Fifth Street, Berkeley. I’ve been walking past this place for years, a house on the corner of Fifth Street and Allston Way in West Berkeley. I’ve always been struck by the place’s battered look and the declaration that it’s private property. I’m kind of wondering whether this is a warning to would-be trespassers or an announcement of principle. In Berkeley, you never quite know.

The streets of West Berkeley are often bare of people, but never bare of scenes to sketch. We posted up on an empty loading dock, lounged deeply and opened our drawing pads. The minutes linger and are not looked after. We unwrap sandwiches and make little piles of heavy things to hold down the drawing paper in the wind. We let the sounds of the streets turn into lines on a page.

Sometimes we sketch at lunchtime. Sometimes we whistle while we work.

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