Looking around for a new subject to paint, I walk towards the Temple of Hephaestus, stepping over puddles from last night’s rain as I go. I take a deep breath. The morning air is rich with moisture and the scent of flowers. After finding a good view of the temple, I pull out my chair and unfold it. The temple, from this perspective, sits on top of a hill overlooking the Agora with green gardens surrounding it.
(Excerpt from my book, The Artist on the Road: Impressions of Greece)
At the far end of the Agora, I find an engaging view of a Byzantine church with the ever-present Acropolis hovering in the distance. This will be a great place to start the day. I pull out my sketchbook, unfold my chair, and begin drawing. Thinking back to what I learned on Mykonos yesterday, I start with the most important object, the church dome, and work outward, eyeballing the proportions as I go. By drawing the overall size and perspective of the church first, I won’t have to worry about running off the page when my mind is preoccupied drawing the details.
(Excerpt from my book, The Artist on the Road: Impressions of Greece)
We begin our day in the Agora, an ancient marketplace just below the Acropolis. It looks like an over-grown garden with trees, bushes, and flowers but with the added bonus of architectural ruins scattered about. Although few people are present, it’s easy to imagine the crowds shopping thousands of years ago. I walk along Panathenaic Way as it cuts across the Agora. In ancient times, Greeks used this pathway not only for the market but also for the Panathenaic festival (the largest and most important festival in Athens) that was held each year in honor of Athena, the patron Goddess of Athens. The procession began at dawn, just north of here at the Dipylon Gate in the Potter’s Quarter. It then proceeded through the Agora and wound up the Acropolis to the Erechtheum where a peplos (a full length garment warn by women) was placed on the statue of Athena. Each year young women wove a new peplos specifically for the event.
This map shows the major places we visited while in Athens. The narrow, zigzagging streets resemble pedestrian pathways more than motorways, but motorcycles come zipping through the crowds at surprising speeds. Athens is also greener than I imagined and that is in part do to the abundance of potted plants and flowers that line the streets, but also because of park-like areas that break the rhythm of multi-storied buildings. These little islands of greenery appear to be excavations, with Corinthian capitals and other pieces of columns lying about. History is everywhere.
Finally, after our long boat ride from Mykonos, we arrive at the docks of Piraeus. We collect our bags and wait below deck with a crowd of people to exit the ferry. A grinding vibration from the engine coupled with the sound of rushing water echoes against the steel hull as we inch towards the dock. When the gangway finally lowers, a rush of fresh, humid air blows against my face. We step out into the port town of Piraeus and hop on the Metro for a short ride to our hotel in Athens. After settling into our room, we head back out for a double scoop of gelato and a walk around the familiar city streets, enjoying the buzz of this world-class city.
(Excerpt from my book, The Artist on the Road: Impressions of Greece)
On the ferry, we find seats on the top deck, but a rainstorm kicks up, so we retreat to the warm indoors near a coffee shop serving everything from sandwiches and soup to beer and coffee. The ferry keeps a steady pace and rocks gently as it pushes through waves. Fortunately, it’s not enough to upset my stomach. Sitting next to us, a large group of people keep the place lively with jokes and uncontrollable laughter. It will be a long time before we reach Athens, so I browse over my completed watercolors and sketchbook drawings.
After hours of sitting, I feel the need to stretch my legs. I put on my jacket and climb the stairs to the upper level. A cool breeze rushes by as I step onto the wet deck. The rain has stopped, at least for the moment, as dark clouds still threaten off in the distance, dumping rain into the silvery sea below. I hear a low, pulsating hum from the engine that keeps tempo with the splashing of seawater against the boat. The rhythmic weaving of sound provides the perfect soundtrack to the moody weather. I enjoy this meditative state until it gets too dark to see, and climb back down to the warm glow of the cafe below.
At the edge of town, I find a row of windmills and begin to draw, but soon stop. The arms of the windmill are not drawn well, and overall, it looks off. Since I drew a good windmill the day before yesterday, I turn my attention to another subject, the nearby bay. I start the drawing on the left side of the paper and detail each building as I move across the page. I’m running out of room, so I skip a few buildings to fit the curve of the bay at the bottom right. This helps the overall composition. I’m also finding that I don’t have to draw the horizon line anymore, as the islands themselves hint at its whereabouts.
I head back to the hotel to collect my bags, pick up my dad, and we set off for the docks. After one of the fastest cab rides I’ve ever experienced, I have a little extra time to draw a cargo ship before our ferry arrives.
(Excerpt from my book, The Artist on the Road: Impressions of Greece)
With a full day of drawing behind me and a stomach that is unwilling to cooperate any longer, I walk back to the hotel and pick up my dad for dinner. Searching for a good place to eat, we stop at a quaint little Italian restaurant displaying fresh raviolis, tortellinis, linguini, and other pasta shapes, beautifully displayed on a table to tempt passersby to come inside. The menu outside the door lists even more tasty items: lasagna, chicken parmesan, and pizza. The smell of oregano and tomato sauce fills the air. My stomach growls, but my heart sinks when I see the prices. I must remember that staying on budget made this trip possible and creating art is the reason I’m here. Disappointed, we walk a little farther and come upon an open grassy area. To our surprise, we see a stately, four-foot high Pelican standing on a large flower pot. It looks so wise with its long bill and majestic pose. Its webbed feet wrap around the edge of the planter, and it barely budges as we move in closer, taking pictures. Few people are close by, and those who are, surprisingly, don’t notice this beautiful white bird. Perhaps they think it’s a statue.
Getting hungrier by the minute and unable to have pelican for dinner, we continue walking and find a pizza restaurant with prices more in line with our budget. The restaurant is located in a courtyard with trellises of grapevines canopying above. The weather is still warm, and the earlier threat of rain has vanished. I order a glass of chianti and a pepperoni pizza, feeling happy as a clam.
After paying the bill, we head back towards the hotel. Just up ahead, we hear loud voices coming from a crowd of people and walk over to see what all the commotion is about. Showing off and obviously enjoying the attention, we see the pelican using its bill to smooth its ruffled feathers. It spreads its wings to create some space around it, and then its real intentions become obvious. The back door to a restaurant stands open, and it walks directly inside as if it works there, proceeding behind the counter and into the kitchen, where the good stuff is. A few seconds later, a cook with a broom shoos the large bird from behind the counter and out the door. A roar of laughter erupts from the crowd. Then with a flap of his wings, the pelican flies off to his next destination in search of food. We head back to the hotel for some shut eye.
