There are many reasons that compel people to travel. For some it is pleasure, or a holiday; for others it is business. Young persons will spread their wings on gap years; older parents will visit their offspring who have started families abroad.

I love to travel to escape from the pressures of my everyday existence; to leave behind the familiar with a sense of adventure where I can become someone I would like to be, for a short while.

But I am a bad tourist. I will travel with high expectations to a beautiful historic sunny destination; arrive with a sense of exhilaration and drink a coffee at a table sitting outside with a view: but then the child in me will be bored. I wish I could leave him behind, but he is always with me, so even reading guidebooks and dutifully taking photos, or riding on tourist road trains, he will be restless and pulling at my jacket complaining. So I have to supply him with a pencil and sketchbook, and a box of paints. Better still, I set him off on a ‘mission’ to go on a trail of old cities to report on the picturesque; or even set him on a challenge of journalising in words and drawings on a theme.

Thus it was that I brought my restless fidgety child to Umbria, Italy, to find the places in his picture book and seek them out; then find more of his own, and make a new picture book he can call his own.

The child is of course me, a person who is nervous and uncomfortable in his own skin; unable to relax or settle inwardly unless… unless what exactly?

Inspiration – that is what I seek, and I am inspired or not by what I see or hear around me, even in the most ordinary minutiae of life. Perhaps it is the sense of wonder that is my greatest talent; it is my most developed sense. The ability to wonder at an older couple walking past; she telling him off for not shaving that morning. Or a child chasing pigeons.

It is about standing back from life, and looking afresh around us. We are so busy hunting, gathering, eating, sleeping, making love or arguing, that its easy to forget what a strange and wonderful place the world is. The desire to draw and paint, on paper or in words, is the call to others to say ‘Hey, look at this – doesn’t that make you feel good?’

Others like to express themselves through dancing or singing, or maybe cooking or mathematics, and that’s fine too. My lot seems to be to wonder, but I need to express that wonder, and somehow ‘report’ on it. That is the lot of the artist and writer.

Both the article and the drawing above were done in the blank pages at the back of books I was reading, while travelling on planes and at the airport. You know what it’s like, you want to write something down but you don’t have a notebook or any paper on you. That must be why fiction books usually have a couple of blank pages at the back!

The post On Travel (written on a plane home on 29 May 2010) appeared first on Chris Fothergill - Architectural Artist and Illustrator.

I was in London a week or two ago, seeking inspiration for painting. It must have been the only day for weeks that was NOT sunny! But still there is something about drawing directly from life in cities that I love to do.

These are three of the sketches I came up with, along the river by the City. Straight in with a pen, and add a minimum of colour wash if I have time. I’m hoping to do some paintings from these drawings, but the most fun is always the drawing itself on the spot, even if they do turn out a bit clumsy and squiffy in places.

The challenge is to keep the freshness of the sketches in the final painting. I tend to tidy things up too much when I try to paint ‘properly’. Perhaps I should try painting left handed.

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With only one week’s sojurn in the Umbrian landscape I have been necessarily selective in the places to which I have been. EH went on to Cita della Pieve (for the sake of Perugio, his birthplace), Foligno, Montefalco, Fabriano, and even Urbino, which now I now longer in Umbria, but way to the east, deep in Le Marche. But it was the frescos of Luca Signorelli, and paintings by Piero della Francesca and other Umbrian artists that he sought. My agenda is different.

Thus, as EH said; “Spoleto is a beautiful city of rose colour set on a high hill”, I set off back across country to the east, through high, twisting roads to reach Spoleto by nine this morning. Remarkably, I found a free parking area immediately to the north, and lower edge of the city walls, and climbed up through the narrow streets seeking coffee and inspiration. Pausing halfway up to consult the town plan I had wickedly torn from my DK book, I found I had left my spectacles in the car. No choice but to turn back. My arms are no longer long enough to read or draw. The trouble with all these hilltop towns, is that you either have to walk up, or down. Twenty minutes later I was ready for my first cappuccino of the day.

Without preconceptions of Spoleto, I was not disappointed, The sun shone for the morning, with reservations, and I settled to the view in the sketch book looking down over the Duomo and city from the via della Rocca. This held great appeal for me, despite the fact that the tower was shrouded in scaffolding and plastic sheeting. Thankfully local postcards provide the missing detail.

Down and round the corner and the façade of the Duomo was striking in its setting. I sat and drew it on my cartridge block, but somehow I haven’t quite ‘got it’. The drawing is in some way weak. It is a difficult perspective, and the solidity of the scene is missing. As I stopped for lunch the sunshine, erratic now momentarily blessed the Piazza della Liberta, and I thought what a lovely painting it would make with it’s cafes and air of joi-de-vivre. My sketch in the sketch book was fun to do, and I continued to sit there and write postcards to neglected friends, to prolong the moment.

After this the afternoon was getting on, and the weariness from my week was catching up. It’s hard on the limbs treading the steep slopes of Umbria, and crouching for hours on a canvas stool! I continued to photograph what I could, then found my way back to the car and set off to the west. The drive from Spoleto to Acquasparta is rather magical in the evening sunlight. The roads however require much concentration, as they are mountainous and unexpected. I managed to stop once, where the road widened out, by a crumbling farmhouse which detained me for a small sketch in my book, of which I may make something in due course. And just before returning to the hotel another farm on a small hillside looked so ‘typico’ in the evening sun, that again I had to try and catch an impression in the book.

There is a ‘last day’ feel about today, even though I have another full day tomorrow before flying home on Monday. I shall be content if I take home no more that I already have.

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Hills Near Gretton, Winchcombe, Glos.

It was a bright, brisk March morning first thing, and the sun streaming through the kitchen window lured me out to paint ‘en plein air’ as they say. I packed the thermos and paints, and headed for Hailes Abbey – somewhere local, but somewhere new to draw. On arrival I found it closed until the new season starts again next week.

Never mind, the surrounding hills are lovely, if now under cloud cover. I seemed to remember that the nearby village of Gretton was very pretty and had ‘views’ so off I went again – to find a ‘road closed’ notice and diversions, which I followed for several miles, reaching my destination eventually, in the rain.

Undeterred, I opened the thermos, and had a cup of tea in the car. The rain stopped, as it does and, determined not to go home empty handed, I took out the sketchbook, and started on a modest impression of the landscape, the result of which is shown here.

The light was unremitting grey, and some passing cars were using their headlights, which I thought was unnecessary. Still I enjoyed the act of painting hills from life, and like a fisherman in the rain, gained something from the experience.

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