Over the holidays, I thought I’d rearrange a few things in my bedroom. And next thing I knew, that simple task had morphed into a terrifying, post-modern version of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, as I sorted magazines, bagged goods to donate and cleaned out the boxes of mementos I’ve had since junior high.

I ran across a sketchbook from high school in that box. 99.9% of it makes me wince, which I suspect is a good thing. Some of it made me choke up, like the drawing of my grandmother doing dishes. And some sketches made me laugh, particularly the drawings that included teen Abbie’s numerous self-critiques: “Good, but this angle is wrong” and “This doesn’t really look like my sister, so I need to practice more and do better.”

Occasionally I can see things that will spill over into the work I do today: historical costumes, a love of detail, a fascination with people. So when I was thinking of something to warmup with today, I thought I’d have a shot at redrawing something in that teen sketchbook, in my style now.

And maybe in the year 2045, when we’re all traveling about with jetpacks, I’ll have a shot at that illustration, again.

No clue what is going on with that kid in the tophat. No idea. Nope.