I traded my camera for a sketchbook in Florence, and it changed everything. For years, I'd been photographing my travels — hundreds of quick shots, barely pausing to truly look. But drawing forces you to slow down, to observe every detail, to spend time with what you're seeing.
My first sketch took two hours. It was the Duomo's facade, and I sat on the same bench, studying the marble patterns, the way light played across the surface at different times of day. Tourists rushed past, cameras clicking. I sat still, pencil moving slowly across paper.
In those two hours, I noticed things no photograph could capture: the pigeon that always perched on the same statue, the couple who met at the same spot every day, the way the shadows shifted across the square. I wasn't just documenting a building; I was experiencing it, living with it, understanding it.
By the time I left Italy, I had a sketchbook full of memories — each one representing hours of observation, connection, and presence. I may have fewer "photos" of my trip, but I experienced it more deeply than any journey before.
