Come look Inside My Sketchbook
- Taino
- Apr 17
- 4 min read
A Look at Works in-Progress & Inspiration Boards
There’s something deeply personal about cracking open a sketchbook. It’s a space where thoughts take shape before they’re refined; where messy lines become intentional, and quiet ideas slowly rise to the surface. For me, my sketchbook is less a place for perfection, and more of a sacred container for the honest, unfiltered version of my unfolding body of work.
In high school, my art teacher—Mr. Leon—had a way of turning silence into lessons. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t raise his voice. But he could look at a half-erased drawing and tell you exactly what you were trying to say before you even knew it.
One afternoon, I stayed behind after class. My sketchbook was thick, bursting at the seams. I had been trying to finish it before the end of the semester, as if completion itself would prove something.
“I just want to fill every page,” I told him. “I want to be done.”
He smiled, half-turning the pages of a worn sketchbook he kept in his desk drawer. It looked ancient; weathered, smudged, loved. But half the pages were blank.“I’ve never finished a sketchbook,” he said. “Not because I couldn’t. But because they’re not meant to be finished. They’re meant to hold what we needed to say in that season and let the rest go.”
At the time, it felt like a cop-out. But over the years, I’ve come to understand.Now, as a professional artist, photographer, and bookseller, I keep multiple sketchbooks going at once. Not one of them is finished. Some are for thoughts. Others for textures. Some hold grief. Others hold plans for storefronts and installations I haven’t even built yet. But I don’t rush them anymore. I let them hold what needs to be held.
Mr. Hammer’s lesson taught me that unfinished doesn’t mean incomplete. In fact, that space, what’s left undone can be a form of wisdom. A page left blank for tomorrow’s idea. A sketch paused just before it’s overworked. A chapter in business left open for unexpected growth.
So here’s to the sketchbooks we never finish, the ones that teach us to trust the process, rest when needed, and leave space for what’s still becoming.
A Living Archive of Ideas
My sketchbook isn't always pretty, and it’s not always organized, but it is alive & reflects who I am, as well as the person that I am becoming. Flipping through the pages, you’ll find scribbled poetry, half-formed portraits, color tests, and photography contact sheets. Some of these sketches turn into full projects, like my black-and-white photography series The Duality of Black and White, while others stay as seeds, waiting for the right season.
Each spread is a snapshot of a moment in my creative thought process, what I’m questioning, dreaming, observing. It’s my way of working through concepts like Afro-Latino identity, emotional memory, and the complexity of being both artist and entrepreneur in spaces that weren’t always built for us.
The Power of Inspiration Boards
Beside my sketchbooks, I’ve started building physical and digital inspiration boards. Think magazine clippings, quotes from books, fabric swatches, architectural references, and photographs. These serve as visual affirmations and creative compasses. They remind me of what I’m working toward; and what I want my work to feel like.
Right now, my current board includes:
A black-and-white photo of a narrow European alleyway (foreshadowing a new photographic study for Afro-Latino Dark Academia)
A Toni Morrison quote that reads, “If you want to fly, you’ve got to give up the things that weigh you down.”
A color palette of terra cotta, ash grey, and deep forest green—colors I’ve been exploring in recent paintings
Snippets of letters from readers and art buyers that keep me grounded in purpose
Comments