Why I Sketch: Learning Through Drawing

Sketch from Copenhagen, Denmark

In Why Architects Still Draw, Paolo Belardi reflects on the Italian word schizzo (sketch) and its layered meaning:

“In Italian, the word schizzo—sketch—derives from the Latin schedium, which in turn comes from the Greek schedios, meaning 'done extemporaneously.' Yet it also carries the echo of schema, meaning a diagram or scheme, and even more interestingly, the root sch-, which recurs in words like scienza (science) and scuola (school), thus subtly linking the act of sketching to that of learning.”

This idea—that to sketch is to learn—has always resonated with me.

My first journey as an architecture student was an independent study in Japan, following my teacher, Silvia Acosta. That trip changed everything. I followed her to Mexico the following year, where I had one of the most profound learning experiences of my life. It was under Silvia’s quiet yet unwavering guidance that I first understood what it meant to see—not just with my eyes, but with intention. She taught me to sketch with an editing eye, to trace spaces not only as they were, but as I perceived and interpreted them. In Mexico, I was producing two to five drawings a day, and slowly, the act of sketching became a form of thinking.

Later, I picked up a camera. Silvia again encouraged me—not just to document, but to tell stories, to discover my own rhythm behind the lens. She helped me realize that I had a silent voice worth placing on film.

Before my thesis year, I went to Italy. I remember sitting inside Bramante’s Tempietto for the tenth time, looking up at the light—how it entered, shifted, and lingered. And there, in that moment of stillness, I was struck by an inspiration that words couldn’t hold.

People often say travel teaches us a lot. For architects, it is more than that—it is a necessity. To know space, we must feel it. And to feel it, we must slow down and observe.

Over the years, traveling for work and with my family, photography became easier. Once phones became cameras, it became effortless. But on this recent trip, I wanted to encourage Ryan and Kacey to sketch daily—to slow down, to see. I knew I had to do the same.

It had been a long time. At first, sketching felt awkward, even frustrating. But soon I was reminded of all I had forgotten. When I take a photo, I’m trying to capture something fleeting—to preserve the inspiration. But when I draw, I learn. I begin to understand how spaces are built and held together, how light travels, how forms relate. I also discover how I instinctively want to shift or reimagine what I see. Drawing makes space a conversation.

And so, I return to the sketch. Not just to remember—but to learn.