(Click on the above image to view it in all its exquisite detail.)
I've always been an habitual doodler. I enjoy the mild form of psychic automatism it allows one to access in the course of everyday life. One doodles without thinking, planning or intending anything. You set your pen to wandering and see what emerges. It's a useful palliative to dull meetings, long waits on phone-ladders, and other obligatory forms of potential boredom.
Most of my doodles end up being faces, figures, vaguely biomorphic shapes, or queer blob-like architectural constructs. Sometimes they resemble elaborate ornamentation--William Morris on acid--expressed in lines of sloppy chicken-scratch. When note-taking, my bullet points nearly always have hairy, tentacular extrusions radiating from them. I have no idea why this should be.
There's probably some psychological insight to be gleaned from the study of such unintentional artworks, but I don't know what that might be. In my own case, I don't think I want to know.