care

A Creative Sketchbook, Dec 2025

| Sheree
My creative sketchbook
My creative sketchbook rules

I’m not sure how my creative sketchbook differs from my visual journal. Intention maybe.

Perhaps, I think , I’m attempting to develop my art practice within a designated space. A study maybe.

I haven’t really been in the thick of my art making practice since the preparation for my Baltic exhibition back in 2022-3.

This was quickly followed with the writings and (re)drafts of Darkling, my poetry/hybrid collection published in October 2024.

After this 2025 has been a period of extended rest and refusal.

But something has been niggling me. The desire to create with paint again. the desire to play without expectations and outcomes/ products.

I’ve just scratched the itch through scrolling through Pinterest. Adding another abstract or landscape painting to a board that I’ll probably not look at again.

But it satisfied this niggling feeling. Until it didn’t.

It was going back into the classroom. Completing a few days of supply that pushed me over the edge.

The time I gave away for money. The time I’d lost pursuing my own pursuits. And realising that I wasn’t pursuing all the pursuits I wanted to pursue in the time I had/have.

So out came a creative sketchbook, inspired by the 30 days sketchbook challenge created by Cheryl Taves over at Insight Creative.

This is as much as I’m willing to share for now about the challenge, my creative sketchbook, processes and insights.

One of my rules is that it’s just for my eyes only. I want to see how this rule changes my practice. I want to create without fear but with curiosity. I want to give myself all the freedom without worrying about what others will think or say or comment on.

It’s not like I’m hanging on other people’s responses and reactions but I have gotten into a habit of just sharing anything and everything on my blog and I’m curious to see what happens when I keep things to myself.

Just for my eyes, heart, and soul only.

So far I’m enjoying the process of the challenge and I’m reflecting and paying attention to what makes my heart sing, what’s my creative vocabulary, what pushes my energies.

Do doubt whatever I explore within my creative sketchbook will be showing up in everything that I create. In everything who I {BE}. For sure.

107 Days

| Sheree

For my birthday, my beautiful and talented daughter gave me 107 Days by Kamala Harris. I might have dropped some hints beforehand but boy was I pleased to receive this gift.

As soon as I heard Harris had published a memoir all about her run for the President of the United Stated of America, I knew I had to read it.

During that remarkable time from 21 July 2024 to the election 5 November, when Harris was propelled into the run for office, given such a historically short time for campaigning, I was hooked.

Hooked into hope. Having a black/ brown woman as president of the United States wouldn’t just be radical and amazing it would change the world. Harris would change the world, not just through what she stood for in terms of policies, but more importantly what message her face in the White House would say about us to the world. Thanks once again to a black woman stepping up, caring and making changes not for egotistical, selfish gains but for the benefit of all

I’ve always been in conflict with Black Feminism, in that reality that black women receive the worst treatment from everyone within society and yet we go to bat, stand up and fight for everybody’s freedom. We lead from a foundation of love while at the same time surviving and thriving within a world that does not give that same love in return.

We are destroyed on the daily and yet we still love ourselves and each other. That is what we have to do, love ourselves in the face of being unloved by others.

So here I am reading 107 days, feeling as if Harris is talking directly to me because of her writing style and because I’ve watched far too many of her speeches and interviews to hear her voice while I’m reading, I’m taken back to that time of campaigning and I’m crying when I’m reading.

I’m crying for what Harris had to go through during this time and after. The behind the scenes undermining and neglect, to the public abuse and questioning of her credentials, intelligence and race, by her opponents as well as those who were supposed to be her supporters.

How there’s nothing more revealing of what is within a person’s heart as when a black/ brown woman walks into a room and what that individual says or does in response. Do they see the black/brown woman? Do they recognise them for who they are/ as a human being or do they operate through a stereotypical, misogynoir lens?

I’m crying because during those 107 days, I bought into the whole Harris campaign. I had to. No choice. I knew that to get a black/brown woman elected as President was a long shot, was believing in unicorns, was hopeful, blissful dreaming for groundbreaking change.

And I was all in. I had to be. I had to believe it was possible otherwise what’s the fucking point! what would that be saying about how I viewed myself and my place in this world?

I’m crying now not just because of all those hopes and possibilities being dashed when Harris didn’t win. But also because of what the world is like now because she didn’t win and the dick for an arse who is now in control of the White House and what a fucking mess he’s making of the job, the country, the world. how many people he’s hurting and killing because he didn’t give a fuck. Because he doesn’t and never will care. Harris cared and cares.

I’m crying because my heart was broken then when Harris didn’t win and it’s breaking now as I read how Harris was graceful and joyful in her appearances and actions during the campaign while dealing with racist, sexist shit behind the scenes.

