Drawing Rohan
What the iPhone can’t capture.
JUNE 24, 2025
Baa-bol, shouts Rohan, pointing outside the windows. Fluffs of cotton are floating in the late spring air, released by the cottonwood trees in our frontyard. This week, the “bubbles,” as Rohan sees them, are everywhere, covering everything.
I grab my sketchbook and watch him, the pen hovering over the page. This is how it always begins. I observe the way his head tilts, how one arm rests on the coffee table and how he reaches forward as if to grab the “bubbles.” But when I study him, I do not see his head, arms and body. His head becomes a circle, flattened and shaded on the right (hair) and pointed on the left (chin). The table also becomes a circle, flattened by perspective. The window becomes a simple rectangle. To draw is to see things not as they are, but to translate them into a new language of lines and shapes. I wonder if Rohan isn’t doing the same thing? Baa-bol, he cries out again.
Deep observation has been a part of my life since before I became a father. As an artist, I draw urban life in public spaces: a person reading a book in a cafe, someone crossing the street, families in public parks. These are ordinary things but they fascinate me. Do I not drink my coffee the same way? Am I also impatient for the light to turn green? Drawing people is an invitation to look past the ways we are different from one another, and recognize our underlying similarities. It is this idea that I seek to communicate with my minimalist drawings and the spirit with which I wanted to approach my new life as a parent. I wanted to observe Rohan, without distractions, and record the little things he does and that make up his world.
Rohan sees “bubbles” out of the window.
In the early weeks, infants do not see color. Their world is black and white, light and shadow, like my drawing style. But as colors entered Rohan’s world over time, something serendipitous happened in my art as well. Because he slept through most of the day, my drawings of Rohan were suddenly feeling monotonous. I picked up color pencils as a way to spice things up. One color, maybe two. Baby steps, just like him. In this way our worlds grew larger, together.
It is much easier and faster to snap a picture. I can do it with my eyes half-closed. I can do it while distracted. It takes no time at all. But that is also what makes it less valuable. I believe that my life is enriched by paying more attention to Rohan, and noticing how he interacts with objects and people in his wondrous world. I am not trying to save time, I am trying to slow it down, and the act of drawing forces me to do that.
When I flip through my sketchbooks of Rohan, now 16 months old, I recall the time he was born at the hospital as perfectly as the time he ate solid food for the first time. The value of these sketchbooks is not in the quality of the art, but the cumulative documentation of moments and days and months that I paid attention to my son. Moving from one page to the next, I unlock memories, seeing not only Rohan, but also myself, fully present, behind the page.
During labor, I drew my wife in between contractions, alternating between scribbling in the sketchbook and holding her head. The first picture of Rohan was made five minutes after he was born. My hands were trembling.
We were lucky to have help from Rohan’s grandparents through the early, sleepless nights. Not only to take care of him, but also to reassure us that everything did not have to be a personal responsibility.
How could colors shape my perception of Rohan, I wondered? Every opportunity to draw him became a chance to ask myself such questions and explore new media.
Rohan’s sleep regressed during month four. On this day, I stood waiting in anticipation of a bottle run.
While we were anxious about introducing Rohan to various allergens, he was fascinated by this new world of tastes and textures. He snatched the spoon out of our hands, feeding himself and plastering fruit all over his face.
Once Rohan learned to walk, he was eager to touch and sense everything. To capture his quick, capricious movements, I had to draw him much smaller, with continuous lines and minimal details. Here, I try not to draw him but his energy.
Rohan is delighted whenever we lie down on the floor. Maybe he sees ground level as his domain.
Rohan has started to notice that I’m drawing him. If he sees me, he wants to grab the book!
✺ Published in “Issue 29: Fathers” of The Dial
