I’m often seeking refuge in my sketchbook studying brief happenings like a biologist with their field notes. A pigeon ruffling its feathers on my fire escape, a child’s sleeping head nuzzled into their mother’s lap on the Subway, or the light peeking through the canopy at Prospect Park hitting my partner’s face just right. Moments often disappear quicker than I can scribble them, forcing me to improvise like an idealized documentarian. 

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