Practising Travel Sketching: Capturing My Japan Memories with Minimal Tools

Earlier this year, I was scrolling through Instagram, but through my art account rather than my personal one, so you can imagine my feed was saturated with small art and design businesses, work-in-progress images of artwork, and craft hacks. Anyhow, I'm starting to ramble! I was skimming through Instagram and bumped into a free travel sketching masterclass. The words free, travel and sketching beamed. During this time, I had recently returned from my trip to Japan (yes, I'm one of many who travelled to Japan this year), and the idea of documenting journeys and memories was extremely compelling. With all the immediate excitement, I rattled through the sign-up form.

The excitement watered down by the time the day of the online class came around, and laziness seemed to take over. Just before the scheduled online class, I was working on a portrait drawing using coloured pencils - so, to put it simply, I was in my comfort zone, and the thought of leaving this safe space to try something new seemed a little tiring. Anyhow, I forced myself to gather my sketchbook, a graphite pencil, a basic black ballpoint pen, and an old set of watercolours.

With my materials at hand, I searched through my inbox to find the email that I once glanced over - knowing too well that it was buried somewhere between the multiple art and craft newsletters I had signed up to.

I eventually found the email and noticed a link to the online session and a reference photo, which I'd assume we'd use to practice sketching during the session. As I clicked the link for the photo, the image overtook my laptop screen. I immediately thought, "Oh, I don't usually draw boats; I'm more of a portrait artist", which now seems absurd, given that I was here to try something different already. Having gathered the materials and arranged my space for this session, I wasn't prepared to abandon the online class altogether.

Once I joined the online session and saw an influx of people joining from all over the world, I realised how many people were interested in creating, whether they were beginners, intermediates, or advanced. Knowing that there's a host of people with a similar interest to mine was oddly comforting.

The session began with an introduction from the artist, Anastasiia Morozova, and a brief introduction to the origins of sketching - a helpful reminder that early drawings weren't just decorative but were means of communication and documentation. I dotted down notes in my sketchbook, intending to jog my memory of the lessons from this session later.

We began the practical part of the session by drawing a simple oval. This would act as a frame for where the illustration would be - similar to how I'd start drawing a portrait. As instructed, I added a horizontal line within the oval to create a sense of scale between the boat's size and the water's depth below it. Together - the hundreds of online artists and I - we started adding key elements of the boat. As I watched the lines come together, I had a moment of "Oh, I can draw a boat". As advised, I then removed any excess from the sketch to stop the pencil lines from merging with the watercolours I was about to apply.

We swiftly began adding layers of blue to illustrate the sky, and eventually, the boat itself, and darker layers of blue to show the depth of the water balancing the boat's weight. Watching it all come together, layer by layer, I started feeling more and more surprised by the outcome. Of course, there are things I'd do differently next time - such as using lighter layers of blue to detail the water rather than beginning with a dark blue - but all in all, it was an experience that left me feeling like a proud child marvelling at something I once thought I could not create. Somehow, the handwritten notes I dotted at the beginning made the outcome more special - it captured my journey of the session. I knew this experience was one to recreate... or at least attempt to.

It was only a couple of weeks later, when I had to go through photos from my Japan trip to clear storage on my phone, that an idea occurred to me. Knowing full well that I would quickly get bored of flicking through hundreds of photos (some of which I knew were almost identical to the one before), I decided to sketch my trip simultaneously and had the urge to create a piece that was not bogged down in the details. Remembering the travel sketching class from a few weeks ago, I ran up the stairs to gather a sheet of paper, a pencil, a black fineliner and the same old watercolour set.

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With my AirPods tucked in my ears, I swiped through the photos on my phone and started sketching elements I would not usually paint - this being plenty of food and drinks.

The page that once looked lonely with one or two lines had accumulated into a series of lines. I steadily began to add colour to the page and carefully outlined each item with a black fineliner. I delicately added notes around the sketch - thinking before I write to avoid the odd spelling mistake.

I glanced at the page in front of me, feeling pleased with the colourful items spread across it - each one reminding me of a different experience. I knew that it wasn't the outcome alone that brought me joy, but rather the process of going through photos, creating with little materials, and adding notes. It left me feeling incredibly content.

Perhaps I should do this after all my trips? Would you?