Coming back to my sketchbook(s) I am made vividly aware of all the obstacles I put in front of myself that chokes off my impulse to play. I don't feel like I have an internal critic inside my head telling me what I do is bad. I mean, honestly some/most of it is, but that's not the point. I don't expect much, and there is always something to correct/improve/explore even if I was a good artist, which I'm not. But what I do expect is to enjoy myself. So ... I see that being overwhelmed with choices stops me cold. Which way do I want to go? Which pen/paint/paper/material? I can spend more time arranging my tools than using them.
So I'm tackling that block by veering right and left. What ever impulse strikes me with what I have on hand. Several years ago I made a "blob" book, inspired by Carla Sonheim and filled it with paint smears and collaged bits. I pick up the book. Doodle a bit. Set it down. Redoodle. Sometimes I get my paint out and fill it out. They are blobs. No judgement. Just play. That's the idea. I can just flip the page.
I don't have pictures of the befores. I mean, I do somewhere on some memory card. But hunting for in now would get in the way so...