When I was seven I began writing in a journal. I was adamantly opposed to people calling my journal a “diary” and believed “journal” garnered more respect. I wrote in it nearly every day, committed to tracking my life and remembering all the details I was sure to forget as I grew older.

Now 29, I seldom feel the need to sit alone and write to, technically, myself. Instead I’ve turned to blogging. However, there was a short period after the death of my father where I was inspired to mix art and journaling together. Looking back on it I see myself as being very patient with stamping and also that the process was therapeutic for me.