A Rooftop Welcome and the First Marks on the Page
There is a particular kind of buzz that builds before a retreat. By Sunday afternoon, Dublin was buzzing with arrivals – familiar faces meeting again, new ones joining the fold, ready for the week ahead. By evening we were all looking out across the skyline from the hotel rooftop, gifts ready on the table and that soft clink of glasses that says you are among friends.
It felt less like a formal welcome and more like a reunion. Conversations started mid-sentence, as if they had been paused since Edinburgh or Brighton. Pens were compared. Favourite paper was debated. The easy language of a community re-forming itself.
Monday morning began the way sketching days should. A decent breakfast. Layers. Sensible shoes.
Then the city threw us its first curveball. Our chosen view was blocked by a delivery van.
We pivoted to the Quays Pub and set up so everyone could see and stay safe. Chairs unfolded. Andrea revealed a tiled patterned seat. Wolfgang unveiled a tie-dye number that made the group smile.
We began the way we teach in our courses. Pen placement first, then build the outline in stages. This simple start sets the tone for everything that follows.
Wolfgang moved like lightning and we joked he might sketch the whole street and sell the pages back to the bars.
Real life kept edging into the frame, and we let it. A lorry pulled up with pub barrels, and the crew kindly let us borrow two for twenty minutes. We dropped them into our compositions. They added weight, story, and a sense of place that no tidy plan would have provided.
A group of Italian students sang in the street. If you have ever sketched to live music you will know the way the tempo creeps into your line.
By lunch the weather held, so we returned to an earlier location and used the clear spell to grab outlines. Pam found a gap at the base of her compressed scene and solved it with road arrows and those borrowed barrels. Trish held back at the early stage and discovered how restraint makes later layers click.
We ended the day with a pint, a singalong, and that warm feeling you get when a group begins to gel. The first marks were on the page. The storytelling had started. The memories were already forming.
Finding Calm, Colour, and Confidence in the Studio
Day two gave us the quiet we needed. No traffic. No horns. Just the clean smell of coffee, chairs scraping into place, and sketchbooks opened flat on the tables. With two outlines done, the plan was clear. Watercolour. Tone. Detail. Two finished sketches by evening.
We began with local colours. Not a playful palette plucked from imagination, but the real colours in front of us. For our first two scenes that meant blues, browns, and of course greens. Starting with these grounded the work in Dublin.
From there we wove in complementary shades to lift and balance. It sounds simple, and it is, but it is also a powerful way to anchor storytelling in place. When your colour choices match what your eye knows to be true, your sketch gains credibility before you have drawn a window.
We separated one idea from another so it landed cleanly. Transparent versus opaque paints.
Transparent washes let the paper glow.
Opaque layers sit firm and cover what is below. Knowing which to reach for at each stage gives control. It also opens the door to subtlety. A transparent green over brick reads as light and weather. An opaque dark in a doorway says depth and pause. These choices are small on the brush. They are large in the final read.
Lettering came next. Pub signs carry history and character. We approached letters the way we approach facades. Lively, a little uneven, and full of life. Nothing traced. Nothing stiff. A sign with a bit of wobble often feels more honest than a ruler-straight label.
By the afternoon we gathered for two throwdowns that doubled as personal feedback sessions.
O’Neill’s first. Wendy’s clock face, Roman numerals crisp and proud, became a focal point. Andrea layered shadow beneath a plant box by mixing colour rather than reaching for grey, and it sang. Cathy tried Tombow brush pens for the first time and grinned at what they could do when pushed and lifted with a light touch.
Then the Quays. Cheryl admitted the detail felt overwhelming. Marianne wrestled with upper window angles. Paul left a stubborn dark doorway until last so it could not derail the whole page. Trish said she had dived in too quickly and could see how holding back would help.
Courage, honesty, and progress. That is enhanced learning at its best – you show, you tell, you listen, then you try again.
Chaos, Coffee, and Community
Day three took us back to the streets – and back to the kind of lesson you can’t rehearse indoors. A tight corner. Lorries and taxis edging past. Doors slamming. That faint taste of exhaust in the air.
We tucked in close and protected our sightlines. It was gritty and noisy, but also perfect, because it made us think carefully about what really mattered in our sketches.
When a scene is packed with detail, it’s tempting to try and capture everything. The trick is to simplify – crop tighter, focus on the shapes that tell the story, and let the rest fade away. The city won’t stop for your drawing, so you learn to make choices quickly and with confidence.
Amid all the noise and bustle, the group looked after each other, laughing and sharing the moment like old friends.
Pam tried to hide her birthday, which is no use at all when the people around you have developed real friendship over the past two days. A balloon appeared. A card. A round of hugs. For a few minutes the horns faded and were replaced by laughter.
