Date: October 15th
Location: Florence, Italy
Morning (9:00 AM – Caffè Scudieri):
Woke to the smell of espresso drifting through my open window. Florence doesn’t whisper; it greets you with church bells and Vespas buzzing like eager bees. At Scudieri, I sipped a cappuccino beside the Duomo’s marble grandeur. Sunlight hit Giotto’s Campanile, turning it honey-gold—too perfect not to sketch. I pulled out my Moleskine, roughing the bell tower’s silhouette against a wash of cerulean blue watercolor. A nonna at the next table peeked over, nodding at my page. “Bello,” she smiled. “Sei un artista?” I shook my head. Just a traveler stealing moments, one stroke at a time.
Late Morning (11:30 AM – Ponte Vecchio):
Crossed the Arno, where the Ponte Vecchio’s jewelry shops glittered like a dragon’s hoard. Found a spot on the riverside embankment, away from the crowds. Sketching here is a dance: capture the bridge’s arches quick, before the light shifts. Used charcoal for shadows under the arches, ink for the tiny windows where goldsmiths bent over their work. A gondolier drifted past, calling, “Il ponte è vivo—draw its soul!” I laughed, adding his boat as a tiny flourish in the corner.
Lunch (1:30 PM – Mercato Centrale):
Famished. Wandered into the Mercato’s chaotic symphony—sizzling tartufo pasta, barrels of olives, butchers waving prosciutto like flags. Ordered a panino con lampredotto (tripe sandwich—adventurous, yes!). Scribbled the food vendors: rapid gesture drawings of hands tossing pizza dough, old men debating wine. A French tourist asked why I drew “ordinary” scenes. “Because this,” I said, pointing at a nonno slicing cheese, “is Florence’s heartbeat.”
Afternoon (3:00 PM – Giardino delle Rose):
Escaped uphill to the Rose Garden. Silent except for bees humming in lavender bushes. The view—terra-cotta rooftops, the Duomo’s dome floating like a Renaissance dream—demanded patience. Layered colored pencils: burnt sienna for rooftops, Payne’s grey for distant hills. An art student sat nearby, painting in oils. We shared no common language, just exchanged smiles and held up our sketchbooks. Her canvas: bold Impressionist swirls. Mine: delicate lines. Two languages for one city.
Golden Hour (6:00 PM – Piazzale Michelangelo):
Hiked to Piazzale Michelangelo as the sun bled gold over the city. Tourists clustered for photos, but I sat on the steps, pulling out my last clean page. Washed the sky in apricot watercolor, sketched the skyline’s jagged profile. The light faded fast—Brunelleschi’s dome became a shadow cut from violet paper. A group of Korean students gathered behind me, murmuring “예쁘다” (pretty). One snapped a photo of my sketchbook. Surreal.
Evening (8:30 PM – Trattoria ZaZa):
Ate pappa al pomodoro under strings of fairy lights. Flipped through today’s sketches: 12 pages, smudged with charcoal and espresso rings. Each one a memory-talisman. The waitress brought vin santo, eyeing my open sketchbook. “Domani,” she said, tapping Santa Croce’s spire on page 5, “disegna la mia chiesa.” (Tomorrow, draw my church). Promised I would.
Night (10:00 PM – Arno Riverwalk):
Walked home along the Arno. Streetlamps doubled in the dark water, like fallen stars. Today felt like holding Florence in my hands—not in photos, but in smudged, imperfect lines. Sketching here isn’t about perfection; it’s about conversation. With the light. The stone. The stranger who leans over and says, “Show me what you see.”
Final Thought:
Florence isn’t just a city. It’s a living sketchbook—every corner a blank page waiting.
Tips for Sketching Travelers:
- Carry light: A6 sketchbook + portable watercolor kit.
- Embrace interruptions: Chat with locals; their stories add layers to your art.
- Chase the light: Dawn & dusk paint Florence in magic hour gold.
- Sit still: Roots you deeper than any tour.
Ciao for now. Tomorrow, Santa Croce awaits. ✏️🌆