Just a month ago, I was finishing that Paris Sketchbook workshop. I’ll probably share more pages later from the sketchbook I almost filled there. For now, though, here are a few featuring that iconic French pastry, the croissant.
The double-spread above is from the morning in our atelier, natural light streaming in over the Paris rooftops, while we nibbled and sketched the croissants that Koosje had brought in for us, enough that the room filled with their buttery and enticing fragrance. . .
We worked our way through a series of exercises or approaches to sketching, ones that focused on observing, of connecting eye to hand while batting the brain, the inner critic, into silence. Process rather than product, yes, but then “product” fooled us by appearing on the page. And our pages relaxed into their purpose. . .
A few days later, I brought my sketchbook down to the breakfast room at the Grand Hotel Amelot, after several mornings admiring the graceful curves of the chairs . . . I would be happier with my rendering if I hadn’t made a technical mis-calculation about water and ink (see my text, below). . . but I’m pleased now at the way those smudged lines and curves vault me back to that rainy morning, the Paris sidewalk just through the window behind my own chair.
I added one of the stickers that came in the gift-bag sketch kit we were each given the first day. Decorating pages with them brought out a child-like sense of play, helped to break past the intimidation we sometimes feel at a new page.
And the haikus? Cynthia threw out this challenge that first day, shortly after we’d opened our gift bags: Write 35 (or was it 50?) bad haikus! The “wink wink, nudge, nudge” here, of course, is that in writing 35 or 50 or even 100 bad haikus, chances are good that we might end up writing a good one. Better chances, at least, than if we wrote none. And to aim at writing a bad haiku lowers the stakes, loosens the paralysed creativity — in the same way that aiming simply to fill a page with any sketch arrests judgement (at least momentarily) of the sketch’s value. Not just that, but changes the criteria of judgement. EDITED TO ADD * (see bottom of this post)
On the facing page, more too-much-water-meets-pen action, but also some collage, a mix of sketch and text (which I’m feeling increasingly content with as my sketchbook style). I may yet paint that placemat red, the croissant golden.
I remember feeling self-conscious sketching by myself at that table (so much easier when someone — Paul, for example — is across from me, blocking other diners’ view of my sketchbook with his back). But I do see that I’ve mostly managed to avoid the “hairy line” that has long signalled the tentative result of that self-consciousness.
As I wrote above, the workshop ended a month ago. I managed to fill more pages on the trains I took from Paris to Geneva to Milan to Turin and then Rome. One more from Paris when we flew there together from Rome to enjoy a day there together and turn a three-airport flight home into a much easier direct flight.
But since we got home two weeks ago, I’ve struggled to fill a small single page a day. I’ve kept my promise to myself to do that, but I realized last week that I’ve been filling that promise with the dregs of a day’s energy. Fair enough, given the jet lag, and the accumulated life-admin tasks that result from five weeks’ travel — laundry, dental appointment, flu shot — and a granddaughter/dog-sitting gig.
But last Thursday morning, as I started to put out the ingredients for the soup I planned to make, I remembered that I’d promised myself a morning of Art Play. And I knew that the Play deserved energy poured from a full bucket, rather than gleaned from the last drops, the dregs.
I started with the onion and used Koosje’s “blob technique,” painting loose shapes –– “blobs” –– of colour onto the page and then adding details with my fountain pen (and water-resistant ink!).
Turns out that left plenty of time and energy to make a nourishing soup . . .
and I had so much fun — more nourishment! — playing with composition and drawing and painting, adding text via stamping and hand-writing, even adding vegetable vocabulary in four languages 😉
Honestly, I love this page, and I love the way it reminds me how good it felt to make my art a priority. (I have a tough time saying “my art” without cringing, if I’m honest, but trying to honour it as such is one of the take-aways from that Paris week).
Now I just need to come up with a haiku to capture this. Here’s a first “bad haiku”:
Making chicken soup
First sketch the ingredients
Then let them simmer
Soup sketch, Frances Sprout, November 20, 2023
Your turn? Should you feel inspired, add your own haiku (responding to the contents of this post) in the comments below. Or add a non-haiku comment. Perhaps you have questions about that Paris sketchbook week that you’d like me to answer (I could do another post on this, perhaps). Or comments about your own struggles and successes honouring your creative impulses with the time and energy they deserve.
I’ll be waiting to hear from you,
xo,
f
*EDITED TO ADD:
Lest I be accused of appropriation and gross stretching of the notion of a haiku, I should point out that we were directed to observe the seasonal changes in Paris because some observation of those is integral to a true haiku. There’s a succinct and useful description of the form and of the related senryu, tanka, and lunes. in this article. I might try to argue that my chicken-soup-making is a seasonal activity, but the haiku is traditionally focused on observation of the natural world. . .
Still, we’re all waking up and nurturing our creativity in playing with the form here, and I did say I was aiming (for a start at least) at bad haiku. No doubt I’ve succeeded there. And I’m so enjoying all the creative responses filling the comments section below! Keep ’em coming!
Trying to take care
To not take seriously
But to enjoy art
Author
Love it — thank you!
Double page of joy
Heralds the taste of autumn
Heart, mind, soul – nourished
Author
and you managed to sneak in a mention of the season — clever!
Your art is sublime
So paint. But don’t forget to
Enjoy the croissant.
Author
Thank you — and I will not forget 😉
Lovely sketches
Cooking soup with roasted chicken
New concept to me
It is a white lie
But I have heard about it here
Many months ago
Dottoressa
Author
Two! Two haiku! Thank you! (what do you do with the carcass after finishing the roast chicken? Now I’m curious!)
