Drawing gives me focus, clarity, and peace. It’s a form of meditation, my daily practice. When I draw, I enter a state of flow where time slows down and the outside world fades away. This was especially true during the early days of the pandemic, when the simple act of picking up my pen helped me process uncertainty and reconnect with a sense of purpose.
As a father, drawing also became a survival tool. It was something I could return to at the end of each day — quiet, grounding, and just for me. That practice has stayed with me. In fact, I still draw my dish rack every night (and have done so for more than 3,000 (mostly) consecutive nights). It’s become a ritual, a reset, a way of saying: I’m still here, and this moment matters.
Drawing restaurants is my way of extending that philosophy outward. These places hold our stories — first dates, anniversaries, meals that changed everything. By putting them on paper, I get to preserve not just a building, but the feeling of being there, of sharing something with someone.
