“It is the flash of yellow against the old, cracked pink house that draws me to stop and sketch. As I settle in, a young boy in a bright green shirt wanders into the scene—a perfect little extra, as if on cue. A man notices me, offers me a cup of chai, and lays down a small rug, so I won't have to sit on the dusty ground. Before I've drawn a single line, India has already become part of the sketch.”
“It is the flash of yellow against the old, cracked pink house that draws me to stop and sketch. As I settle in, a young boy in a bright green shirt wanders into the scene—a perfect little extra, as if on cue. A man notices me, offers me a cup of chai, and lays down a small rug, so I won't have to sit on the dusty ground. Before I've drawn a single line, India has already become part of the sketch.”