Studio Notes

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)

Details from the Workers’ Homes in Horsens—and how historic interiors find their way into my illustration work. At Industrimuseet in Horsens, visitors can walk through a series of workers’ apartments furnished to represent different periods of Danish life. The museum calls the exhibition Arbejderboligerne—the Workers’ Homes—and its interiors range from the 1880s to the year 2000. Kitchen provisitions and household packaging beside the window in the Workers' Homes exhibition.

Kitchen wall art often signals the room's purpose: fruit, recipes, coffee, wine. I wanted to draw something less obvious—a kitchen as a place where life is already underway. Evening in the Kitchen—a vintage-inspired Danish interior illustration in colored pencil. In Evening in the Kitchen, a woman stands at the counter while a book lies open on the table. A kettle, an oil lamp, and a few familiar objects establish the room without turning it into a still life. The scene is im

By early September, the Danish landscape is changing, though autumn has not quite arrived. The fields have turned yellow and ochre; the grass is duller, and the light disappears a little earlier each evening. It’s one of my favorite times of year to draw. Pressed summer flowers kept as color and drawing reference in my Copenhagen studio. I tend to notice color first. Late summer brings combinations I see less often in midsummer: dusty greens beside harvested fields, dark berr

Looking at Danish travel posters as an illustrator: the scenes, compositions, and details that hold my attention. A vintage-inspired illustration of a Danish railway station, inspired by the tradition of mid-century Danish poster art. Growing up, I knew my great-granduncle Aage Rasmussen had designed travel posters for DSB. I’m also related to Erik Stockmarr—Stockmarr is my middle name—and his work is associated with circus posters. Those were family facts. The posters were a

As a teenager, I filled notebooks with small scenes: a person beside a window, trees after rain, the corner of a room. I wasn’t thinking about style or nostalgia. I drew the things I found myself looking at. On the shelves at home were old Danish books and European storybooks, with illustrations dating from the 1940s through the 1970s. I didn’t study them formally, but I spent enough time with them to absorb their visual language: the printed texture, the looseness of a line,

Old photographs, films, and illustrated books are among the things I return to most often when looking for material to draw. I'm particularly interested in Denmark in the early and mid-20th century—not only how places looked, but the details that locate a scene in a particular time: clothing, architecture, railway stations, gardens, furniture, and the landscape itself. Those details often find their way into my own illustrations. Vintage-inspired Danish garden scene, drawn in

There’s something about the visual language of the past - muted tones, a certain elegance, and the handmade texture of things. Vintage-inspired Danish interior illustration — colored pencil on paper. 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 t

Living in Copenhagen inevitably changes what you notice. It might be the tiles in the entrance of an old apartment building, bicycles leaning against a wall, the particular yellow of a kitchen lamp in winter, or the way the city changes when you get close to the water. I don't necessarily go looking for subjects to draw, but I'm always collecting details. Vintage-inspired Danish kitchen scene, drawn in colored pencil. As a Danish illustrator based in Copenhagen, those observa

Sketchbook Notes from a Winter Train Journey On a winter train from Copenhagen to Aarhus, the Danish countryside passed in whites and grays: snow-covered fields, frozen lakes, and groups of bare trees appearing briefly beyond the glass. Winter landscape seen from a train between Copenhagen and Aarhus in Denmark. I had brought my sketchbook, intending to work on ideas for a landscape drawing—tree lines, open fields, perhaps the beginning of a future illustration. I started ske

As a Danish illustrator, I'm rarely interested in spectacle. What draws me instead are places and objects that have absorbed years of everyday life—railway stations, old interiors, weathered buildings, and landscapes that feel connected to Danish history. Those details often become the starting point for my illustrations. A vintage-inspired railway illustration influenced by Danish railway history, historical reference material, and mid-century visual storytelling. This drawi

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

Sketchbook notes on early light, old friendships, and the observations that find their way into my illustration work. 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 l

In my Copenhagen studio, no two days look the same. I might spend the morning working through a drawing, then switch to a self-tape, voiceover work, or the practical business of illustration. Some days are mostly drawing. Others are divided between several things. Liv Hansen sketching at her desk in Copenhagen. When I sit down to work, I usually have a sketchbook nearby and something playing on the radio. It might be classical music, jazz, country, or bluegrass, depending on