My sketchbooks are like intimate diaries. Their pages are personal memories of places I have visited, objects that interested me, animals I saw at the zoo, models with whom I have worked, friends and fellow artists. The sketches – pen, ink, pencil, graphite or charcoal – are not finished. They stay fresh, raw and free. In some, I still see lost lines, searching their way; in others I see my fingerprints, imprinted in the dark strokes.