Merry Christmas 2014 and Happy New Year 2015

December 13th, 2014

All of us at Potter’s Sketchbook hope you and your family have a happy holiday season. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Elegy for a Dream

November 8th, 2014

Kitsch as kitsch can.

Sometimes you laugh so you do not cry and sometimes you cry so you do not laugh. Sometimes things survive and sometimes they dissolve into the shadows. And sometimes you wonder if they ever mattered at all.

Goblin in G Flat (Haydn in Plain Sight)

October 13th, 2014

There’s not much behind this. I read a small chapter on goblins in a book on legends from the Rhine and then turned on Dayton’s only twenty-four hour classical music radio station. The pencil went for an amble while I was thinking of goblins and listening to Bach. This is the result. It’s nothing, really. It’s only A Minor sketch. Sorry.

The Way of All Flesh

September 27th, 2014

It’s not hard watching a dream being born. It is hard watching it die.

The Wrestler Past His Prime

September 13th, 2014

His life was filled with battles, most of which he lost. He’d console himself by thinking they were unimportant. But then, if they were insignificant, what did that make his life?

A Boyhood Friend

August 31st, 2014

There was a terrible storm that night. I found him the next day, more dead than alive, and half-carried, half-dragged him home. It didn’t take long to nurse him back to health and we wound up as inseparable companions. After all these years I still recall every detail of the night he died. Nature provided only a slight, soothing drizzle that time. I was the one who supplied the deluge. I never wept so long or so hard. And it wasn’t really for him, I knew that even then, since he was now so old and diseased that each day was only a misery and, for him, death was a mercy. No, I cried my boyish tears only for myself, for I knew I would never, ever find another dog like old Shep.


August 28th, 2014

So, a certain Mr. S.F. from out Indiana way said that I should try marketing my wares. Just as an experiment, I ambled down to the local copier shop and ordered some prints of “Player,” “Softly, Like a Shadow,” and the attempted Lincoln portrait. The prints didn’t turn out too bad. The paper sizes for the experiments are 8.5 x 11 and 11 x 17 inches and the proprietor stated he could easily make card sizes. I now feel fairly comfortable about having prints made. Thus, if you see anything on this site you might like to hang on the wall or line your birdcage with, drop me a line at, giving me the name of the piece and/or the date it was posted. If I still have the original, or, if the original is no longer at hand and you don’t mind waiting for me to try to make a replica, prices would be $5.00 for the 8.5 x 11 sheet and $7.50 for the larger size. By the way, those are the sizes of the sheets, not the images.

One Is Never So Lonely as When with Others

August 16th, 2014

Sometimes kitsch can be your friend.

The Widow

August 4th, 2014

This is another attempt at doing an occasional sketch a day. It was originally going to be Medusa. I wanted her features to express not only that oppressive sorrow of knowing one is a monster, but also to at least hint at the self-horror engendered by such a fate. Unfortunately, I couldn’t capture that aspect. Even if I had, I still would have needed to peruse Sarah’s nature books to find reference images of our serpentine friends; thus the project would have taken more than a day which would have defeated the purpose. So I was left with only a partial and deliberately deformed face in the upper corner of the paper. Perhaps it would have been best to accept the failure and graciously let the inchoate image molder away to dust. Instead, this morning I disinterred it and allowed the pencil to finish the piece by going where it will with but little interference from me (drawings go so much faster that way). This, such as it is, is the result.

In My Youth, I Dwelt on Mountains

June 15th, 2014

This is simply another attempt at doing a drawing a day. One nice thing about mythological characters is that one can get away with so much. Do the satyr’s arms seem freakishly long? Well, surely you know their arms keep growing all through their lives? Go out and find an old satyr and see for yourself. And also, the melancholy of unrealized dreams and the inevitable silencing of this mortal coil, when treated as abstraction, as unreal sorrows borne by unreal creatures, is an age-old device. Just ask any satyr you happen to see.