A Year of Sketchbooking: What I've Learned + What I'd Change

What I've Learned in a Year of Sketchbooking

I’ve told myself many times that I should sketch every day. And many times, I’ve failed to follow through. It always sounded simple — small, even — but something about it felt overwhelming. It wasn’t the time commitment, really. It was the weight of expectation: the fear of ruining a beautiful sketchbook, the pressure to fill it perfectly, the uncertainty of what to draw, and the discouragement of doing it poorly.

So last spring, I shifted the rules. Instead of buying a fancy sketchbook, I made my own — small and simple, with about 30 pages. I figured if I could complete one per month, I’d feel that sense of momentum and achievement. I chose to record something from my day — a leaf, a bird, a sound, a colour — always something from nature. And I decided to share the journey publicly, posting my sketches on Instagram as a way to gently confront my fear of failing.

My Goals

This daily sketching practice had a few clear intentions:

• to build confidence by keeping a promise to myself
• to improve my drawing and painting skills, especially in nature and wildlife
• to develop a habit of noticing –– really noticing –– the beauty around me
• and to take one small step each day toward my dream of becoming a full-time artist and surface designer.

For the most part, I did what I set out to do.

I noticed more. I saw colour palettes in autumn skies, patterns in moth wings, movement in birds. I grew in skill and confidence — especially with animals. I rarely paint with pencil outlines anymore, and I can feel my hand knowing what to do. I also developed a deeper awareness: of God’s creation, of quiet moments, of small joys.

Viewing each day through the lens of “what beautiful thing can I find today?” made me more present, more grateful. And having a visual journal of the year — twelve handmade sketchbooks — feels like a gift I gave myself without realizing how much it would mean.

When I Fell Behind

That said, I didn’t sketch every single day.

I was diligent for the first few months, but as the year wore on — especially in winter — I found myself catching up on weekends. Some months, like January, are sparse. Others are full. I recommitted in February, and since then, I’ve kept up with more rhythm than perfection.

I paint in the mornings now, usually while listening to a devotional, and I love that time — but even this past week, I found myself catching up again. I’ve learned to be more flexible, more forgiving. Still, I’d be lying if I said I never felt guilt.

Sometimes it was just one thing too many.

Sketching daily doesn’t take long, but even ten minutes can feel heavy when the day is full of projects, deadlines, and to-do lists. There were days I rushed through it — not out of laziness, but simply to make space for other priorities. And because I used mixed media paper (which doesn’t absorb watercolour the way cotton paper does), I often felt frustrated with how my paints behaved. So while this wasn’t meant to be watercolour practice, it became clear that I needed separate space for that kind of growth.

What I’d Do Differently

There’s so much I’d keep — and a few things I’d change.

I loved making the sketchbooks, and I loved the rhythm of a new one each month. That fresh beginning felt like a little gift to myself. Even if I weren’t planning to draw every day again, I’d still use smaller sketchbooks — they’re less intimidating and easier to fill.

I also loved having a visual record of the nature around me. For someone who is so inspired by wildlife, plants, and seasons, it was grounding and joyful. But next time, I might switch up my approach: a month of birds, a month of flowers, a month of mammals. That way, I could dig deeper into each subject and keep things fresh.

And I’d likely use better paper — especially if watercolour continues to be my main medium. Mixed media was versatile, perfect to explore mediums, but not ideal for watercolour exclusively. Using cotton watercolour paper would allow me to explore my materials more fully, and to enjoy the process rather than wrestle with it. 

The Trouble with “Daily”

This may be the biggest takeaway of all: for someone already immersed in art daily — working on patterns, originals, product development — adding another daily art task didn’t always serve me. If I were starting from zero, it would have been perfect. But for me, this was sometimes one thing too many.

It didn’t always move the needle forward in my creative business. It didn’t always fit the energy of the day. And at times, that made me feel more burdened than inspired.

But even in the imperfect days, even in the catch-up weekends and the messy pages, this practice gave me something I didn’t know I needed:
A reminder that showing up gently and consistently — not perfectly — is still sacred. That sketching a moth or a bird or a sunset is a form of gratitude. That recording beauty is a way of rejoicing in it.

So I’ll keep going. Maybe not every day. But in rhythm. In grace.
And always with eyes open to the wonder around me.

A Quiet Celebration

As this year-long sketchbook journey comes to a close in July, I'll be offering a small collection of prints featuring some of my favourite pages — a way to honour the practice, the growth, and the beauty I've been privileged to witness.

Each piece will be available as a fine art print in my shop, and I hope they serve as gentle reminders of the wonder that's always waiting to be noticed.

Stay tuned — I'll be sharing more details in the coming weeks.