The Sketchbook Project at Brooklyn Art Library

“A crowd-funded sketchbook museum and community space.”

For the Lost: ‘A Lovely Wander NYC’ by Sara Boccaccini Meadows

For the Curious: ‘Come Travel with Me’ by Jill Macklem

For the Lonely: ‘somewhere across the sea’ by Michael Elizabeth Zimmerman

For the Anxious: ‘Anxiety Sucks’ by Suzie Deplonty

But you could equally be looking for ‘A story worth telling’, ‘Pocket-size memories’, or ‘Trivial retrospectives’. The floor to ceiling shelves of The Sketchbook Project at Brooklyn Art Library contain all those themes and more in thousands upon thousands of identical 5 x 7” sketchbooks. In fact, this Williamsburg storefront houses the largest collection of sketchbooks in the world: 45,000 in all (with 24,000 in its digital library). And most are made by amateurs: 30,000 different people in over 130 countries have so far contributed to this over a decade-old project. Anyone can submit a sketchbook irrespective of background, perspective and, here’s the key, ability. These drawn-out and doodled narratives can be made by a granny in Croatia, a mum in California, a child in England. Even you. 

We’re a little in love with it. 

This is how it works: you order one of their custom designed, Scout-made sketchbooks online and receive along with it a list of thematic prompts: recent calls included: ‘One last chance’, ‘Fearful faces’ and ‘Lamppost Limericks’. Choose one or discard them entirely. It’s up to you. You get to fill 36 pages with whatever you want—abstract squiggles, detailed portraits, maps and landscapes, diary entries, poems, fragments of images and memories, secrets and declarations of lost love—anything that can be contained within its pages (so no glitter or messy embellishments). 

Here’s the genius part—your sketchbook has a barcode, so you’ll upload some details to an online catalog, like search terms and your bio. Then you’ll mail it back to The Sketchbook Project for the next part of its life: most likely it will be part of one of the traveling exhibitions which take place in a custom made Mobile Library (‘like a food truck, but instead of tacos you get sketchbooks’) that tours to schools, music festivals, art fairs, museums, and blue-chip companies, in such places as Melbourne, Chicago, Atlanta, Toronto, San Francisco, and even Rapid City, South Dakota. But your sketchbook will definitely find its permanent home on one of those shelves in that storefront in Brooklyn. All sketchbooks are cataloged and kept. There’s no jury, no judgment. 

Founded in 2006 by Steven Peterman and Shane Zucker, The Sketchbook Project questions who gets to create, who gets to be good and whether that idea has any currency, and why creativity still matters. By giving people a blank page, it also gives them the impulse to make and the platform to share. This is art for everyone, and artist as anyone. As Peterman attests: “I wanted to create an informal outlet for anyone to create art, with a purpose. I believed and still believe in the notion that a creative community is stronger than its individual artists and that a project can be impactful in a way that is different than a traditional gallery.”  

All these sketchbooks—made and mailed in from all over the world, collectively form a library of sorts. Visitors to the storefront, which has a very unlibrary feel—yes, there’s check-out cards, but there’s also music, art supplies and memorabilia on sale—can view any of these sketchbooks in its cozy space. Remember that barcode? That makes the in-store librarian’s job way easier: now visitors just search the catalog by theme, figure out what they want to view, and the librarian will pull it from the shelves. As the artist/maker/author you can get updates on how many times it been viewed—you can even get texts when your sketchbook-baby leaves its home on the shelves. The beauty in all this is that the person who made and then the person who viewed the sketchbooks are now in conversation; the sketchbooks forming physical testimonies of lives lived, documented and shared.

The Sketchbook Project gives analog form to some of our most basic needs, namely to tell stories and to connect. As we’re increasingly driven online to spill and share, it’s a real-world kickback. These shelves express myriad lives and ways of being in the world that you can flick through and digest over time and in physical space. It’s collectively made, with all the contributors expressing themselves very differently while working within exactly the same parameters. And it’s collectively understood; visitors can search for what they need amongst the pages or maybe even chance upon something unexpected. Plus it's permanent. These sketchbooks are designed to last, to be an archive of global creativity that endues longer than the time it takes to scroll through your feed. 

