Why I Draw the Way I Do: Notes from a Danish Illustrator Rooted in Stillness

I don’t usually start with a plan. A tree, a roof, a fence — some small gesture sets it in motion. Before long there’s a house, a path, maybe someone passing by. I don’t set out to tell a story, but something in the scene often ends up feeling familiar.

"Formiddag i Køkkenet” (Late Morning in the Kitchen) — inspired by a visit to the Arbejdermuseet in Copenhagen. The two women appeared later, drawn from memory and imagination.

I live in Copenhagen, but most of the scenes I draw aren’t based on the city. They come from elsewhere — from places I’ve seen, remembered, or half-invented. I tend to draw things that don’t move much. A bench in the sun. A 1940s hallway at the end of the day. A kitchen just after lunch. The kinds of moments that usually go unnoticed, except in hindsight.

I work mostly in colored pencil. Sometimes gouache, sometimes digital — but usually it’s a slow process. It’s not so much an aesthetic choice as it is a rhythm. Colored pencil allows for quiet shifts, soft layers, and details that don’t shout. Subtle yet essential marks that support the scene without taking it over. The lines build over time — not perfectly — but in a way that feels human. I like when a drawing shows that.

One scene — Formiddag i Køkkenet — was shaped by a trip to Arbejdermuseet (the Workers Museum) in Copenhagen, just around the corner from the botanical gardens, which I also frequent. The cabinet doors, the light from the window, even the height of the stove — all of it stayed with me. But the two women came later. They’re not from the museum. I think they appeared because I’d been watching a scene from Huset på Christianshavn. Not intentionally, but they found their way in. That happens a lot.

“Toget Ankommer” (The Train Arrives) — loosely inspired by a scene in Matador, but shaped from fragments and quiet invention.

The train scene, Toget Ankommer, was a similar thing. It began with the idea of the wall, the bench, the train — likely from one of the early episodes of Matador. But the passengers, the child looking back, the mood of the piece — those are mine. I don’t trace or copy from photographs. I build from fragments and feeling.

I’m drawn to stillness — not just in subject matter, but in tone. I think of it more as atmosphere than composition. Most of my work hovers somewhere between the 1940s and 1980s. Not for nostalgia’s sake, but because those years carry a kind of quietness — at least in the way I imagine them. That space between eras — before modern convenience changed everything, but after the world had already turned — is where I tend to land.

I don’t try to follow trends or tailor my drawings to what’s expected. That’s not a judgment — just not how my work happens. Some days I draw what I see out the window. Other days I begin with nothing and end up with something I recognize, but can’t quite place.

I’m not sure it needs to be more than that.

I post drawings like these — and a few others — over on my portfolio page, if you feel like wandering further.