A Creative Day in Copenhagen: Walks, Work, and the Scenes in Between

There are days when Copenhagen moves slowly. Not in a lazy way — just unhurried, like the city knows you’ll catch up eventually. I don’t have a routine exactly, but I do have a rhythm. Some days begin with voice work. Others with drawing. Most include a walk, sometimes down to the water, other times through the quieter parts of the city: the botanical gardens, or one of those half-forgotten corners you pass without naming.

Tea, a pencil, and a quiet corner. Not a bad start.

Morning quiet and early rhythm

I’m usually up before I need to be. The neighborhood is quiet, except for the occasional plane overhead. There’s an airport nearby — I like that. It reminds me of Los Angeles, in a way. Or maybe it just reminds me that movement is always happening, even when I’m still.

Coffee first. Tea if it’s been a dramatic week — vocally or otherwise.

If there’s a voiceover session, I head into the studio. There’s a particular kind of calm in those soundproofed spaces. No distractions. Just the line, the mic, and the work.

If I’m not recording, I’ll often sketch. Nothing elaborate. Just pencil marks in a book I keep nearby. I don’t post much of it. Most of it isn’t meant to be shared — it’s just a way of seeing.

Out into the city

Copenhagen is a good city for walking. The pace matches my thoughts. I often take the long way around — not for the sake of it, just to let the day unfold a little more.

There’s a corner I often pass with an old church and a bench that always has someone different on it — headphones, a sandwich, a moment to themselves. I’ve thought about climbing the spiral staircase to the top more than once, but I never have.

Most mornings, I notice rooftops, trees, and the usual rush of people on bikes. Sometimes a bird looking too confident for city life. It’s nothing dramatic — just small things that make the walk feel like mine.

Some places feel like you’ve stepped into an old landscape painting.

The work between the work

The quiet parts are still work. Answering emails, sketching an idea that may never go further than the page, or rehearsing a few lines for a tape that might not get sent. I think a lot of creative work happens here — in between the decisions, in between the more visible efforts.

Sometimes I’ll revisit a line from a voiceover session — not out of doubt, just instinct. Or I’ll rework the eyes in a drawing no one else will ever see. It’s not perfectionism. It’s an adjustment. Presence.

There are days when I only draw for ten minutes. But those ten minutes matter.

Evening tones

Evenings are slower. I might rewatch a scene from something I admire — not to study it, but to sit in its world for a moment. A book stays open beside me. So does a notebook. I don’t always use them.

Sometimes I sit on the balcony and watch the planes fly past on a schedule. It always stirs something — a quiet reminder that movement is still possible, even when the day is winding down.

If you liked this

If you’re drawn to the quieter sides of creativity, you might like this post about working between takes on set — or this one about building creative trust with directors.