so I wasn’t scrambling when I got calls like, “Did NICL Labs get back to us?” or “Where are we with Jessica again?”
An organization system, and also the one part of my day where I could afford to be a little ridiculous and no one would know.
