fruit

Open Italian anatomy book beside red flowers, paint palette, brushes, and cappuccino

Magic and beauty, red peonies, cappuccino and Leonardo’s Notebook. Part 3.

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Still life and urban sketching. Because apparently, I can’t sit still OR leave my house without a sketchpad.

So Leonardo da Vinci’s Notebook told me something rather inconvenient: artists need to constantly find new things to paint or draw. (Thanks a lot, Leonardo—no pressure!) Thus began my endless quest to think outside the box that I’m apparently always painting inside. This summer, I had a minor epiphany: watercolor graphic technique is NOT just fancy coloring books. Shocking, I know. It was a small discovery that spiraled into full-blown artistic obsession, and now here we are.

My still life muse? Bright reddish peonies, obviously. I arranged them artfully on my treasured Leonardo da Vinci book, added my glasses (for the intellectual look), threw in a cup of cappuccino (for the vibes), and created what I can only describe as a masterpiece of self-indulgence. Voilà! Another watercolor and ink painting in my beloved impressionist style was born.

Watercolor fantasy. Cappuccino and red peonies and a book

Just imagine it: a warm Mediterranean evening, you’re wandering charming cobblestone streets, and voila—red and pink peonies spill from a straw basket on some picturesque wood door or window. That’s watercolor and ink, my friend. That’s impressionism at its finest. That’s also my elaborate fantasy about our future travels to southern France, Italy, or possibly Greece (I’m not picky when it comes to vacation dreams). Who knows where wanderlust will take us? :)

Summer flower fantasy.

Shout-out to my daughter for the phenomenal gift: Leonardo’s Notebook. This book is basically the gift that keeps on giving—centuries-old wisdom from a guy who was basically good at everything. It’s like having a Renaissance master constantly looking over your shoulder with 500-year-old advice. Terrifying and inspiring in equal measure.

Bon voyage! Until the next adventure awaits! Stay healthy and hydrated (your skin will thank you when you’re sketching in the Mediterranean sun).

All paintings belong to the author. Seriously, don’t copy them. I mean it. My lawyer says I have to say that. Just go make your own masterpiece!

Tools used for my painting: Watercolors by Charvin and Van Gogh (because apparently only the best will do for this artist’s delusions). Pastels by GrayPas Expressionist (the feisty cousin of regular pastels). Derwent watercolor pencils and Faber Castell artist pens (because one type of pen is never enough). Paper: Strathmore Watercolor and Mixed Media albums in that perfect 15×20 cm (6×8 inch) size—not too big, not too small, just right for my control-freak tendencies.

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Italy, berries, Travel and Art, part 6. Urban sketching and Still life.

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Summer is here! Are you one of those people who gets bizarrely excited about local markets while traveling? Because I am definitely guilty. My favorite one in Rome is practically next door to the Vatican (meaning I can repent immediately after overspending on berries). It’s called Mercato Trionfale, and yes, the address is coming up—patience, my friend!

Our family camped out in a Vatican-adjacent hotel, and we visited Mercato Trionfale so often the vendors probably thought we were casing the joint. But no—we were just on a top-secret berry reconnaissance mission. Berry shopping was our favorite activity. Yes, that’s how wild we live.

For this post, I hunted down the brightest, most absurdly colorful paintings from the market—because apparently I’m obsessed with painting fruit. And not just any fruit, mind you. Only Italian berries would do. My standards are ridiculous, I know.

(And yes, watermelon technically counts as a berry—yes, really. The internet didn’t lie to you this time.)

A watermelon is technically a berry. Botany is a liar and I love it.

Now, cherries. I absolutely adore Italian cherries, especially because they somehow trigger my most sentimental memories. Apparently, my brain associates their aroma with my parents’ summer house—you know, that magical place where there was always a bowl of bright, juicy cherries on the table, sometimes sweet, sometimes shockingly sour (the betrayal!). The smell of cherries instantly transports me to endless summer evenings at the cottage, all leisurely and carefree. Cherries basically smell like bottled joy and femininity and everything summer is supposed to be. Romantic, right? (I’ll wait while you roll your eyes.)

