Studio Notes

This quiet Danish kitchen illustration explores everyday interiors and Scandinavian atmosphere. Evening in the Danish kitchen. A kettle on the stove, a cup left on the table, light fading slowly through the window. These are the moments I return to when I draw — not events, but the quiet in between them. This drawing is part of my ongoing work exploring Danish interiors — rooms shaped by routine rather than decoration. Objects stay where they are used. Nothing is arranged for

This landscape drawing captures early spring in the Danish countryside, focusing on the quiet transition between seasons. In early spring, it starts at ground level. Before the trees fully open, the forest floor shifts first. Anemones spread in clusters, low and white, while the rest of the landscape is still holding back. Landscape drawing in colored pencil inspired by early spring in Denmark. The air is lighter, but not yet warm. You hear more than you see — birds moving so

Notes on the city — observation, routine, and atmosphere Featured in Kathimerini – K Taxidia, in a short piece on Copenhagen. The feature explores the city through slower rhythms, everyday routines, and places that reveal themselves over time. I was invited to contribute my perspective as both an actress and illustrator , drawing from how I move through the city and the environments I return to. Published in the Sunday print edition of Kathimerini – K Travel (March 29, 2026)

Winter light tends to flatten a room. The colours are quieter, and objects stand more clearly on their own. There’s less movement, less distraction. What remains is often enough. This is usually where my Scandinavian interior drawings begin. Scandinavian winter cabin in the forest. In these scenes, the outside is present, but only just. Snow against a window, a dark line of trees , a sky that doesn’t fully brighten during the day. The room holds the light instead of reflectin

This is a reference study of a vintage coffee pot and coffee can found in a Danish 1950s kitchen, used as a starting point for interior and still-life drawings. The handles are darkened where they've been held. The metal is worn, but not evenly. The sprout is lighter. The base is scratched. Next to it, the can is worn too. The color has faded in places. The lid is slightly dented. Nothing has been restored. Related: Illustration Influences and Reference Material A vintage co

There’s a difference between a room that has been arranged and one that has simply continued. This kitchen falls into the second category. The stove is low and heavy. The surface shows use, but not wear in the usual sense. It hasn’t been restored or updated. It has just remained. Kitchen corner with stove and utensils. A pot sits on top. Not placed for effect, but left there. On the wall, wooden utensils hang from a rack. Not evenly spaced. Not decorative. Positioned where

This vintage kitchen illustration is part of my work exploring Danish interiors and Scandinavian everyday life. The scene is set in a modest kitchen, with afternoon light, quiet routines, and objects that have stayed in place for years. Evening in the Kitchen - a vintage illustration inspired by historic Denmark The drawing grew slowly, almost without decision. First, the room itself — the yellow walls, the blue tiles, the table with a book left open. Then the figure at the

It’s still green, mostly. But not the same green as in July. There’s a dryness in the air now — not cold, just sharper. You start noticing the weight of things. Heavier shoes on the stairs. A neighbor dragging their balcony chair inside. The light is lower in the afternoon, and I’ve started drinking Darjeeling again — the one from Hans & Grete - Kaffe og Te in the black tin with the traditional Chinese motif. It tastes better in this kind of weather. Yesterday I re-organized

How Danish poster art shaped my illustration style through family history, observation, and everyday life. I don't remember anyone talking about Danish poster art when I was growing up. The posters were simply there. Some hung on walls. Others appeared in old books or portfolios that seemed to have existed forever. I knew my great-granduncle Aage Rasmussen, had designed travel posters for DSB (Danish State Railways) in the mid-twentieth century, but as a child it didn't feel

Most of my illustrations begin with a pencil. Over time, I've tried many tools — different papers, pigments, and materials — but I tend to return to a small group that works reliably for the kind of vintage-inspired scenes I draw. Some of the illustration tools I return to most often — pencils, textured paper, and a few colours that work well for layered drawings. Pencil Graphite is usually where a drawing starts. Not only for the first lines, but for tone. A soft pencil mak

I never consciously developed an illustration style. It’s something that has always been there. As a teenager, I drew constantly in notebooks during school breaks — small scenes, people sitting by windows, trees after rain, the corner of a room. At the time, I didn’t think of it as vintage or nostalgic. I was simply drawing what felt familiar. Looking back, I can see how much of that instinct came from the things around me. Old Danish books on our shelves. The restrained line

Many vintage-inspired illustrations today imitate the visual style of earlier decades — muted colours, simplified forms, nostalgic motifs. What interests me more is the atmosphere that older illustrations carried almost without trying. Vintage-inspired illustration of a quiet countryside scene. In Scandinavian book illustration and magazine drawings from the mid-20th century , everyday scenes were often drawn with quiet precision: a woman standing by a garden fence, a path th

There’s something about the visual language of the past - muted tones, a certain elegance, and the handmade texture of things. As a Danish illustrator drawn to vintage aesthetics, I often find myself returning to the same kind of scenes: moments that feel slightly out of time. I'm not trying to recreate a specific era. Instead, I'm interested in atmosphere — something lived-in, slightly off-center, and touched by time. Much of my work grows out of small observations. A path

Copenhagen is a city that reveals itself slowly. Not necessarily through the famous streets or landmarks, but in smaller details — the pattern of old tiles in a hallway, the glow of a kitchen window on a winter afternoon, or the brief moment when someone pauses by the water. As a Danish illustrator based in Copenhagen, I often begin my drawings with these small observations. I rarely set out to document a place directly. Instead, I notice fragments of a place — a gesture, a p

There’s something about a winter train ride that lends itself to reflection. I was traveling from Copenhagen to Aarhus — a familiar route, through the Danish countryside, but somehow it always feels a little different in winter. Winter landscape seen from a train between Copenhagen and Aarhus in Denmark. Outside the window, the Danish countryside blurred into soft whites and greys, small clusters of trees standing quietly against the snow-covered fields. As usual, I had broug

As a Danish illustrator, I'm rarely setting out to capture something grand. It’s more often the small, familiar human things that hold my attention — details that feel like they’ve always been there (and in a sense they have). The drawing began with the image of a small Danish train platform — the kind of place that exists all over the country, often unchanged for decades. I’m drawn to scenes like this: a quiet moment between departures, people waiting, a train arriving somew

A Local Artist's Guide Copenhagen is often described through its best-known landmarks — design museums, famous restaurants, and historic squares. But much of the city’s creative atmosphere lives in smaller places that rarely appear in guidebooks. As someone who lives and works here, I’ve found that many of the most inspiring corners of the city are the ones you discover almost by accident: a gallery on a side street, a cemetery path lined with old trees, a café where people s

There’s a particular kind of stillness to summer mornings in Copenhagen. The city doesn’t rush. Light arrives slowly — pale at first, then warmer — and the streets take their time filling with movement. Before most of the city wakes, the air feels different. You notice small things more clearly: the sound of cyclists passing on quiet streets, the movement of leaves in the early breeze, the way light settles on rooftops and window frames. These are the hours I return to most.

What does a typical day look like for a Danish illustrator? For me, the answer changes depending on the season, the work in front of me, and whether the day leans more toward drawing or toward acting. Still, certain rhythms return again and again — small routines that shape how I move between illustration, writing, and screen work. I’m a Danish illustrator and actress based in Copenhagen, and I’ve always been drawn to work that centres on mood, nostalgic detail, history, and