I used the charcoal with both a soft hand and a hard hand. With my soft hand, the lines came out lighter, almost like shadows. They smudged easily when I touched them, like they wanted to spread and blur. But with my hard hand, the lines were dark, deep, and almost permanent. They didn’t smudge, they stayed strong, like they couldn’t be undone. It felt like two sides of the same material — fragile and fleeting on one hand, but heavy and irreversible on the other.

I wondered

I wondered how the same piece of charcoal could hold both softness and hardness at once. How can one material be so opposite depending on how I move with it?

I thought

I thought about what I read in Encounters with Materials — how materials are not passive, but they “speak back” to us. The charcoal was speaking to me in different voices: a whisper when I was gentle, and a bold shout when I pressed harder. It reminded me of the idea of encounter — that materials shape us just as we shape them (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt curious and surprised, like I was being shown two personalities of charcoal. The soft marks made me feel calm, like shadows fading in and out. The hard lines felt powerful, almost stubborn, like they carried weight and memory that couldn’t be erased.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

I used a big piece of charcoal that looked like tree bark. Every angle made a new texture, rough and layered like nature telling its own story. When I moved it fast, it made sharp scratching sounds, restless and high-pitched. But when I slowed down, the sound turned deep, like a bass note, calm and grounding. It reminded me of the shanka (divine conch) in Hindu culture, carrying a sense of peace.

I wondered

I wondered how sound and texture could change so much with just a shift in speed or angle. Was it me shaping the charcoal, or was the charcoal guiding me?

I thought

I thought about the book’s idea of materials as active participants. The bark-like layers created their own designs and sounds, showing me that charcoal doesn’t just make marks — it also carries memory, sound, and story (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt surprised and connected, like I wasn’t just drawing but listening too. The fast strokes felt urgent, like music racing, while the slow ones felt sacred and grounding.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

I used my hand and a brush to smudge the whole page. The dark lines softened until everything blended into one gray surface. It felt like the page was covered with a new layer, like memories of the past were still there underneath but now hidden in a haze. As I kept rubbing, the charcoal spread wider, turning into a kind of shadow play — hiding parts of the page, yet at the same time revealing their presence in softer forms.

I wondered

I wondered if smudging was erasing or if it was adding something more. Was I covering up the old marks, or letting them stay alive in the shadows?

I thought

I thought about how the book says materials leave traces that never fully disappear. The smudges and shadows showed me that even when something looks gone, it still lingers, shaping what comes next (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt peaceful, almost quiet inside, as if the charcoal was telling me to slow down. The gray shadows felt like a soft pause, holding both the past and the possibility for something new.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

I placed the charcoal in the centre and moved it in circles, like using a compass. Slowly the lines widened until it looked like an eye staring back at me. It felt alive, almost as if the material was watching me and guiding me into its own story.

I wondered

I wondered if I was drawing the eye, or if the charcoal was creating it for me. Was I looking at it, or was it looking at me?

I thought

I thought about the book’s idea of encounter. This wasn’t just me making marks — it was a meeting. The charcoal and I were shaping each other, sharing control of what appeared on the page (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt curious and a little unsettled, but also connected. It was like the charcoal had a presence, opening a dialogue with me, asking me to notice more closely.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

I picked up a piece of charcoal with bumps and uneven layers, like burned tree bark. When I pressed it in a spiral, it made two lines twisting together, like DNA looping across the page. As I moved it, broken pieces under the paper rubbed against the surface, leaving dark, unexpected marks, like meteors streaking across the sky. It felt as if the charcoal was remembering the space for me, leaving traces of its journey.

I wondered

I wondered how the charcoal could create forms I never planned. Were these marks mine, or were they the charcoal’s way of telling its own story?

I thought

I thought of the idea of trace from the reading — how materials carry their histories and leave memories behind. The spiral and meteor shapes reminded me that the material has its own way of recording time and movement (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt amazed and surprised, like the page itself was alive. The DNA-like loops felt full of growth, and the meteor marks gave me a sense of energy and wonder.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

I covered the page with charcoal and then used an eraser with a soft hand. As I rubbed, lighter marks appeared, revealing what was underneath, but never fully. Even when I tried to clear a space, traces of the charcoal still remained, like shadows that couldn’t be erased.

I wondered

I wondered if anything is ever truly erased, or if every mark always leaves part of itself behind.

I thought

I thought about the book’s idea that materials carry memory. The eraser didn’t take away the charcoal completely, it only shifted it, showing that history always stays with us in some form (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt thoughtful and calm, like I was uncovering hidden layers of a story. The faint traces felt delicate and alive, reminding me of memories that never really fade.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

I crushed the charcoal into small pieces and blew gently across the page. The dust scattered and landed in soft patterns, moving like tiny particles of air. It felt fragile and alive, as if my own breath had become part of the drawing.

I wondered

I wondered how much of the artwork was mine and how much belonged to the charcoal and the air. Was I creating, or was I just joining what was already happening?

I thought

I thought about the book’s idea of intra-action — how humans and materials shape each other. My breath and the charcoal came together, making marks that I couldn’t control (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt light and connected, like I was sharing something with the material. The soft sound of the dust moving made me feel calm, almost as if the page was quietly listening.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

I took two pieces of charcoal and struck them against each other. The hard stick broke apart, and suddenly it was no longer solid but crushed into fine powder. The same material that first felt strong and unbreakable became fragile and scattered. Spreading this powder on the page created new textures, soft and unpredictable, as if the charcoal had transformed into another form of itself.

I wondered

I wondered how something so solid could change so quickly into something delicate. How can the same material hold both strength and weakness at once?

I thought

I thought of how the book talks about materials as always moving and transforming. The breaking reminded me that materials are not fixed — they carry many lives, and each life opens different ways of expression (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016).

I felt

I felt surprised but also curious, like I had discovered a hidden side of charcoal. Watching it break and scatter made me see beauty in its fragility, and I felt connected to its constant change.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

Materials are not just tools; they shape us as we shape them, and this meeting is called an encounter. I felt this with charcoal — sometimes it listened to me, sometimes it resisted (Pacini-Ketchabaw et al., 2016). It smudged, it broke, it surprised me. Through 8 different explorations, I discovered new ways this material lives, moves, and speaks back.

In my opening picture I included the charcoal itself, some artistic charcoal, and the things I used with it — a brush, tree bark, paper for smudging, and leaves. These were all part of my play and my explorations.

This was not about making an artwork. It was about noticing and feeling with the material. Every line, smudge, and shadow became like a small conversation between me and the charcoal.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.

Reference:

Pacini-Ketchabaw, V., Kind, S., & Kocher, L. L. M. (2016). Encounters with materials in early childhood education. Taylor & Francis Group.