I remember sitting on a sun-drenched cobblestone street in Florence, my sketchbook open, trying to capture the exact way the terracotta rooftops bled into a bruised violet twilight. I realized…
I remember sitting in a sun-drenched studio in Florence, surrounded by half-finished sketches and the rhythmic, brassy swell of a Miles Davis record, feeling completely paralyzed by a single swatch…
I was sitting in a sun-drenched cafe in Montmartre last spring, trying to sketch a new palette of ochre and dusty rose, when I realized my charcoal pencil had been…