Author Archives: Chandler O'Leary

Mountain mornings

I love coming back to a place I’ve already sketched, and giving it another go—I always end up with completely different results. These two drawings, for example, were done from precisely the same spot, almost exactly two years apart.

Even though I’d been there before, and already spent a good amount of time studying the scene last time, I never seem to get bored on the return visit. Between changing weather, a different sketchbook, and whatever frame of mind I might be in that day, it always feels like I’m seeing the place with new eyes.

Dinner with Shiro

Note: I think this might be a first on this blog—showing you a drawing I did only in (gasp!) pencil. But the night I did this sketch, I only had a regular notebook with me, and I needed to work fast—there wasn’t time to dig around in my bag for a pen, so I reached for the stubby sushi-menu pencil. Hey, whatever works, right?

I did this sketch more than a year before I moved to the Northwest. I was in town for a vacation, and a friend took me for omakase (a chef’s choice meal) at Seattle’s famous sushi restaurant, Shiro’s. Shiro Kashiba emigrated from Japan in the middle of the 20th century, and spent decades honing his craft in Seattle as a chef. When he opened Shiro’s in 1994, he was a pioneer: long before the sustainable food movement swept the country, he built his business around specializing in local, responsibly-harvested fish. The notion made him famous, and made his restaurant a Seattle icon.

I had been told Shiro rarely came in anymore, but I was just excited to be there, and to have local Northwest fish prepared in a hyper-traditional Japanese method. But I got lucky on that first visit: the man himself prepared and served our meal. That night was so special: my first visit to Seattle, a lovely evening with a friend, and an unforgettable meal made by a master chef—who was in point-blank sketching range. It was my version of a scrapbook moment.

Now that I live here, I still pop into Shiro’s on occasion—usually when a guest is visiting from out of town. I’ve been lucky a few more times since that first night, and have caught a glimpse of Shiro on several occasions (though never in the same way as I did eight years ago). One time I even took a moment to do a follow-up sketch while he was working behind the counter. It was as fun to observe the folks at the sushi bar as it was to watch the chef—I imagined they felt like I did on my first visit.

After 20 years, Shiro “retired” from his namesake in 2014, but rumor has it he’ll be back this summer with a new eatery in the Pike Place Market. I think it’s a safe bet I’ll be there—chopsticks in one hand, sketchbook in another.

Steeple chase

You probably know by now that when I draw in my sketchbook, I’m usually looking to fill a whole page spread with a finished scene. Sometimes, though, that’s just not possible. On the day I made this sketch, I was riding in the back seat of a rideshare van, craning my neck to catch any details I could of the landscape. The other passengers must have thought I was nuts as I jotted down any interesting snippet we passed—but at least I can remember something (if not much) of that afternoon.

Lurking in doorways

You already know that I have a thing for doors, but I also love sketching through doorways. It’s one thing to compose a scene within the rectangle of a page spread—but it feels like an extra challenge to use the doorway itself to frame a scene within a scene. I find myself doing this sort of thing all the time (scroll down to the second sketch at that link), to the point where I’m always peering through things to see if I can line up an interesting sketch. So if you ever want to come across me sketching somewhere, a good place to start would be to check the nearest doorway.

Under the archway

Unlike Monday’s mystery door, this is a door through which I pass so often, it’s become routine. I know this place so well that I took it for granted, barely noticing the beautiful detailing around the entryway.

Well, a sketchbook is a good cure for that—there’s no better way to appreciate something than to spend an hour peering closely at it.

On the threshold

Whenever I travel, I know I’m only seeing a small fraction of wherever I am—usually streets and exteriors. I’m always wondering what lies on the inside of the buildings I pass, and when I’m lucky enough to happen upon an open courtyard, I feel like I’m getting a glimpse of a city’s hidden, inner life. So naturally I’m attracted to doorways and porticoes (seriously, I could dedicate a whole website just to sketches of doors)—even if they remain closed to me. Each time I draw a door, it’s like my hands are asking the question: what’s on the other side?

Sometimes I’m frustrated by my lack of an answer, by the reminder that I’ll never have enough time or access to see everything I want to see. Sometimes, though—like on this day—just admiring the door itself was enough.

Edible elements

When I’m on the hunt for tasty sketch compositions, I tend to be attracted to repeating elements. Usually this happens with architectural details like identical rowhouses or gothic archways. Sometimes, though, it comes in the form of breakfast—with humble slices of bacon arranged in a pretty patterned row.

Hope your weekend is full of quiet, sketch-worthy moments!

Four-legged harbormaster

When I sat on the pier to do this sketch, I only meant to draw the boats—I’m a sucker for bunches of masts and linear elements like tielines. To make sure I could fit the whole mast in the picture plane, I started at the top and worked my way down. It wasn’t until I got to the mass of windows and decks that I noticed the corgi sitting quietly and staring back at me!

This is the perfect example of why I prefer to sketch my surroundings, rather than photograph them. If all I had done was snap a photo of the scene, I never would have noticed that pup in a million years. Instead, I got to have a private little thrill of discovery, like I had just found out a small secret.

Bungalow blues

I was up and working in the studio well before the sun this morning, since I have a big deadline looming—so today doesn’t much resemble the day I did this sketch at my friends’ beach bungalow. But I tell you what, right now there’s nothing I’d like better than to put on some PJs, put my feet up, and just gaze out to sea.

Gallery of wonders

Of course, there’s the kind of “museum” founded by snake-oil salesmen…and then there’s the real thing. If you really want to get a taste of Northwest art and anthropology, there’s no better place to start than the Royal British Columbia Museum in Victoria.

The museum is huge, with natural history dioramas, city artifacts, an IMAX theater, the works—but I always head straight for the First Peoples Gallery and spend hours and hours there.

Like most museums, the RBCM doesn’t allow you to bust out a paintbox in the gallery, so when I’m there, I stick to my museum routine: do the line drawing on-site, make a few pale pencil notes about color details, and fill in with a bit of watercolor later.

I’m sure my sketches aren’t entirely faithful to their subjects, since I have to simplify and fill in details from memory later… but it’s still the best way I know how to get in a good art history lesson.

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