Harris was used just like any other black/brown woman, brought in to repair and save the day, without given the proper support or time or resources to do so. But expectations were and still are there to excel beyond anyone/ everyone else while given less than in terms of resources, grace, the benefit of the doubt.

What Harris achieved in 107 days was remarkable and historical and downright amazing. But does she receive her rightful credit and accolades? Not a fucking chance.

I’m crying because I still have hope in the face of such shit. I’m hurting with hope.

Hope is a practicing and we have to keep practicing.

a much appreciated gift

| Sheree

After a really successful visual journaling retreat in Sheffield, which I’ll share about soon, I was gifted this handmade journal.

Made from wallpaper, eco-dyed papers and love, Dal Kular, a wonderful friend and fellow mischief maker gifted me this journal. Off shots from a bigger, much bigger journal she created in connection with her creative in residence in Peak District National Park, Dal wanted me to have this beauty.

I know Dal was proud of it and knew that I would put it to good use. I dived into using it start away. I needed the clarity of a new journal, while on the road with Kiwi and this journal is fulfilling that need and want, remarkably well.

I’ll be back later this week to share the completed journal spreads.

the orange fish is softer and warmer than you

| Sheree

let me embrace the orange fish. the orange fish compliments my dress.

compliments my wanting lips and heart, much better, much softer than you.

as i hold my heart in haste and protection, let me embrace something that is willing

more open to my grace than you. i thought i made myself clear, i’m not here to

stare into cold glass eyes, twisted thoughts and warps hands and heart.

let the wind blow through my hair and take all promises of you away too.

the rooms may be empty but this orange fish will make me warmer,

continuing to live and learn

| Sheree
Studio Practice Journal, 2023-4

“On the afternoon of May 16, 2020, about a week before George Floyd was killed by the police, twenty-one-year-old Tye Anders was accused by the Midland, Texas, police of running a stop sign. He pulled over in front of his ninety-year-old grandmother’s house.”

Excerpt From
We Refuse
Kellie Carter Jackson

There’s Anders pleading for his life. There’s many policemen with guns drawn pointed at him and there’s bystanders filming it all. One woman who’s filming this is also pleading for the police to not shot Anders saying he’s scared. Hasn’t there been enough killing of unarmed black people, killed just because of the colour of their skin?

Still no guns are lowered and Anders is on the ground clearly empty handed but the situation is just escalating as the police continue to train their guns on his body.

Anders’ ninety-years-old grandmother steps out of her house praying. With cane in hand she walks towards her grandson even though guns are trained in her direction.

There was still panic still bystanders screaming for the police to put their guns up. Some do but still one cop is walking towards Anders with his gun raised. Trying to move and push her out of the way, his grandmother doesn’t believe that her grandson won’t still be shot so she falls onto her grandson, protecting his body with her own body. Not longer after this with the police and crowd pushing and pulsating around her , she loses consciousness.

Anders is arrested for fleeing the police. His grandmother is taken to hospital.

Reading this story this morning made me cry. Not because of the police brutality or the disregard for human life, black life. But because of what the grandmother in the story did. She’s ninety-years-old, frail and only has her prays and body, but used both in protection, in an act of love.

“Her collapse was not a coincidence. Protection is powerful, beautiful, and sacrificial because protection is love. But she should not have needed to put her body between the police and her grandson to protect him.”

Excerpt From
We Refuse
Kellie Carter Jackson.

Protection. She should not have needed to, but she did put her body between the police and grandson to protect him. This act of courage broke my heart this morning. Had me weeping. Maybe it was the last straw that pushed me over the edge into the breakdown. Maybe it was my imagination seeing this playing out.

Maybe I’m just sick and tired of living in a world where white violence is justified and black violence is really self-defence but is never judged that way.

I’ve always been a supporter of care work but even more so now. As care work, along with rest are forms of protection. Through the way I {BE} with myself and others, and the work that I do for self and others, I’m tending daily to the mental, emotional, and physical needs and health of black people, so we are better equipped to survive and thrive within a hostile, brutal, grinning world.

Still healing

| Sheree

Woman got herself dry socket. Exposed bone and nerves after a tooth extraction happens when the blood clot for Porte took doesn’t form properly or get dislodged.

It’s painful and can lead to infection. Guess I’m one of the lucky ones. As mine is infected.

I thought the pain and bad taste and breath were part of the healing process. No pain no gain right?! Seems this level of pain and the foulness is a sign of dry socket and infection. Go figure.

Thank goodness for saltwater washes, walking and self-care. Looking out for myself has become a priority in a world that just doesn’t care.