No, not quite so morbid as the title, but still a little sad.
This is the very first ever 'sketchbook' I bought. I just adore the cover. Its not proper quality paper but it was my very dear friend for a long time.
I used to go to workshops and make notes, and then come home and transfer them and the photos (back in the day real ones, not digital) and samples into this book. Playing with ideas those samples too would go in this book.
So I decided this past week that I needed a set of samples to have a book of their own, instead of in different places, so out this came to have them removed, and HORROR.
The beginning of the book pages are covered in black mould. I suspect this has a lot to do with the bookcase being in the far right corner of a north facing room. A room I usually hung wet washing on an airer to dry. But why only partially infected?
I don't suspect it helps but there is within the pages samples of paint and salt, and sugar with pva - don't ask - its does funky things!
So I've had a last look through written out info I want to keep a record of and poor notebook will now be consigned to the bin, no point in trying to salvage things.
I suspect its partly due to the cover, but all I keep hearing in my head is the song - Seasons in the Sun, by, I think, Terry Jacks. We Had Joy, We Had Fun, We Had Seasons in the Sun!
So its got its own little blog post, because it needs its moment in time recorded, but actually looking through it, so much of this information I don't need, its become ingrained, part of me, and doesn't need any 'how to' record.
Suspect I need to take a look and throw out some more stuff........