Field Notes

I draw. I take photos. I lift when I can. Most days I move with whatever keeps me steady, whatever keeps my mind clear. Powerlifting forces focus. Every repetition, every set, it clears the noise. Drawing is different. It sharpens attention, slows time, makes me notice details others miss. I’ve always liked being nude. It feels simple. Honest. Nothing to hide. The body in its natural state tells its own story. I stick to things that feel real, that feel right. Things I can control and understand. Movement, observation, the body. They keep me steady. They keep me grounded. They keep me clear.

The air was cold, the kind that sharpens your senses. I went out back to the garden, grabbed my sketchbook, slipped on some sandals, and started drawing. No plan, no goal. Just the quiet, the air, the sound of branches cracking under weight I didn’t notice. I started with what was in front of me, my own feet. The light hit right. It felt right. There’s something honest in that. No chasing perfection. No forcing anything. Being present, letting my hands move because it makes sense to. The body, the movement, the observation all matter.