Still life and urban sketching — or as I like to call it, “procrastinating at tourist attractions with a sketchpad.”

Paris. The city of love, croissants, and inexplicably rude pigeons. Here’s the thing about Paris that nobody tells you: you don’t actually need to leave your hotel room to find beauty and inspiration. Just open the window and look around — you’ll find architecture that makes your apartment back home look like a cardboard box, monuments that have been standing longer than your entire family lineage, street names that sound like songs, memorial plaques commemorating people who actually did important things (unlike me, who’s mainly known for eating an entire wheel of Camembert while crying about climate change), restaurant signs in fonts that would make a graphic designer weep with envy, and murals that prove even walls have more artistic talent than most of us. Seriously, there’s something uniquely extraordinary to discover at every street corner. Paris doesn’t just hand you beauty — it ambushes you with it when you’re least expecting it, usually right after you’ve accidentally stepped in a puddle.

Do you ever think about cities as flowers? Or as colors? No? Just me? Cool, cool.

Thistle. A delightfully thorny wildflower featuring a magnificent display of eggplant and gold petals — nature’s way of saying, “I’m fancy and dangerous.” If the Luxembourg Gardens had a personality, this would be it. I’m convinced these flowers applied to art school and were accepted on their first try.

Thistle, take two. This particular specimen features sunny petals in the colors of pumpkin, orange, and beetroot — basically, if fall and autumn had a very colorful, very spiky baby. Yummy, right? (I mean, I wouldn’t recommend eating it. Paris is basically the thistle of cities — beautiful, elegant, and ready to stab you if you’re not paying attention (both literally, with its spiky architecture, and figuratively, with its devastating charm).

Thistle, round three (I promise this is getting somewhere). This wildflower rocks petals in canary yellow, spicy red, and burgundy — a color palette so sophisticated it makes the Pantone Institute nervous. It immediately evokes the Opera Garnier, one of the most aggressively elegant buildings in all of Paris.

Thistle, the extended remix. This version features petals of amber and purple — a combination that somehow looks like what I imagine royalty smells like. And the flower buds? They range from massive to microscopic, rather like the museums scattered throughout Paris’s city center: Musée d’Orsay (the cool one everyone’s heard of), the Louvre (the one that gives you existential dread just trying to find the bathroom), Musée de l’Orangerie (deceptively small but absolutely packed with Monet’s fever dreams), Musée Marmottan Monet (for when you want MORE Monet, because apparently one museum wasn’t enough), Musée Jacquemart-André (where rich people kept their rich person collections), and Musée de Cluny (medieval vibes and the Unicorn Tapestries, which I definitely didn’t spend three hours staring at while taking blurry photos on my phone).

Thistle number five: The Grand Finale. This specimen features a mustard-violet flower with thorns the color of, well, apple skin. Stylish as Parisian sweeping and majestic boulevards — which is to say, it looks like it went to finishing school in Switzerland and then casually conquered Europe while sipping espresso. The vibe is undeniably “I woke up like this but also spent four hours getting ready.”

Thistle, the encore performance. Featuring peach-colored petals against a copper and amber background — basically what the Eiffel Tower looks like in the morning when you’ve woken up early because you couldn’t sleep (jet lag is romantic, apparently). This color combination is so warm and glowy that it makes you believe in magic, or at least in the possibility that Paris might actually be worth all the hype.

Bon voyage! Until the next travel adventure :) Stay healthy, stay curious, and remember: life is too short to not travel, not sketch random flowers, and not pretend you understand French when someone speaks to you at a café (just nod and smile — it works 60% of the time, every time).

All paintings belong to the author and are protected by the ancient artist code: look but don’t touch, admire but don’t copy, and definitely don’t use without permission or face the wrath of someone who takes their wildflowers very seriously.