For one week I wandered around Venice with all the other tourists. At the Bridge of Sighs I fought my way through the crowd to take my place and make a sketch despite the many people walking past, speaking all the languages of the world, pressed together and collaged. I made my way with sketchbook in hand, mostly just looking at things. Once in a while I would remember that I had a job to do in between wandering up and down bridges and eating little Venician sandwiches and gelato. I am certain that I haven’t found my ‘favorite place’ and no city is ‘the best’. But if I could go back to any city, just for a short visit, it would be Venice. Maybe it’s because there aren’t any cars. Or because there’s water everywhere, and beautiful churches and statues to wonder at. Maybe I wasn’t there long enough. But I felt something mysterious and timeless as I explored the quiet cobbled streets and sat by the Grand Canal as gondolas drifted lazily by. I saw other artists sketching. I knew I was walking in the footsteps of many other artists. The history is there in the stones, and the buildings speak with visual grace. For the background color of the cards, I scanned the paper of my grandfather’s 1935 sketchbook. He traveled across Italy and Europe studying architecture and I like to think I’ve inherited some of his appreciation.