Spending hours on a sketchbook, only to throw it in the sea seems like a catastrophic idea to almost anyone.
I spent as long as I would on each page as if it was to be preserved forever, releasing myself from the burden of control by surrendering it to powers greater than myself (the sea)
I feel no preciousness towards my work and throwing it away is almost a relief.
My sketchbook is now swollen with sea water, bogged down with sand and has been ripped in half, the cover peeling away. But now, I feel a stronger attachment for it than I ever have towards something I've made.
Drying it over the course of a few days, deciding how to display it, as part of this on-going process has become exciting.