Sweet. Sour. Zero warning. Cherries are the trust-fall of fruit.

My daughter texted me this photo of their breakfast in Positano, Italy—perched dramatically above the Mediterranean Sea with berries, fruit, and orange juice spread out like they were posing for Vogue. Naturally, I was instantly jealous. So, I did what any reasonable artist does: I added myself to the scene by painting in my sketchbook and favorite Staedtler pencil. Problem solved! Now it’s basically like I was there (in my imagination, which is just as good, right?). Fingers crossed my dream trip actually happens someday!

My daughter’s breakfast view. I painted myself into it.

And then there are grapes. Fun fact #1: they’re also berries. Fun fact #2: apparently they’ve been lounging around Earth for 65 million years. Now, here’s where it gets delightfully ridiculous. According to a (probably made-up) ancient legend, grapes showed up eons ago as the children of Earth and Sun. Back then, they didn’t take months to ripen like spoiled celebrities—nope, they went from morning to sunset in one day, like productivity on steroids. The ones that ripened by dawn got the rosy blush from the morning sky and turned pink. The afternoon bunch hoarded the sun’s gold rays and went golden yellow. And the latecomers? They borrowed the Southern night’s dark, velvety blue tones and went deep purple. Essentially, grapes are just showing off their gradient wardrobe collection.

Grapes: 65 million years old, still unbothered, still gorgeous.

And that, my friends, is why grapes come in so many fabulous colors. Voilà! Nature’s color palette at its most extra.

Bon voyage! Until the next travel misadventure! (And stay healthy—berries help with that.)

All paintings belong to the author. No image is to be copied without permission. (Yes, I’m watching. I have eyes.)

Nerdy tools section: All these beauties were painted with Watercolour brands Van Gogh and Cotman. Paper: Canson Mix Media album 28×35 cm (11×14 in.) and Canson Watercolour album 25×35 cm (11×15 in.). Yes, I’m that person with the fancy supplies. Don’t judge.

Mercato Trionfale address (for your pilgrimage): Via la Goletta, 1, Rome. GPS coordinates recommended to avoid wandering around like a lost tourist. (Though we all know you’re going to wander anyway—that’s half the fun.)

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Lemons, tea, aromas and Italy. Still life and Urban sketching. Part 5.

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#lemon #art #travel #Italy (aka my holy trinity of happiness)

Yellow, sour, fragrant… and absolutely the diva of the citrus world. In tea with sugar? *Chef’s kiss.* It’s pleasant. Also full of vitamins (or so I tell myself between paintings). And its name is LEMON! Perhaps each of us, both adults and children, knows this bright, yellow citrus fruit—unless you’ve been living under a Mediterranean rock your whole life.

Still life. Still delicious. Still not edible.

It was in Italy (the land of carbs, art, and lemons galore) where my family dragged me around the Italian “boot” from top to toe several years ago. Because nothing says “family vacation” like touring every inch of a country! The painting happened in the south of Italy, in one of those charming little towns where time moves slower and espresso is cheaper than water. Naturally.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but this lemon was painted in one. (Lies. It took three.)

Our next stop was the north of Italy, literally the “top of the boot” (geography humor—I’m here all week). Lemon trees were EVERYWHERE on the Borromean islands, like someone’s obsessed Pinterest board came to life. The backdrop? Mountains. Swiss mountains. Beautiful, indifferent, Swiss mountains that made the lemons look even more golden and smug.

Lemon trees: nature’s way of saying ‘you’re in Italy now, calm down.’

The lemons were HUGE. Like, absurdly huge. And their aroma? Everywhere. It was less “fresh citrus scent” and more “olfactory assault in the best way possible.” I still remember the weight of those yellow orbs in my hand—fruit so heavy it could double as a gym weight. Nature’s dumbbell.

Shall we have tea with lemon now? Or should we just sit and contemplate the sheer absurdity of how a little yellow fruit has consumed my entire artistic existence?

