The Art of Letting Go

Impressions from the Road, Postcard One

Kitchen Counter Studio Setup

What was I thinking? That I’d make a postcard every day? That I’d travel across the UK, visiting meaningful — sometimes deeply personal — places and somehow have ink rolled out and pressed into paper every morning before tea?

Yeah right.

To be fair, the plan came from a genuine place. I wanted this trip to be different. Not just to travel as a curious traveler (my usual mode), but also to let the artist-me take the lead — to give form to what I noticed along the way.

And postcards made sense. I’d been intrigued by the postcard printing press.  Travel and postcards — they go together.

I did commit to the project — just not in the way I first imagined.

Once we landed in Liverpool, I found myself in a particularly reflective mood. I reached for the tools I’d packed: Whisper Memos, my phone camera, the Day One journal app on my iPad, and a pared-down art kit (colored pencils, pan pastels, sketchbook).  At first, I tried sticking to the plan — reviewing the day each evening, setting up the press in the morning. I did make something with the postcard press. But by day three, I packed it away.

My head and heart were with the stories Neil was telling, the memories surfacing. Postcards didn’t quite fit—not yet.

The format felt wrong.

Instead, I used the project itself as a prompt. I’d begin the day asking: What will grab my attention today? What will stay with me? I gathered impressions like field notes.

And I asked Neil questions.

We were in Liverpool, where he grew up. He talked. I recorded. Then I listened again, journaled, and started to see the shape of a postcard — not necessarily one to post, but one that helped me reflect, appreciate, understand.

The actual postcard-making could come later. I found a rhythm, and it wasn’t postcard-a-day. It was: observe, distill, record, then let go.

And that rhythm has stayed with me. I don’t always know what I’ll make, but I trust the process of paying attention. I feel more like myself than ever.

I’m on to something.

It’s rooted in noticing, asking, and iterating. A way to travel and make art. That’s exciting. That’s a reason to get out of bed.

Postcard One: Neil Walking

One of the most interesting days in Liverpool was when Neil and I walked Armley Road—his childhood street. We’d been there before, but this time was different. His house was the most rundown on the block. Most of the shops were shuttered.

Neil's childhood universe

Neil's childhood universe

“Not too much nostalgia,” he said.

As we walked, he told me about carrying heavy batteries to power the family radio. About saving for sweets. About how bus fare was a luxury. And about his father’s precarious work —“He had a job cycling around selling burial insurance. Later, he worked at a wholesale ice cream place — that was a step up.”

“Once, my father took me to the post office to draw out my savings,” Neil said. “They didn’t have any money.”

As for himself, the boy dreamed of being a fighter pilot — “but I knew it wasn’t realistic. If I could have been a bank clerk, that would have been really good.”

That night, I recorded quotes, made notes, and sketched a small silhouette of Neil walking, hands behind his back. Later, I printed it in the Airbnb kitchen, layering textures that reminded me of brick and memory.

That print eventually became my first finished postcard.

Working notes and fragments: early sketches and first print experiments

Postcard One: The Art of Letting Go

What’s Next

I’m back in the studio now, finishing the cards. I’ve completed one (the one above). A few are underway.

In the next post, I’ll take you into the Liver Sketching Club — an unexpected night of drawing in a dusty room above Water Street. I’ll also share my take on the Grotesques of York Minster and the Metamorphosis Case at the Walker Art Gallery, where sculptural works by Johnny Vegas and Emma Rodgers stopped me in my tracks.

This series is about more than travel or postcards. It’s about letting each day make an impression — and then giving that impression form.  I’m figuring this out as I go — what it means to travel as an artist, to pay attention, and to let the work take shape afterward. If that kind of open-ended exploration speaks to you, I’d love to have you along.

Afterword

Liverpool revealed its layers: grand old buildings, wartime scars, old sayings, youthful memories, bookstores, curio shops, and streets still alive with history. Seagulls, pigeons, and magpies.

A few impressions of the city:

The Albert Dock