Redrawing my first urban sketch

And getting a bit nostalgic

I have a spiral-bound time machine. It’s the second sketchbook I ever filled.

Get on board.

It’s the spiral bound one near the middle.

It’s 2014

It’s the first time I've gone out specifically to draw a building. I hadn’t yet heard of urban sketchers, but this was my first time urban sketching.

I’m nervous. Worried about what the world might think of me. I haven’t been drawing very long. I’ve come a long way from my very first drawings, but still, I’m acutely aware of my inadequacies.

I wander around the city, unsure of where to go. I don’t want to be seen or questioned. I find a place by a busy road without much foot traffic and sit down at a bus stop.

The building across the road doesn’t look like much, but it was an Important Place for me once; my friend Monique’s old flat. Well, the top floor is anyway. Underneath was a restaurant space that has never had a proper tenant.

I get out my book and a pen and start drawing. My lines are timid, nervous and unsure. I make an early mistake and the building is too wide, leaving a phantom line down one side of the page. But I persist. It wasn’t easy. Still, I did it. I got out there and drew. And I’m so grateful that I did.

Nostalgia

Looking back at this drawing is nostalgic for my university days. They were already history when I first drew the building; now it feels like it was a different lifetime.

Back then, Monique was the friend who lived closest to the middle of town—everyone else was in a suburb. I spent plenty of time there in 2008 and 2009, playing cards, drinking wine and eating chips.

Access was a set of steep stairs behind the door on the left, and there was no buzzer. Standard practice was to send a text, and Monique would throw the key out the window of her bedroom directly above the door. The visitor would unlock the front door, scramble up the stairs and return the keys.

The group of friends that hung out there as naive 20-something students are now all parents of young kids. And we’re scattered across the globe: San Francisco, Sydney, Zurich, and little old me still in Wellington. We’re all still in touch, but a group reunion only seems to happen at weddings.

I didn’t know it at the time, but those random Tuesday evenings of cheap red wine and card games were an important part of my life. And this is also the place where I first drew on location.

I didn’t know it at the time, but that drawing was the beginning of something big. Big enough that it might even be life-defining. Drawing on location—urban sketching—is part of my identity.

Enough of my life story, let’s talk about the drawing

When I look back at any drawing, I ask myself what I like, what I don’t like, and what was fun about making it. I can use that information to move in the right direction next time.

What I like the most about this drawing is that I did it. I got out there and made a drawing. I was nervous and worried about what people would think of me when I was drawing in public, but it turned out that no one cared. Drawing on location is my favourite thing to do. And this was the first time I did it.

There’s nothing wrong with the drawing, but it’s pretty flat and soulless. I didn’t know much about the power of line quality or shadows in creating depth at the time. And the big gap across the bottom of the page looks a bit empty and purposeless. I can tell I wasn’t thinking about the page layout.

I had this blue roller pen back then and was really into crosshatching. There’s something relaxing about the repetitive concentration. I know I enjoyed that part, but I don’t enjoy the result—it looks forced, and I suppose it was.

The redraw

I want to revisit this and see how much my approach has changed. I bike across town to that same bus stop, but the seats are filled with people waiting. I stand up at the end, get out my book and dive right in. I don’t care that there’s an “audience” right there and none of them notice me anyway.

I start in the bottom left corner, near the doorway. I realise just how much detail there is around here. Messy wiring, saggy conduit, lights and gas meters all attached to the outside of a building. No wonder I was intimidated back in 2014.

The feeling of drawing is totally different now. I feel at ease. Unbothered. A stark contrast to my somewhat terrified babysketcher memories. I spent much of the time hoping no one would talk to me(they didn’t).

As that thought leaves my mind, I hear an American accent

“Can I see what you’re sketchin’?”

A bushy moustache attached to a 20something man is talking to me.

I show the moustache my book so far.

“Wicked!” it says.

I don’t know why I was so worried about strangers. Most people don’t care. And the ones that do are kind.

I keep working from the bottom up, window by window, stacking everything together. I think about how each small piece of the drawing is nothing much on its own. That’s how I learned too. Every drawing makes a tiny difference. It helps build the tunnel.

A young woman emerges from the door. She looks like she could be a student. I stop and realise that this isn’t just an Important Place for past me. Perhaps this is a hub for a new group. The idea is kind of weird to me, because in my mind, this place is so closely tied to my friends. I watch her walk away and forget to draw her.

Eventually, time disappears and the rest of the world is nothing. I’m so engrossed in the drawing that I have no other thoughts. I’m travelling at full speed through my tunnel. The picture comes together quickly.

CLUNK

A bus bumps over a loose manhole cover. I’m startled enough that my pen jumps and botches a line.

There was a time when that would have really bothered me, but I’m not that concerned now. To me, the process is just as important as the outcome. I pull myself together and mark it with an asterisk, adding a footnote to explain what happened. Every drawing is a story.

Back home, I add some text and colour. The picture is finished. But I’m still drawing. Sketchbooks are a perpetual project. They put me in the moment and let me get back to old moments.

It wasn’t easy to start keeping a sketchbook, or to draw in public for the first time. I’m so grateful to my past self for plucking up the courage and keeping going.

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A bit of a different post this week, so thanks for reading to the end. This idea has been sitting in my drafts for ages, and I’m really happy to get it out into the world. I’d love to know what you think, so please leave me a comment. It means a lot.

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