More than a decade ago after a year of searching from afar for an apartment in New York City that fit my budget, moved sight unseen into a tiny, tiny sublet in SoHo. It looked out over a churchyard providing a view of sky and trees, and against its amber-hued brick wall, of photoshoots with fashion models posing for photographers. Within hours of arriving in the city had found a job. Early that evening walking along Lafayette Street joyful and reflective, urgently wanted to write about what I'd come to understand that day. With everything in boxes, had left the apartment with neither a pen nor paper. What to do? Turned toward a woman who was walking along the same stretch of pavement. "Pardon me," I began and asked whether she happened to have a pen or pencil to lend momentarily--and oh, a scrap of paper? Explained that I'd an idea I wanted urgently to write.
She rested her large messenger bag on the trunk of a parked car. From the bag she extracted a fresh yellow legal pad and a pen. "Keep them," she said handing them to me, "I know how that is!"
As ideas churn, will draw or write on any available paper--the back of a business card or receipt, a random flyer, in the margins of a newspaper or the inside of an envelope. Began recently to carry a 3x5 pad of post-its. Sketches made at various times are easily assembled later into a group. Am playing with ideas for an Edwardian corset now in progress.