Santander, in Cantabria, northern Spain. As I could not sleep, I walk in the city by night. The seaside is cool at 4 am and walking keeps me warm. At the first light of day, a café finally opens. My hands relax gently on the large cup of latte. I take my sketchbook out of the backpack.

I have two ways of choosing a point of view. The first is a treasure hunt. I dream of a splendid panorama with an ideal light, a depth of plans, a strong symbolic load. I poke around watching the course of the sun, stop, retrace my steps, wonder if the shade wouldn't be more beautiful in the next street, if the grass wouldn't be greener in the field next door. Most often, this impossible quest ends when the sunset pushes me to compromise. The second method is much more static in appearance. I sit at random - usually because the place is comfortable - and try to detect the beauty of the view that presents itself. The movement is internal. My body is immobile, but my impression evolves. Sometimes I'm not looking for anything and I'm struck by something obvious: it's love at first sight.

Whichever way you choose, the steps are always the same: first feel, then draw.