Urban Sketching Course – Part 1: Finding My Frame (and My Nerve)
This morning, I left the house at 8:30 AM sharp, which, let’s be honest, is not exactly my natural habitat as an artist. The course is held right in the heart of Rotterdam, at the Rotterdam Volksuniversiteit, a whole hour’s drive from my cozy home in Zeeland. Luckily, my husband was kind enough to drive me there — we turned it into a little day trip.
We arrived way too early, but better that than fashionably late and stressed out. The building was easy to find, parking was a breeze (Rotterdam, you win this round), and once inside, I spotted our instructor — already present and looking very kind and approachable. Promising!
As people slowly trickled in, casual chatter began, and when it came up that I had driven all the way from Zeeland, the reactions were a mix of astonishment and confusion. Apparently, crossing provincial borders for a course is a minor miracle in some circles. But hey — we Zeeland folks are used to driving far for anything remotely cultural. We’re practically nomads with sketchbooks.
Class started right on time at 10:00, even though not everyone had arrived yet — which I found mildly shocking. I mean, who’s late to an art class you paid for?
Our first session focused on composition: the golden ratio and “coulissenlandschap” (a Dutch word for layered landscapes — kind of like stage sets). Thankfully, I’d heard of these before, so I wasn’t totally in the dark. Then came the tools of the day: tiny little passe-partouts in various shapes — square, rectangular, and panoramic. The idea was to look through these frames to find your composition, then sketch what you see. Sounds fun, right?
One problem: we were sketching indoors due to the weather, and the building’s narrow hallways weren’t exactly brimming with inspiration. And that tiny frame? It felt like trying to compose a masterpiece through a keyhole.
Back to the instructor I went. She kindly explained: "Hold the frame close to one eye — just like you’re taking a photo — and look through it with one eye closed."
Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Probably because I was too busy panicking. But that’s why I’m here — to learn.
Time to get to work. But oh boy, was it harder than I thought. I always assumed I could draw reasonably well, but trying to compose something meaningful within that tiny frame felt nearly impossible. Eventually, I managed to get something on paper, though I’m not sure what exactly. I’ll finish it at home and bring it in next week for feedback.
And honestly? I’m a little nervous about that part. There’s this weird pressure that comes with being “an artist already” — like I should somehow be better than I feel right now. But I suppose that’s part of the journey too. Vulnerability, learning, letting go of ego... and yes, awkwardly squinting through cardboard windows.
To be continued.
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