Sketch of the month: February edition.

“To be a lantern in the darkness 
Or an umbrella in a stormy day; 
To feel much more than know.”

― Dejan Stojanovic

After a wonderful, whirlwind week in San Francisco, I arrived in Seattle late last Thursday evening.

Although I had plans to connect with various friends over the weekend, it ended up that I had Friday to myself – something that would normally thrill my solo traveler’s heart. But the sense of belonging I’d felt in the Bay Area left me feeling out of sorts that morning, as I began walking from the cafés of Fremont past the colorful houseboats along Westlake to the fish-flinging stalls at Pike Place Market. By the time I arrived in the International District – or what is also known as Chinatown – I was in oddly low spirits.

As I shared in the introduction to Beneath the Lantern’s Glow, my time in Asia has resulted in a rather big fascination with Chinese lanterns. They’ve become a kind of symbol for me, one that signals I am truly elsewhere. But at the same time, as I’ve followed their rosy glow from Kuala Lumpur to Siem Reap to Saigon, and discovered them in other less likely places such as Bulgaria’s capital of Sofia, they’ve also come to feel like home.

And so it was lanterns I was in search of when I arrived in Chinatown on Friday, as a means of re-connecting to my larger journey through the world. I didn’t need many; just one or two would do, that I could once again sit beneath and sketch.

I turned to a nearby tea shop for help, asking them where I could find any lanterns. “Go up to Jackson Street,” a petite woman directed me. “Beside the New Star restaurant, there you will find the restaurant you are looking for.” This last sentence puzzled me, as I didn’t remember having mentioned any particular business. But sure enough, next door to the New Star was the Red Lantern restaurant – ironically devoid of lanterns on either its interior or exterior. I could only laugh and keep hunting.

Next I spotted what seemed to be three large lanterns stacked vertically down the street, but when I got to them, I saw they were merely some kind of public art installation – not actual lanterns. Finally, I popped into another corner restaurant and asked two young waiters if they knew of any lanterns in the area. When they told me no, I decided it was time to accept my fate. There were no lanterns to be found.

It was only then, on my way back to sketch the gate at the start of Chinatown, that I saw him.

He was standing on a rickety blue ladder, his arms outstretched towards a length of white string that had been tied from a tree branch to a light pole, and then continued around the perimeter of Hing Hay Park. There was a classic Radio Flyer wagon parked next to him, the wagon filled to its wooden brim with my beloved Chinese lanterns.

I suddenly realized my hunt had not been so fruitless after all.

For a while, I stood on the opposite street corner, watching as he fussed with the roll of red tape he would use to hang each lantern. Although Friday was technically the Lunar New Year, the big celebration in town was not until the next day, and it seemed that this one man – whose name I would soon learn was Bill – had been tasked with the job of transforming the park for the festival. I knew all of this as I stood on the street corner, and yet I couldn’t help feeling as if Bill was hanging those lanterns just for me.

I prefer not to know what he thought of a wide-eyed, huge-smiled sketch artist practically stalking him that afternoon, waiting for him to finish hanging the initial stretch of lanterns so she could sketch them. But I did wait, hanging back until the first five lanterns were swaying in the bitter breeze, and then I pulled out my sketchbook. A perfectly situated bench made sure I was in position: I was beneath the lantern’s glow.

Within minutes, I could feel my funk from earlier in the day falling away. Thoughts of belonging or not belonging no longer mattered. I was drawn so deep into the scene, my mind concerned only with how to portray the wide shape of the lanterns, that when a passing Chinese woman in a bright blue coat and matching scarf stopped in her tracks to see what I was drawing, it took a moment to say hello back to her.

“I think you like some Chinese traditions,” she said, before joining me on my bench.

I assured her that I most certainly do, and explained that lanterns are a particular favorite.

“You like Asia then?” she asked, and when I again affirmed her intuition, she said, “I think you like drawing Asia.” Exactly! I wanted to say – instead, I cursed myself for not having a copy of Beneath the Lantern’s Glow on me.

I learned her name is Leena, and that she immigrated to Seattle thirty years ago from Hong Kong. She was recently laid off from her job as a claims processor, but didn’t seem too affected by the change. Instead, she said she was looking forward to the time off, and to the chance to do some traveling. First up is her nephew’s wedding back in Hong Kong later this year.

“Maybe it was an unexpected blessing,” I said.

“Yes, exactly. I think of it like a present.”

When we said goodbye, I wished Leena a happy new year, and she wished me the same. “This year is the horse,” she said.

“What does the horse mean?” I asked.

“Energy,” she said, not skipping a beat. “It means energy. I like horse.”

Leena walked away, her blue coat soon blending into the crowds on Jackson Street, and when I returned to my sketch, I found that our brief encounter had been its own source of quiet energy for me. Her questions and kind smile remained me for a long time that afternoon, imbuing each stroke of my paintbrush with a renewed sense of peace and purpose.

That’s what Seattle showed me on Friday – that wherever the red lanterns glow, I’m home.

As always, this sketch of the month was uploaded at high resolution, so  feel free to give your desktop a new look for the new lunar year. Happy year of the horse!