The most important part of keeping a sketchbook isn’t learning to draw. It’s simply showing up to the world with an open mind and curious eyes. The drawing comes later—especially if you’re still a little shy about sketching what you see in public.
In fact, don’t carry a sketchbook with the intention of drawing in it at all. Just having it with you, wherever you go, is enough to begin changing how you see the world.
Knowing that your sketchbook is always tucked in your pocket or bag unconsciously directs your attention to things drifting into your field of vision. Simply breathe and enjoy the view.
Before long, you begin to notice the rhythmic angles of pier pilings. You imagine how pencil strokes swiftly capture the movement of an ocean wave breaking toward shore. Whether you ever open your sketchbook becomes secondary as you draw with your senses instead of a pencil.
A downtown alley becomes a secluded oasis of fascinating textures and objects. A dilapidated building receding into the distance quietly becomes a lesson in perspective. Wandering to the other end of the alley, the rusted body and rotted wheels of an old forklift grab your attention.
Indoors, while waiting in the dentist chair, just inches away, the intricacies of various dental tools captivate you. You sense a twinge of desire to reach for the sketchbook. But then the hygienist walks in and says, “Hello.” You’re jolted from your deep mind sketching session.
Your eyes wander nervously yet curiously while sitting in a park, observing trees, flowers, birds, and…people. (Uh-oh…better hide the sketchbook.)
Fingers grasp the sketchbook in your pocket. Your eyes travel over surfaces, textures, and contour edges, scanning figures in movement and repose. As you study the woman sleeping on a bench, there’s a sudden revelation: you’re beginning to understand how the proportions of her body are foreshortened.
Strolling home, sketchbook confidently in hand, your perception of the world shifts and your fear of drawing in public begins to subside. Possibly next time?
You’re feeling brave, maybe even ready for a public display of sketching. What better location than a favorite restaurant to give it a go?
Nonchalantly, you place your sketchbook on the table, alongside a narrow-nib Micron pen. Apprehensively flipping page corners of the closed sketchbook, you notice how each person returns to a specific body position while eating and conversing, holding the pose just long enough for you to start sketching.
Then, without warning, the person you’re observing turns out of the pose and catches you staring at them. Awkward! Quickly glancing down at your sandwich, you ponder strategies for being more discreet when you do finally decide to sketch people in public.
It’s rare to come upon a scene that completely rocks your senses.
What do you see? Crisscrossing splinters reveal the twisting and cracking movement of distress. The fresh scent of redwood directs your gaze into the crimson-black, fractured heart of a traumatized tree.
You’re alone on the trail—a perfect opportunity to start sketching! But the complexity of what you see is just too overwhelming to draw.
Walking back to the car, you begin to imagine all that shattered complexity as an amazingly simple abstract design. Trees suddenly become a promising subject to draw.
The habit of carrying a sketchbook with you, even if its pages are mostly empty, opens your eyes to the fascinating structure of people, places, and things. And you don’t even have to draw a single line.
Deep observation and active attention slow your perception and trigger creative engagement with the patterns of the world around you. Eventually, you won’t be able to resist placing the very first lines on a blank page.
Those tentative first lines become the abstract framework for understanding the atmospheric perspective of a rural trail. Emphasizing darker lines for plants in the foreground and lighter lines for background cliffs creates your first illusion of depth.
Whether I’m sketching a narrow cobblestone street in Italy or sitting on a bench in Pacific Grove, the practice is the same. A sketchbook doesn’t change where I am. It changes how I am there.
The path toward learning to draw is rarely a straight one. It winds sideways. You get lost. You stop. You start again. But simply carrying a sketchbook closes the distance between wanting to draw and actually drawing.
Eventually, reaching for the sketchbook instead of the phone becomes a habit. Wherever the path leads you, there you are—with your sketchbook.
All drawings were done on location without camera reference.
Italy: You’re Ready for Urban Sketch Mode
