"Sketches — a quiet practice of presence and awareness"
ARTICLE
Before learning to truly see, to notice and perceive beauty, and to cultivate a deeper sensitivity towards ourselves and the world, we first need to practise observation and enter the state of a “curious child” — looking at familiar things as though seeing them for the very first time.
To begin, I propose a series of simple exercises that require neither prior experience nor any particular tools. Remember: everything you need is already within you. Our task is simply to access this inner richness through what I call Visual Sketches. This is where we will begin.
As many of you know, sketches can be literary, visual, musical, choreographic, theatrical, and many other forms besides. Today, however, we will focus only on the first three — the ones I particularly enjoy exploring.
What are they for?
Beyond training the artistic or poetic eye, the practice of sketching can help cultivate a steady state of presence and a more intimate connection with the world around us. It also has the potential to draw us out of autopilot mode — the state our bodies naturally enter once they consider the minimum necessary signals from our surroundings to be sufficiently accounted for.
Scientifically, this process is known as sensory adaptation, or sensory filtering — a period during which our consciousness begins to overlook details that are essential to perceiving the whole.
In short, working with attention naturally and gradually expands our map of reality, opening our eyes to the world as though for the first time — and revealing what had once seemed so familiar in an entirely new way.
Below, we will explore three types of practices, corresponding to three types of sketches, which you can begin exploring right away.
Let us begin with Visual Sketches.
I — DRAWING SKETCHES
I can probably guess what many of you who do not draw are thinking right now: “Come on… How could I possibly represent anything without any artistic experience?”
Yes, I would probably have thought the same thing once. But not today.
Yes, I would probably have thought the same thing once. But not today.
Why?
I had the opportunity to take many young artists, despite their fears, out into the plein air, and in Saint Petersburg I even created a particular format of gatherings called Impressions. The idea was simple: to expressively capture the moments or details that had touched us most — without spending more than 15 minutes on each one.
Why so little time?
Because in such a short time, it is simply impossible to draw every detail, shadow, and nuance. The aim was to capture what felt deeply personal and meaningful to each person. The beauty lay in what we were looking at, and the exercise was to focus our attention entirely on that.
And that “something” is different for everyone: a particular light, an intriguing shadow, an arrangement of forms, the expressive quality of a gesture — or its absence. Each person brought forward whatever spoke to them. That was the whole point of the exercise.
Of course, the first thirty minutes were often stressful, even for experienced artists. Why? Because perfectionism, that stubborn and intrusive companion, always finds its way in. Everyone wants to “perfect” their image, their colours, their curves…
But there simply isn’t enough time for that.
The first sketches are therefore a way of letting go of fear — and sending that demanding companion to sit on a nearby bench.
The goal was never to create a perfect drawing. Yet almost every artist I know made these sketches to nourish their observation and create foundations for future works. And who knows where that might lead?
So, what will I invite you to do today?
You might imagine that only the “pros” dared to take part in these gatherings. In reality, there were many brave beginners who came without any experience, carrying nothing more than a simple pencil and an old notebook forgotten beneath a pile of books.
Yes, they were afraid. Yes, their drawings were far from perfect.
But in that innocence, they often surpassed the so-called “pros.” Because they did not know what things were “supposed”to look like. They simply did their best.
And it was precisely in this freedom from preconceptions that truly bold subjects began to emerge — sometimes still raw, but alive.
I want to remind you: this practice is not about drawing perfectly. It is about learning to notice and to capture what you see on paper.
The idea is to use visual art as a way of sketching your sensations and impressions — to convey, as fully as possible, the beauty and harmony you perceive.
Why this kind of sketching?
Because when you draw — whatever your level — you connect even more deeply with what you are observing.
You preserve what you have seen.
The time spent drawing encourages a more attentive and profound exploration, deepening your awareness of the present moment. It is a fascinating process in which your whole being becomes focused on a single subject.
Many people call this meditation.
How to practice?
Go for a walk in your favourite park, visit a café you love, or wander through a familiar street.
