A Morning in My Copenhagen Studio
Updated: Sep 5
The coffee had gone cold before I remembered to drink it.
I'd made myself a decaf with whole milk before sitting down to finish a drawing I'd started the previous evening. Just as I was getting into bed, I'd had an idea, so I scribbled it in the margin of an old sketchbook, hoping it would still make sense in the morning.
It mostly did.
Days like this are fairly typical in my Copenhagen studio, where I divide my time between illustration, acting, writing, and the less interesting work involved in keeping all three moving.
Outside, rain moved steadily across the windows while I worked. I spent the morning switching between pencils, reference material, and a growing collection of notes, gradually finding the right balance for the drawing.
Creative work rarely follows a straight line. A few hours might produce a finished sketch; just as often, they solve one small problem that allows the drawing to move forward the next day. I might change the composition, find a historical photograph that sends me in another direction, or decide that something I've spent an hour drawing shouldn't be there at all.
By lunchtime I'd replied to my voiceover agent in London, checked a few casting notices, answered emails and finally backed up my files after reminding myself to do it for several weeks.
None of this makes for a particularly dramatic account of a working day, but that's largely what a creative career looks like between the more visible parts. There are auditions and sets, finished illustrations and exhibitions, but there are also emails, reference searches, unfinished drawings and ideas written down at inconvenient times.
Working across acting and illustration means I move between the two constantly rather than dividing my life neatly into separate compartments. Some days belong almost entirely to one; on others, a self-tape request arrives in the middle of a drawing and the table has to become an acting space for an hour.
Later, I left the apartment and walked towards Amager Strand.
I often walk when I've been working at the table for too long. Copenhagen makes that easy. From where I live, I can reach the water without turning the walk itself into an expedition, and getting away from the page usually changes the way I look at whatever I've been working on.
Sometimes I come home knowing exactly what needs changing. Sometimes I've forgotten about the problem altogether, which can be just as useful.
That afternoon, I redrew a section of the illustration I'd been working on that morning and added a note to the sketchbook for something I wanted to try later.
And eventually, I remembered the coffee.
It was, by then, completely cold.
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