While unpacking after moving between houses recently, I stumbled upon one of my first sketchbooks with plein air sketches. A pack of memories came back to me, together with the rediscovery of my roots of why I write and draw.
As I flipped through the pages, I remembered the feelings I had while sketching—excitement mingled with apprehension. Each page turned was a new adventure, a testament to my growth as an artist. The essence of those sketches spoke volumes about my journey, reflecting not just the places I visited but also the thoughts and inspirations that filled my mind at the time.
During this period, I found myself exploring various techniques, from the quick sketches capturing fleeting moments to more detailed renderings that pushed my skills to the limits. The experience of traveling, with the world around me constantly changing, added a dynamic layer to my work. I vividly recall the vibrant colors of the sunset illuminating the pyramids, a sight that made its way onto my pages in bursts of ink and passion.
I must have been around 19 years old at the time. Of course, I sketched a lot at the academy, but undertaking a real voyage and preparing it by choosing materials, a notebook, etc. was the first time. The archaeological sites of Tula and Teotihuacan were magnificent. The sun burning. More than 40 years later I can still see myself sitting on top of the moon (the pyramid that is!), sweating and scratching away with a dip pen.
This minimalistic approach allowed me to focus on the essence of my subjects. I learned the importance of each stroke, realizing that each line carried weight and meaning. The simplicity of my tools forced me to engage deeply with my surroundings, observing the interplay of light and shadow, the textures of the landscape, and the subtle nuances of human interactions. This immersion in my craft is something I strive to recapture today.
Reflecting on how technology has transformed the creative landscape, I find myself torn. While the advancements have made art more accessible, they also detracted from the raw experience of creation. Back then, it was about the moment, the feeling, the authenticity of the sketch, unencumbered by digital distractions. I still remember the tactile sensation of paper under my fingers and the satisfying sound of ink flowing from my pen.
Pen, ink, paper
With every sketch I completed, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. There was a certain melancholia in recognizing how my practice evolved away from spontaneous creativity towards a more structured, technology-driven process. Yet, in this reflective space, I found inspiration once more, as I revisited my passion for drawing and the stories those sketches tell.
And while reflecting on the kind of drawings these are, and what materials were used in those days, I came to think about why I wandered off this minimalistic path that I loved so much. One of the reasons why I ventured into publishing later on in my life was because of the admiration I had for editorial illustrations. Large typography with just a single black or red-coloured drawing. My ambition was to do the same with as few instruments as possible: a pen, ink, paper, and the place where I was. Something went wrong. That’s what I see now in those sketches.
As I contemplate the future of my artistic journey, I remain excited about the intersection of traditional techniques and modern storytelling. The resurgence of interest in analog methods among contemporary artists serves as a reminder of the enduring power of simplicity. I aim to blend my love for the plein air sketch with digital platforms, sharing my experiences and insights in ways that resonate with a broader audience.
As I look ahead, I’m eager to explore new landscapes and create new plein air sketches that reflect my evolving journey as an artist. Each drawing will tell a story—a story of place, of time, and of the emotional connections forged along the way.
Ultimately, it is not just about producing art but about cultivating a practice that enriches our lives and connects us with the world around us. There’s magic in the act of creation, especially when it is done outdoors, where nature becomes your canvas and inspiration flows freely.
With each stroke of the pen, the plein air sketch serves as a bridge between the past and present, allowing us to capture fleeting moments and emotions that can be revisited time and time again.
Through this ongoing journey, I aspire to inspire others to engage with their surroundings and find beauty in simplicity. My hope is that, like my early experiences, they too will discover the profound connections that can be formed through the act of sketching outdoors. The essence of a plein air sketch is not just in the representation of a scene but in the emotional resonance it holds for both the artist and the viewer.
Distracting technology
There was no thinking of taking a picture and where to share it. No uploads to networks through quirky hotel Wi-Fi with a strategically chosen hashtag. No worrying about when to post and in which language. In different optimized formats as bite-ready chunks of content for the hungry social media platforms. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of everything new and am amazed by what apps can do these days. I even made a living out of it for the past 25 years!
It’s just when it comes down to a good story, visual, written, or both, I believe there’s not much need for FX. Parallax? Scroll effects? Is it necessary? Only good to beef up the lousy stories? Come to think of it, the success of Medium as a platform may well be the best illustration of this.
As I reflect on my early drawings at the archaeological site of Teotihuacan, I realize those sketches were not just practice; they were a dialogue with history. The pyramids of the moon and sun stood tall against the backdrop of my youthful curiosity, inspiring a connection with the past that I continue to explore in my work today. The walk of death, a solemn path, taught me about the narratives we inherit and the stories we choose to tell through our art.
Melancholia
Good typography, together with layout and illustrations, should be invisible in the sense that it feels like a whole to the reader. It shouldn’t be about which technology was used to make it visually appealing. The power is in the chosen words, in the squiggling of the line, and the soul is the combination of all these elements.
I might clean up my phone by removing some apps soon. Then, I’ll use my fountain pen to write about the incredible thing that happened after I showed these sketches to a Mexican. …
Early drawings at the archaeological site of Teotihuacan. Pyramids of the moon and sun, the walk of death and a few impressions of a restaurant nearby.
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