Sketching Rome: A Month of Gouache, Museums, and Daily Wonder

I spent a month in Rome ( very lucky indeed!) with a small gouache sketchbook, walking, looking, and painting one page a day. Gouache felt right for Rome—opaque, layered, forgiving—able to be reworked and built up, much like the city itself. Each page held a wall, a statue, a street corner. Nothing formal, no rules, no pressure—just a way to slow down and really see.

We visited one museum almost every day. Not trying to see everything, not in a heroic way—just one museum, one visit, followed by walking. Rome makes this kind of rhythm possible. Mornings with ancient sculpture or Renaissance painting would dissolve into afternoons back on the street, where the city simply continued.

The streets were never ordinary. Murmurations we had never seen before shifted above rooftops. Sunsets sometimes felt unreal, as if staged. Along the Tiber, wild animals appeared where you least expected them. Nearly every day, something happened that made us stop—something quietly jaw-dropping.

The real luxury was being able to return. Passing a church and stepping inside again, just to see a favourite pairing of paintings or sculptures one more time. Not once or twice, but as often as you wished, simply because you were nearby. Few places allow that kind of closeness to art.

Rome feels less like a city and more like layers stacked on layers. Antiquity sits beside the Baroque, leaning into modern life—scooters, cafés, construction noise. Nothing is sealed off or preserved behind glass. The past isn’t finished; it’s part of the streets, the buildings, the air
What still amazes me is the amount of art you already know by heart—and yet walk past every day. Statues, frescoes, chapels, details everywhere. All of it real. You can live with it, revisit it, and somehow it never stops surprising you. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Curious about my other sketchbooks? I keep a movie sketchbook, a travel sketchbook, and sketchbooks for experiments or everyday observations. Each page is part of my artist sketchbook practice—a way to slow down, really see, and turn fleeting moments into drawings.