Tea. Lemon. Existential peace. You know the vibe.

According to legend (and I’m not making this up, mythology nerds), the aromatic fruits the color of the sun were gifted to Hera’s wedding when she married Zeus. Because if Zeus’s new wife wanted to stay young and beautiful forever, obviously you give her lemons. Logic. The ancient Greeks apparently believed: “Its aroma amuses the mind, the peel and grains are good for the heart, the flesh is excellent food, and the juice quenches thirst.” Basically, lemons are fruit’s overachiever. They’re doing cardio, aesthetics therapy, AND hydration all at once.

All paintings belong to the author. Seriously, don’t copy them. I’m watching. (Jk, but also—don’t.)

Tools used for my paintings: Watercolour brands Van Gogh and Cotman (because why choose when you can be indecisive?). Derwent watercolour pencils for when I need surgical precision on my lemon chaos. Paper from Canson Mix Media albums (28×35 cm / 11×14 in.) and Canson Watercolour albums (25×35 cm / 11×15 in.)—basically, I invested in better paper than I invest in my actual life stability.

Bon voyage! Until the next travel adventure (hopefully with fewer lemons and more personal growth, but let’s be realistic). Stay healthy, stay hydrated, and may your tea always have the perfect squeeze of lemon.

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Exploring Paris Through Vibrant Pomegranate Art

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Oranges and its trees, Spain, part 2.

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Urban sketching and Still life. Travel and Art.

Do you like the smell of oranges as I like it? Sweetish, light, slightly tart and such a sunny smell of orange peel.

Still life with oranges. The oranges were not harmed. The painting took forever.

Oranges remind me about the sunny summer days and New Year’s eve at the same time—which is a bit confusing if you think about it. My mom used to put these little bright balls on the Christmas trees as additional decorations. Later we ate the oranges (because what else would you do with fruit on a Christmas tree?), and the smell was the mixture of summer’s aroma and pine needles’ smell. It was like someone blended vacation and holidays into one delicious, contradictory scent. Such a holiday feeling from these fruits—honestly, oranges deserve a marketing team.

More oranges. Yes, there’s a theme.

This spring we are on hold for travelling (thanks for that, world). I continue “flying” through our family images via my paintings—which is a fancy way of saying I’ve become a professional procrastinator with a paintbrush. My paintings are the versions of some summer photos in Spain, because apparently traveling through a screen is the new normal. Spanish cities have whole alleys of orange trees. I mean, entire streets of them. It’s like someone took a nature documentary and just… paved over it.

Spain called. It smelled like citrus.

Orange paradises with the smell of flowering orange trees are in the cities and their gardens: Barcelona, Cordoba, Madrid, Seville… If you’re looking for a reason to visit Spain besides the architecture, paella, and charming people, well, here it is—an entire country that smells like a delightful citrus dream. Seriously, they should bottle this and sell it as an air freshener. “Spanish Orange Bliss: Guaranteed to make your commute more bearable.”

Painted in Spain. Eaten shortly after.
Cordoba: where the streets are paved with orange trees and good decisions.

There are many interesting legends associated with the orange. One of them claims that it was not an apple, but an orange, that was the forbidden fruit that served as the reason for the expulsion of our ancestors from paradise. Think about it—if Adam and Eve had just been offered an apple like the biblical told us, fine. But an orange? That’s oddly specific. And honestly? If I were Eve, I probably would have eaten it too. Have you tasted an orange? They’re incredible.

The forbidden fruit, allegedly. Worth every consequence.

According to the legend, Eve was succumbing to the temptation of the snake tempter and tasted the fruit of an orange from the tree of knowledge—because apparently tempters have taste. She offered it to Adam, and the archangels blew their trumpets and showered her head with the snow-white, fragrant flowers of an orange tree (orange blossom). It was a moment of divine appreciation, honestly—even the angels were like, “Yeah, okay, that orange move was pretty good, but here are the consequences anyway.” Classic biblical irony. After this delicious episode, Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. So basically, we all owe our suffering to oranges. You’re welcome, humanity.

