Studio Notes

Some landscapes are not built around distance, but around placement. Where things sit. How they hold. This drawing began with the house. Set slightly back. Not central, but not hidden either. The rest of the scene arranged itself around that decision — the path curving in, the fence marking a boundary, the open ground left undisturbed. Rural landscape drawing - colored pencil scene inspired by Denmark. In a rural landscape drawing , there is often very little to rely on. No d

A landscape in daylight holds less mystery, but not less weight. Things are clearer. The lines settle. What remains is structure — how the eye moves, where it pauses, what it returns to. This piece began as a landscape drawing , built from very little. A river, a figure, a line pulling the gaze forward. Most of the work happens in the balance between them. The same structure appears in different forms. A path, or a river. A figure placed at the edge of it. In daylight, the la

A path at night. The kind you follow without really deciding to - the starting point for a landscape drawing. A small house holds light in the distance. The rest is fields, and the quiet weight of the sky. Night landscape drawing — colored pencil drawing inspired by rural Denmark. Landscape Drawing At Night This piece began as a landscape drawing — simple in structure, but not in feeling. The drawing itself is built on very little. A single line pulling the eye forward, a hor

Scandinavian winter illustration series featuring interior scenes, still life drawings, and a snow-covered landscape. This series of winter illustrations moves between interior and landscape — from a house set quietly in snow to the smaller, enclosed spaces of a table, a window, a cup left warm. The scenes are not connected by narrative so much as by temperature. Light held low. Rooms that seem to keep their own time . A Winter House in Snow A small house stands at the edge o

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

I didn’t grow up thinking about poster art. But it was there in the background — the kind of design you only notice later, once you start paying attention to space, shape, and restraint. My great-granduncle, Aage Rasmussen , designed travel posters for DSB (Danish national rail company) in the mid-twentieth century. Graphic compositions with very little excess: a train, a platform, a few figures, and large areas of colour. I didn’t study those images consciously as a child. B

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

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). A small Danish train platform, inspired by mid-century Denmark and the atmosphere of Matador. 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

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 like best. Often

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, and character