Koi Fish Drawings: My Meditative Island Art Process

Georgia O'Keeffe had her flowers. I have my koi fish.

During downtime here on Koh Rong Sanloem, I've been working through sketchbooks with these swimming koi drawings. It's become a meditative practice—something to do when you're not swimming, not working, not actively exploring. Just you, a mechanical pencil, and the process of making something exist that didn't before.

The Simple Setup

The process is relatively straightforward. I start with a mechanical pencil—HB or HB2 lead, nothing fancy. Quick sketch laying out the general vision. Where's the fish positioned? What's the curve of the body? How do the fins flow?

Then comes the ink outline using basic pens. This is where the drawing starts committing to itself, where you can't erase anymore. You're locked in.

Final stage involves darker outlines and internal hash marks that make the whole image pop. The scales get detailed. The fins get texture. Background elements—flowers and wind lines—fill the negative space.

Three stages. Sketch to ink to final. Simple enough to do anywhere, complex enough to hold your attention for hours.

The Meditative Challenge of Scales

There's something meditative about laying out koi scales. Each one needs to follow the curve of the body, overlap properly with its neighbors, create that armor-like pattern that makes a koi look like a koi.

Getting the points to line up has always been the challenge. Too messy and it looks amateur. Too perfect and it loses organic quality. You're walking this line between control and flow, between precision and looseness.

I find that balance interesting. You're creating order within a curved, flowing form. Each scale is a small decision. Hundreds of small decisions that add up to something that hopefully looks natural.

It's the kind of task that keeps your hands busy while your mind settles. Perfect for island downtime when you're recovering from illness, waiting for the next work task, or just need to step away from screens.

Background Elements and Composition

The background work—those textures of flowers and wind lines—creates context. The koi isn't just floating in white space. It's swimming through an environment, against those wind currents, surrounded by flora that suggests water and movement.

Those flowing lines in particular add energy to otherwise static drawings. They show direction, suggest the upstream swim that koi are known for. The fish is moving against something, pushing through resistance.

The flower elements tie back to traditional Asian art styles where nature and wildlife coexist in the same composition. Not realistic, not trying to be. More symbolic, more about the interplay of elements.

The Upstream Symbolism

The koi swimming upward against the stream carries meaning in some Asian cultures—represents good luck, perseverance, determination. I could be wrong on the exact symbolism, but the general idea resonates.

Swimming against current. Pushing through resistance. Making progress despite obstacles.

Feels appropriate for extended travel. For committing to seven months on an island. For working through illness while maintaining your routines. For creating art that exists mainly for yourself and the few people who see it online.

Art for Process, Not Product

Here's the thing: these drawings probably only exist on this platform when I share them with people. They're not going in galleries. They're not becoming prints. They're not building toward some larger artistic career.

And that's fine.

The value is in the process. In spending two or three hours working through a drawing while sitting at a hostel table. In the meditative quality of repetitive scale work. In creating something that didn't exist before, even if it's just for yourself.

There's freedom in art that has no commercial purpose, no audience expectations, no pressure to monetize. Just the satisfaction of making something, of improving your technique slightly with each attempt, of having a creative practice that's yours alone.

From Sketch to Final

Looking at the three stages—rough sketch, initial ink, finished piece—shows the transformation. The sketch is barely there, just suggestion and possibility. The initial ink commits to form but lacks depth. The final version with darker outlines, detailed scales, and background elements becomes something complete.

That progression mirrors a lot of things. Initial ideas that need refinement. Commitments that need follow-through. Rough starts that become polished results if you put in the work.

It's all there in a simple koi fish drawing.

Island Art Practice

This has become part of my Koh Rong Sanloem routine alongside morning swims and avocado coffee smoothies. Another element of island life that wouldn't exist back in Connecticut winters. The time to sit and draw. The mental space to engage in meditative art practice. The permission to create without commercial purpose.

The koi swim upstream. The pen moves across paper. The scales line up one by one. The background elements fill the space. And a few hours pass in focused flow that's become as essential as the morning beach routine.

Do you have a creative practice that's just for you? Something you do without audience or commercial purpose, just for the process itself?

bonus bonus: Coloring image, you can color on your own

Here is a simplified line drawing of the art that you could download and color if you want with markers or paint!