Orange still life
Last orange. For now. (It wasn’t the last orange.)


Bon voyage! Until the next travel :) if you find yourself in Spain, send me orange blossom perfume back, would you?)

Tools used for my painting: Watercolour brands Van Gogh and Cotman (because apparently orange fruit deserves fancy art supplies). Paper Canson Mix Media album 28×35 cm (11×14 in.) and Canson Watercolour album 25×35 cm (11×15 in.)—basically, I bought a lot of paper to paint the same fruit in different ways. It’s called commitment. Or obsession. Probably both.

All paintings belong to the author. No image is to be copied without permission. (Yes, I’m talking to you—put that orange painting down!).

Oranges and its trees, Rome, part 1. Urban sketching and Still life. Travel and Art.

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Rome. You know, that place where tourists arrive and immediately lose their minds over the one thing Romans have been casually ignoring for literally centuries: oranges hanging from trees. On actual trees:)

Lovely oranges- juicy

Orange trees minding their own business on a Rome street, casually photobombing motorcycles and architecture like they own the place. Spoiler: they kind of do.

Rome in May. The oranges are thriving. The tourists are not.

If you venture to Rome (and let’s be real, who wouldn’t?), prepare your schnoz for a fresh, jasmine-adjacent aroma that will make you question every candle you’ve ever bought. Visit in May? Congratulations! You’ve hit the citrus lottery—blooming orange trees will be photobombing every selfie you take on Rome’s charming streets.

Still life with oranges. They posed. We did not ask.

The Doria Pamphili Garden in Rome is the perfect place to collapse dramatically between museum tours, all while inhaling the intoxicating fragrance and gawking at the aggressively vibrant oranges hanging overhead. It’s like nature installed a mood enhancer specifically for exhausted art lovers.

Doria Pamphili Garden — where art lovers go to dramatically recover.

According to ancient Greek legend (and what’s more reliable than ancient mythology, am I right?), Gaea straight-up gifterd golden orange orchards to Hera as a wedding present when she married Zeus. Their first night of newlywed bliss? Three hundred years. Talk about going the distance! Now that’s a honeymoon.

Hera’s wedding gift. Three hundred years of honeymoon sold separately.

The couple had access to magical spring water—basically the ancient equivalent of a spa day—which kept Hera perpetually refreshed and virginal (plot twist: marriage!). And to make sure nobody crashed their citrus paradise, they hired the Hesperids and a monstrous dragon as bouncers. Talk about taking ‘No Trespassing’ to mythological extremes.

More oranges. Because apparently one painting wasn’t enough.
Spoiler: also oranges.

Oranges’ recipe for the salad we devoured in Rome like it had personally offended us. Main ingredients? Arugula (the fancy lettuce), feta cheese (the salty stuff), oranges (obviously), and olives (because why not). For dressing: red wine vinegar, honey, and olive oil—basically, liquid gold. The result? A light, refreshingly bright salad so good you’ll forget how much you hate summer heat. You’re welcome.

The salad’s main character. Bow down.

Bon voyage! Until the next adventure! Keep your sense of humor (and your appetite) sharp. Stay healthy, stay weird, and always look up to see what fruit-related adventure the universe has in store.

All paintings and sarcasm belong to the author. No image or witty observation is to be copied without permission (they’re copyrighted treasures, thank you very much).

Doria Pamphili Gallery—it’s on Via del Corso in Rome, if you ever need an excuse to eat more salad surrounded by Renaissance paintings and smug orange trees.

The behind-the-scenes reveal: my artistic arsenal includes watercolor brands Van Gogh and Cotman (because yes, we splash out on the fancy stuff). For sketching, I abuse Strathmore Watercolor albums (14×21 cm / 5.5×8.5 in.) and Acquarello (12.5×18 cm). Studio albums? Canson Mix Media (28×35 cm / 11×14 in.) and Canson Watercolor (25×35 cm / 11×15 in.)—basically enough paper to create my own forest, which ironically I’m using to draw pictures of trees. The irony is exquisite.

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