I typically paint from photographs I’ve taken, months or even years after the fact, holed away in some ever-shifting art nook in my home, thousands of miles away from those memories. It’s a nice way to reflect on an experience. But also, I’m just slow. I like to sit and paint for an hour or two at a time, take a break, come back another day, paint over what I’d previously done. And then back and forth, day by day, somehow, finally, arrive at a finished work.
But I occasionally try to draw or paint in real time, sitting somewhere and sketching what I see. These pictures are rarely my favorites because I haven’t had time to focus on the details, but it’s a good exercise in staying nimble. And in the years that I spent traveling around the world on my own, it was a satisfying way to keep myself company.
This is a sketch I did on a warm autumn night when I was living in Athens, taking an evening walk around the Parthenon. I remember sitting on a ledge with my sketchbook and a view, locals and tourists passing me by.
And another time at a café in Seville, snacking on baked cheese and honey, passing the time before going to see a raucous flamenco show.
During that same trip to Spain, I also visited Granada, which I simply loved. Its whitewashed houses in the hills reminded me of Greece, a place that feels like home for a certain part of my heart. I spent an evening overpaying for wine with a beautiful view of the Alhambra, charcoals and a small notebook at my side.
I’m not proud of the sketch I made that night (bad proportions, chalky shading), but I got to stay there drawing as the sun went down and the castle walls glowed pinky orange, and it felt like a magical time.
With young kids and a pandemic, globetrotting has been off the table for a few years, but the memories still light up from frames on the walls and project ideas for the future.