Find something that particularly catches your attention, and draw it as best you can.
Do not scatter your gaze. Focus on one thing and let yourself go.
No one will judge the result, and you do not even have to show it to anyone.
What matters is the process.
Be fully present in the moment.
II — Literary Sketches
I discovered this practice only a few years ago, but what a wonderful discovery it has been!
Since childhood, I have loved writing and telling stories. Today, after reading Julia Cameron’s books The Artist’s Way and The Right to Write, I once again gave myself permission to use writing as a practice of presence: to describe sensations and experience the world more deeply through its details.
Since childhood, I have loved writing and telling stories. Today, after reading Julia Cameron’s books The Artist’s Way and The Right to Write, I once again gave myself permission to use writing as a practice of presence: to describe sensations and experience the world more deeply through its details.
Unlike drawing, which actively engages what is traditionally associated with the right hemisphere of the brain, writing engages the left — the realm of symbolic thought. When we “draw with words” what we are experiencing or contemplating, we come closer to our emotions and sensations, which we then try to translate into language.
It is another way of immersing ourselves in the present moment, cultivating conscious presence just as drawing can — beyond the simple practice of writing itself.
And it is important to remember: we are not trying to produce an elegant or perfectly structured text. Write in your own words. Explore each moment. Let it come as it comes.
For example, in the morning, take a notebook or a sheet of paper and begin writing by asking yourself a few questions:
“What am I feeling at this moment?”
“What scent fills the room? What kind of light is there?”
“What sounds can I hear?”
“What do I see before me?”
“Do I notice anything interesting, amusing, or moving?”
These questions can guide your first steps, but do not feel limited by them. Write down whatever feels important to you. Allow yourself to fully experience the moment, the place where you are NOW.
I highly recommend always carrying a small notebook with you, in your bag or pocket. That way, at any moment — on a train, at the airport, in a park, or at home — you can capture whatever emerges, whatever catches the attention of your inner artist (and not only with brushes!).
For me, the most beautiful ideas and observations often arise while I am in motion. I love writing on the train, with a cup of coffee at a café, or during long walks — images and impressions appear, and I write them down immediately. Even while waiting for a flight, I observe people and note down anything that inspires or touches me.
Many artists say that some of their greatest ideas came to them while on the way, “in the moment.”
III — Visual Sketches
Our final practice is visual — perhaps the least obvious, but also the most accessible. All perception and observation begin with the gaze, which we intentionally direct towards a subject until we have explored it in the smallest of details.
By “explore,” I mean focused observation, complete immersion — as if you were a secret agent tasked with memorising every curve and nuance of an object that will disappear moments later.
Science calls this visual memory. For artists, it is what we call “absorbing” — a process of taking in every detail until the boundaries between observer and observed begin to dissolve, and we become one with what we are contemplating.
Few people know that the celebrated marine painter Ivan Aivazovsky never painted studies directly from nature and never witnessed a shipwreck with his own eyes. His immersive and powerful works were born from memory and imagination, after observing the sea for long periods and absorbing the smallest details of its light, colours, and changing moods — then returning to his studio to paint the subject within just a few days.
His famous The Ninth Wave was completed in only ten days!
Incredible, isn't it?
It shows just how much the development of visual memory and the practice of attentive observation can achieve.
Conclusion
Of course, all of these practices require consistency and discipline, especially at the beginning, as you find your rhythm.
But then…
You become a living encyclopaedia — not the kind written by a published scholar, but your own, entirely unique, revealing all the facets of your soul and your being.
The connection between these exercises and a deeper contact with yourself is clear: developing attention and presence outwardly becomes a bridge towards understanding and feeling yourself more deeply, as well as your most sincere aspirations.
Do not forget: your way of seeing the world is unique and irreplaceable.
So go out for a walk, my friends, and absorb the world. Look for something new in every moment, even in places you know well.
Just as you cannot step into the same river twice, the world around you is unique in every moment — you simply have to learn how to see it, or rather, how to notice it.
Author : Kristina Mariinskaya
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