Most of these drawings start the same way: a cup of coffee, a pen that happened to be in a pocket, and a napkin that was about to be thrown away. There’s no pressure on a napkin. Nobody expects it to be anything, so it’s free to become something. [Sample text — John’s words go here.]
The two crows on the mushrooms showed up on a slow afternoon. The first one was just a shape. The second one arrived to keep it company, and then they needed somewhere to sit.
Paper that doesn’t ask permission
Good sketchbook paper can feel like it’s watching you. A napkin is soft and a little thin, and the ink spreads where it wants to. That’s half the charm. The lines get fuzzy at the edges, the color pools, and every piece ends up a little different from what was planned.
“Nobody expects a napkin to be anything, so it’s free to become something.”
Over the years the napkins started to pile up in drawers, folded into books, tucked under magnets on the fridge. A few were given away the same day they were made. The ones that are left are the ones in the shop and the gallery now.
Keeping them
Every napkin in the shop is the original, signed and sealed so it lasts. There’s only ever one of each. If the one you like has already found a home, a new one can always be drawn for you.