After lunch we regrouped outside the Hairy Lemon, that cheerful yellow pub tucked between the shops. Space was tight, so everyone found their own small corner and made it work. Some sketched straight through the distractions, others paused and adjusted their view, but no one lost their focus. A few rewarded themselves with a pint inside before we packed up and headed back to base.
That evening we went live on Zoom for Plus members. It wasn’t about showing off – it was about storytelling. Students spoke about breakthroughs, frustrations, and those moments of getting stuck and unstuck.
Real community grows quietly, through small acts of encouragement, gentle feedback, and the sense that everyone’s in it together.
Shared Rhythm and Small Breakthroughs
By day four something had shifted. The nerves and newness had melted away. They were replaced by laughter, inside jokes, and an easy rhythm that arrives once you have shared a few long sketching days together.
Back in the studio everyone found their flow. Brushes clinked in water jars. Quiet chat drifted between tables. Hairdryers hummed to nudge paint along. The task was simple. Revisit yesterday’s location sketches and bring them to completion.
Somewhere between colour mixing and fine line work Mary and Ian had a little dance in the middle of the room. No one batted an eye. That is what happens by day four. What might look odd to outsiders feels normal to us. Fun slips in between stages and helps the work along.
At the throwdown the reflections were practical and honest. Trish liked the clothes she had tucked into her composition, yet she could see she would leave more white space next time. Marianne, who had sharpened her lettering all week, wanted to take it further. Paul was pleased that he had bravely pushed colour on fast, even if the clock beat him to the finish. Kath, new to retreat life, loved the street furniture in her scene and wanted to master cobblestones.
This is enhanced learning in real time. You are not only told what went well. You hear your own voice say what you will try next. That is where confidence grows, not from applause but from clear intent and small steps you can repeat.
We closed the day with a treat at the Guinness Storehouse. Standing with a pint and looking over the rooftops reminded us what a week like this gives. Memories that will outlast the paint, a fresh respect for colour that comes from a place, and friendship that deepens when you sketch together for five days.
It is not just about pages filled. It is about people.
Rain, Cake, and the Confidence to Sketch Independently
Day five arrived with weather that meant business. Rain poured. Pavements shone grey. Thankfully our location was a short walk from the hotel. We dashed out, collected a stack of reference photos, then retreated to the studio, damp but cheerful.
The hotel kindly loaned us a bicycle to use as a focal point. It changed the scene at once. A bicycle adds scale, rhythm, and a human story even when the rider is nowhere in sight.
We talked about why we take many photographs rather than rely on one. When you compress a busy street into a page you often want to pull details from different angles. More photos give you more options. You can add interest without breaking the truth of the place. Each sketch stays individual because each person curates a different set of elements.
The teaching approach shifted too. Four sketches in, the group had enough momentum to work more independently. The role at the front became lighter and more responsive. Short demonstrations on the bicycle. A quick pass on lettering. A reminder about where tone carries the load.
Then step back. Students asked for the demos they wanted, which is a sign of confidence. When people can name what they need, they are no longer waiting to be taught. They are ready to learn.
Charles slipped out and came back with a tray of baked treats. Coffee and cake make a rainy day feel like a good decision.
For the final push we merged tone and detail into one steady stage. By now most of the group could trust their judgement.
The last throwdown had us choose a favourite sketch and say why it mattered. There were smiles, a few tears, and a lot of gratitude. We ended where we began, back at the first pub, this time with full hearts and sketchbooks heavy with colour.
Over our farewell dinner, the room was loud with conversation. It did not feel like goodbye. It felt like see you next time.
Final Thoughts: What We Took Away from Dublin
Looking back, the Dublin retreat was never only about drawing. It was about community, built one conversation at a time.
It was about friendship, tested by rain and traffic and made stronger by pints, music in the street, and the steady rhythm of the studio. It was about storytelling with colour that belonged to the place, and about learning to edit when the city pressed too close.
The best moments were ordinary and human. A rooftop welcome with gifts. A van that forced a better composition. A small dance in the middle of the room. A birthday balloon that turned a noisy corner into a pocket of joy. Baked treats on a wet afternoon.
These are the details that fix a week in the mind. They are the reasons a finished sketch can carry more than lines and paint. It can carry the people who stood beside you, the personal feedback that helped you see your own work more clearly, and the simple truth that art made in company has a different weight.
If you carry anything into your next outing, let it be this. Choose honestly. Work simply. Share what you learn. The pages will look after themselves.
And if this has peaked your interest, check out our blogs on our Brighton, and Edinburgh Retreats.
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