(See also the workshops in the community space, on such things as bookmaking and journaling, and other interactive global art projects that aim to connect and dispel some fundament myths around creativity like the Pen Pal Exchange).

To find out more: Website and Instagram

Case for Making

“Case for Making is a storefront offering creative supply basics, raw materials, and workshops, selected and designed to encourage process-focused exploration. Our practice is to recognize the presence of creative inquiry in multiple forms, and to provide space for engaging in and valuing this work.”

Right in a pocket of community in San Francisco’s Outer Sunset neighborhood, sits Case for Making, its creative beating heart. Founded by Alexis Joseph and Lana Porcello in 2014, because ‘the potential of humans doing projects makes them very happy’, this sweet storefront stakes a mark in the ground for the importance of making in our lives. Its an artist’s store for all of us.

Browse their products (you can do this online too). Take time in the store to just figure out what appeals to you and what makes you want to play at the process of it all. For us, its usually the handmade watercolors and indigo inks, and the special paper goods, particularly their fill-in-the-blank greeting cards.

This is an emporium for the curious, for searchers and explorers of the page and white space. Its a place designed to ‘push our collective ideas further about what creativity can be’.

Maybe this is best captured by the workshops on offer. Through classes led by local makers they admire, you are invited to produce your own pigments, learn how to draw, or paint with watercolors (their current offerings). These practical explorations sit closely to a spirit of guided inquiry, about how we show up as people in our worlds.

Case for Making takes down the idea that art is precious a notch or two, and opens the door to whatever it is that creativity means to each of us. We get to decide what we want to make and why it matters. They get to help us to do that. That’s why we love them.

*There’s a sister store at The Aesthetic Union too that you should check out!

Website www.caseformaking.com / Instagram @caseformaking

Regional Assembly of Text

“A lovely little stationery shop.”

On a trip to Vancouver, I found myself in The Regional Assembly of Text thinking of sending a letter home. Established by the artists and Emily Carr graduates Brandy Fedoruk and Rebecca Ann Dolen to explore “text as a theme”, this is a store/ printing press/ design studio that offers quirky cards, tiny books, papers and printed materials. It also contains the Lowercase Reading Room, a cosy reading library of self-published books and Zines housed in a former storage closet. The Vancouver store has its duplicate in beautiful downtown Victoria, British Colombia, in a second store which has been open since March 2013.

The Regional Assembly of Text is gorgeous, with witty and heartfelt messages in abundance. It just feels good to be in it. But the reason I was really drawn to this space is that once a month they also offer The Letter Writing Club. Since September 2005, out have come the Remingtons and Coronas, with the invitation for people to type, or handwrite, letters to whomever they want, about whatever they want, whether letters to governors or girlfriends. No drafts on Word first, no time to mull over. There’s just the page and a postage stamp, old school style. The Regional Assembly of Text provides supplies, snacks and the space to compose.

As I won’t be here for their next session in a week, I chose a sheet to take away, titled “Heartfelt Letter to Follow”. The last (paper) letter I had written was to a friend when I was in High School. We were separated for the summer and pre-email, so we shared cute teenage girl letters of missing each other even though she lived a short car journey away.

This being Vancouver, I have a rainy day ahead of me, a coffee on the table, and now a pencil in hand, composing a note, but to whom? When faced with the possibility of a blank page and a typewriter, what would you say, and to whom would you write. An apology, a confession, a declaration of affection?

People talk about letter-writing as a lost art form, but perhaps the key part of that sentence is that which is lost. And maybe that’s what letters inevitably connect us back to, and why these sessions at The Regional Assembly of Text are so popular; we get to reach out again to those people, that feel like home, but aren’t where we are at the moment.

As it has rained every day the week that I was in Vancouver, we’ll end with the message on one of their greeting cards:

“Things to do: 

In order to increase your level of accomplishment on a rainy day of your choice: 

Answer the phone using only verbs beginning with M 

Count all the books you own that have one word titles

Choose between elbows and knees

Practice drawing polar bears (mail the best one to your oldest friend, ask for one in return) 

Squint every time you hear the word tomorrow

Feel accomplished.”

To find out more: www.assemblyoftext.com / Instagram @assemblyoftext