People: Luis Colan – Draw What You See, Not What You Know

We first discovered Luis Colan through his sketches. My colleague paused on one in particular: a shadowed forest path, a hill peeking through the trees. The scene felt immediate and alive, almost as if a fresh breeze had spilt from the page.

And then we noticed it. “Wait… Is that a Scriveiner pen?” The red silhouette of a pocket pen caught our eye. The image stayed with us for days, and discovering more of Luis’s work only deepened our curiosity.

As makers of fine writing instruments, we love seeing a Scriveiner in use, part of someone’s daily routine, a trusted tool, a pen of choice.

We reached out to Luis to talk about his journey, his creative process, and, of course, pens. Today, we invite you to meet Luis Colan, New York artist, through this honest interview.

Scriveiner: Please introduce yourself and describe yourself as an artist.

Luis: My name is Luis Colan. I’ve been pursuing my art career here in New York for 21 years. I started as a painter and for a long time resisted drawing altogether. 

Since my move to NYC in 2004, I kept a sketchbook to jot down ideas, either written or visual, for future paintings. Most of my drawing time took place during train commutes. It wasn’t until 2015 that pen drawing and sketching became a necessity. That’s when I began a monotype print practice, and I always wanted to be ready prior to each printing session with thumbnail sketches. That sketchbook and pen opened a new direction for me. It wasn’t planned; it simply grew into a habit. Over time, the thumbnails grew into more developed “detailed” drawings and people connected with them on Instagram, and that small shift in my practice became central to my artistic output today. 

Scriveiner: Do you remember the first time you thought of yourself as an artist?

Luis: I’ve been drawing since I was a child, as young as five. My mother made me a sketchbook out of used printer paper, and I spent hours filling it. I remember realising early on that I saw things differently. When most kids drew cars as rectangles with two wheels, I drew the curves of the bumper wrapping around the tyres.

In first grade, I won a drawing competition. I didn’t yet know I would become an artist, but I knew there was something in me that made me look at the world differently.

Scriveiner: Later, you studied at the Hartford Art School. How did that experience shape you?

Luis: Hartford was a very significant place. It has this long history: founded in 1877 by prominent Hartford women who wanted access to figure drawing when they were excluded elsewhere. Over the years the school merged with the University of Hartford, and so many important artists came through there, it built a prestige, making it an important art school in the country. You could feel that when you walked the halls.

There’s an ongoing discussion that American art schools don’t teach enough technique. I remember feeling that frustration. But looking back, I see how fortunate I was to have professors who cared about drawing and painting in a, as one could say, traditional way. Their advice still echoes when I work. Hartford gave me a foundation I still rely on today.

Scriveiner: And what was the most meaningful advice you ever received as an artist?

Luis: One of my teachers, Fred Wessel, noticed when I shifted from realism to abstraction. Instead of resisting, he told me,“As long as you work honestly, it will come through the work.” That’s stayed with me.

For me, honesty is everything. Don’t get caught in the persona of being an Artist. What matters is the work itself. If it’s honest, people will feel it.

Scriveiner: Let’s talk about tools. How did pen drawing become your medium?

Luis: It began with commuting. I wanted something portable, and I chose a pen almost by accident. At first, I was uncomfortable. For a long time, my background was pencil and charcoal, but the smooth paper of my sketchbook forced me to adapt. The pen was permanent, so I had to commit to every mark.

Over time, it became natural. I found this shop with an endless amount of pens of all kinds, standing in glass jars, so you can try and scribble each one you like. Later, I felt more comfortable with the great number of options available: I started buying rollerball pens, then fountain pens. 

Many people think fountain pens are intimidating. Like they are fragile objects only for collectors. But I’ve found the opposite. They’re durable, practical, and endlessly rewarding. 

A good pen, when you buy it to be a tool rather than a collectable piece, shouldn’t call too much attention to itself. You should like the aesthetics of it, but moreover, it should feel balanced and light, so that you focus only on the line it creates. Your body should respond to it.

I liked using your pen, the pocket pen. Its design is simple, very-very sleek, the aluminium body is very light. Its design reminds me of travel watercolour brushes, so it already has a sense of romance to it. But more importantly, it’s the weight and balance. All the fountain pens that I enjoyed using throughout the years were sleek, light and balanced, and the Scriveiner feels grounded in a way that makes it a pleasure to draw with.

I’m a creature of habit: once I find something I like, I stay with it. For years, it’s been a Moleskine sketchbook and two fine point pens (ballpoint & rollerball). That simple.

Scriveiner: For students and aspiring artists, what matters most in developing a practice?

Luis: Practice. Nothing replaces it. You can take hundreds of classes, but drawing is personal. It’s in, again, how your body reacts to materials.

There’s a saying I love: “Draw what you see, not what you know.” We “know” a table is a rectangle and has four legs, but what you really need to capture is how it looks from your angle — its light, shape, and presence. That’s what makes a drawing personal and alive.

I had a drawing workshop in Central Park the other week, and I remember telling this to the students. When you sit in front of a tree, you don’t need to draw every leaf. You need to find its rhythm, its silhouette, the energy of the branches reaching up. Simplify, and the brain fills in the rest. That’s when your drawing starts to breathe.

Scriveiner: Have you ever created a piece that taught you something new about yourself?

Luis: I’m constantly searching for that moment. Sometimes, only in hindsight do I realise what a piece has led me to. I created this, and it led to creating this, and that, and now I’m here.

But in terms of ‘teaching me something about myself’, I don’t think I’ve fully arrived at “the piece” yet. Maybe in this case, the search itself is the whole point.

Scriveiner: And finally, the hardest question of them all. How do you know when a piece is finished?

Luis: Most of us don’t! For me, it’s when the surface feels complete, when all the corners are activated. If I keep working past that, I risk hurting the piece.

Sometimes I destroy unfinished work or something that asks me to come back to it. I'd better shred it or cover it completely. Because if you keep reworking, the ghost of the original lingers, and you’re never free of it.

I think a piece is finished when it allows you to breathe. When it feels comfortable, when it feels right. Of course, a year later, you might look back and question everything. But in the moment, the breath tells you it’s done.

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Interviewed by: Hanna Struk

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Luis, thank you for this opportunity, your honesty and dedication to your craft. It was a great pleasure to talk to you and learn more about your path.

If you'd like to discover more of Luis Colan's works, make sure to visit his professional website and Instagram page.