The Characters You Walk Past

There’s something about the characters we’re not meant to notice.

Not the lead. Not even the named supporting role. The one standing behind the scene. Sitting quietly at a table. Crossing the street just before the camera pans left.

Leaving the platform, Copenhagen Central Station.

I’ve always been drawn to them — in films, and in life. You wonder who they are. What they’re carrying. Whether they’ve chosen to be invisible or were written that way.

Maybe it started with acting. On larger sets, I’ve played characters who barely speak — but who still need to hold something. A point of view. A past. A sense of weight, even if it’s never made explicit. The camera might only glance in their direction, but I’ve learned that even that requires presence.

The same thing happens when I draw. I don’t mean to create scenes where the central figure is looking away, half in shadow, or turned from the viewer. But that’s what happens. I’m interested in what isn’t announced. The posture of someone who’s just been interrupted. The space between people, not just the people themselves.

Autumn scene, colored pencil on paper.

These small cues — an open door, a slight turn of the wrist, someone not quite facing you — have more narrative in them than most dialogue. And they often say more about the story than the story itself.

In a way, I think this is what connects my work as an actress and as an illustrator: I’m rarely trying to explain. I’m trying to observe, and without deciding too quickly what it means.

There’s value in paying attention to the characters we walk past. They often hold the thread that keeps the rest of it real. I write occasionally about acting, art, and the things that go unseen. If you’d like to explore more, you can browse the blog, view my art portfolio, or follow along on Instagram for quiet moments behind the scenes.