I usually (don’t know the word for it,maybe fillet,like with fish) detach meat from the bones and cook the soup from raw bones and bake/ roast/ whatever the meat. When I roast whole chicken-and my family loves only breasts and drumsticks-,there is always someone who takes it for their animals (it is not recommended,but their choice)
We in Croatia usually cook soups from raw meat and bones,like when one makes the broth,and I didn’t know about yours (and Hostess’ ,I think, if I’m wrong,than sorry)recipe. I’ll try next time
It was my first haiku as well!
D.
Author
I also make soups from raw meat — most often chicken necks and backs which can be bought separately for that purpose. But whenever we roast a chicken or turkey, I make a soup from the carcass. Let me know if you do try it sometime.
My heart aches to be
Back in Paris; it’s raining
So what? It’s Paris!
Author
So true! Paris! Who cares about a little rain!
Your sketches inspire —
such ways to be creative
in life, on the page.
Author
Fun to share our creative efforts, isn’t it? Thanks for yours!
To tired to haiku tonight, but just wanted to say that, in my opinion at least, your soup making sketch is one of your best.
Author
Aw, thanks for making the effort when you’re so tired, Elaine. I was really pleased with this sketch as well!
Just prosaic veggies
Then the artist lifts her brush
And beauty appears
( my first ever Haiku )
Author
Wow, Wendy! For a first effort, this is very good (mind you, I might be a bit biased given the content 😉
Autumn in your garden might inspire more!
Markings on a page
the pot simmers
Life is art.
Author
Thanks, Darby! Fun, isn’t it?!
Maybe I will play with haiku writing later, but for now, I need to say that this post is a balm for my soul, ragged as it is with the state of the world these days, and it’s as comforting as an actual bowl of chicken soup. You keep inspiring me to do more travel journaling with art. I have been doing it in my bullet journal, but maybe need to get a separate blank book without the dot grid for these travel artworks. I am debating. . . I love the art integrated with the whole year of flotsam and jetsam. . .
Author
Linda, I’m so pleased, gratified, to read this. Yes, I think this is what I aim at, somehow integrating my years of flotsam and jetsam and then trying to make connections and build community in sharing some of what turns up on the pages.
When travelling, I used to always keep a Moleskine notebook for journalling (slim, light, easy) . . . and although it was lined, I would do little sketches on the pages above or below my handwritten notes. Then I moved to a separate sketchbook for the drawing and lined notebook for the written notes. Now I’m trying to find my way back to a single book for both — might have found a format I like now, but it’s partly about the quality of paper, the binding, the size and format. You might consider adding sketches right in your bullet journal at first and see how much that satisfies and/or how much it pushes you in a different direction (I have too many half-used watercolour sketchbooks which didn’t suit; you might want to avoid that expense!)
Long carrot awaits
A magical alchemy
Autumn comfort soup.
Phew, trying to obey the 5 syllables/7 syllables/5 syllables of the haiku form is not for the faint-hearted!
And that is a LONG carrot – must be from deep, sandy soil. Of interest to you as a patio gardener might be the variety that I grew for the first time this year – Chantenay Red Cored – a stump-rooted carrot that did tremendously well in somewhat stony soil. I imagine it would do well in pots on the patio.
Author
Brava! And thank you for the recommendation!
Capture life in sketch
The beauty of art honoured
Inner critic hushed
Patchy internet while travelling has made me late to the party but I really wanted to pop in and say that I just love your art! What a great concept to incorporate text…and the idea of telling the group to write a heap of bad haikus! That’s so freeing!
I’d be really interested to hear more about the Paris course. It seems to me that a lot of useful techniques were shared, playful exploration encouraged and so ultimately the art you create is yours (and not a copy).
Author
Isn’t it freeing? Aim at bad and maybe get better 😉
I’ll try to say a bit more about the course in a future post. I know they won’t be doing one next year, but perhaps in ’25. . . Cynthia’s website (she organized the workshop) is here — she’s currently organizing another sketching week, this time in Lisbon next spring, with instructor Koosje Koene.
Tatties in foreground
Rooting me in memories of home
Soups of connection
Good morning from Edinburgh Frances. I am late to this wonderful post, and am having my Saturday morning treat catching up on your writing ( also came here looking for some reading recommendations, as inspiration for Christmas gifts )
I love your sketching/journalling style and it is very recognisably ‘you, reflecting your many interests and skills, and it has a loose style that I find very inviting.
On your recommendation, I have been watching some of Koosje ‘s videos and sometimes just her Instagram posts – she is such a warm teacher and I have been playing a bit with the blob technique and sometimes making ink sketches when sitting watching TV ( of my feet – haha).
After my Inktober monthly drawing challenge, I have not stuck to a daily habit – sometimes best intentions etc – or perhaps says more about me needing the prompt of accountability.
This recent sketch of your soup ingredients reminds me a bit of Elisabeth Luard – whose writing and illustrations I think you would love. ( you may already be familiar with her ) She is a very interesting food writer ( and also a trained botanical illustrator ) but despite or maybe because of this background – her style is also very loose. She does understand the correct shape of fruits and vegetables yet her style is very open and painterly. It has given me permission to be equally messy and often technically wonky 🙂 She is a published food writer and I am now following her on Substack ( another source of v good but too much to keep up with content )
( link below )
https://open.substack.com/pub/elisabethluard/p/tuscan-minestrone?r=pi08e&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
Dont think I would win any Haiku contests – but the idea of writing lots of bad ones before you get a good one – resonates.
Have a wonderful weekend
Margaret