For six months I travelled around eastern Europe and beyond, solidifying what I saw as sketches.
A lot of them are unfinished, raw, messy and far from the perfection they taught us in architecture school. I only showed these to people I felt I could trust until I realised all of those unfinished lines, mistaken perspectives and accidental strokes are part of the essence of travelling. When moving across Europe, all I could afford to bring was a moleskin, a pen and the time in between buses, conversations and pulsating activity. No pencils, no rulers, no corrections. Just the very personal bleeding of experiences onto tiny A6 paper.
These are not all the drawings I did as there are plenty more where these came from but they are some, unedited, uncropped interlaced with all the thoughts and notes that crossed my mind.
I moved back to my grandparent's for a month in the mountainside of la Safor, Spain, to replenish my energies before starting my masters course. Here I started a second moleskin prefaced by the words:
"The best thing about coming back home after a long adventurous journey is that everything old is new again. Every building and every meal has an identity of it's own that I was blind to before. Views of the land is riddled in history and walks through the streets are filled with novelty. Every granny sitting by her porch, every word uttered in Valenciano, every sunbath and every village supper is filled with meaning."
But it doesn't stop there. This second moleskin is still growing with more drawings of London streets and commuters on the tube where half stroked faces as people step off of trains and unfinished shards as the crowd moves me along become a part of the buzzing character of cities on paper.