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Drawing is the foundation of everything I make, although deliberately setting out to make *a drawing* is a rare occurrence.   The pile of junk mail on the kitchen table becomes a repository of germinal scribblings, done while I talked on the phone, or when an idea struck me in the middle of breakfast.  In sketchbooks, or in the margins of whatever I'm reading, tiny renderings and roughly penciled compositions are the first move toward translating an idea into visual form.  Sometimes those hurried marks become an object in their own right -- a drawing; sometimes they complete the journey from rough draught to painting or print; just as often they end up stashed in a book somewhere, waiting to reawaken an inspiration when I come across them weeks or months or even years later.