The more I sketch, the more I find myself noticing the world around me. When anything and everything is a potential sketch subject, it changes the way I see it.
I notice the shape and colour of every flower. The pattern of light and shadow on a branch. The silvery-blue tint of eucalyptus leaves. The sounds of bird calls at different times of the day. The shape of an individual leaf, and how that differs from the shape of a cluster of leaves on a branch. I think about how I might represent the texture of bark on a page.
I’m constantly astounded by how much natural beauty is around me.
And actually, capturing the natural world requires more than noticing. It invites lingering. Enjoying.
It requires beholding.
I furiously sketch, trying to capture the scene in front of me before it changes again. But also furious, because I know this is a futile pursuit. I will never be able to capture the richness on this inadequate paper. In this mere ink and paint.
Yet I persist, trying to describe the texture of a tree trunk, the shade of purple of the flowers on the jacaranda trees.
Sketching means trying to solve a problem with no fixed solution. Trying to make a representation of the moment is the endless puzzle, the riddle to answer. I seek to capture not just the image itself, but the way I see it. The way I feel about it. How it filters through my own taste, skills, and experience.
Every time I behold the same tree from my balcony, it’s a different colour. The light falls differently. It says something new to me.
I get to draw it from the first time, all over again.
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