Those Moments Sketching : New Essentials From Apprenticeship-Based Fieldwork

Abstract

This article sheds light on sketch drawing within ethnographic apprenticeship, using the author’s sketches of a traditional hunter-gatherer practice in northern Japan as examples. By examining both the process and products of fieldwork, the unique and dynamic characteristics of sketching are showcased. Sketches can amplify and abstract, shift perspectives, suspend articulation, draw attention to the absent, and share new imaginations. The article emphasizes that the time lag found in between the moment to be sketched, the moment sketching, and the moment to view the sketches is essential to the methodological foundations and possibilities of sketching.

Introduction

Sketches are found from place to place in my fieldnotes. Sometimes they are just simple combinations of lines. Sometimes they are accompanied by descriptive explanations. Sometimes they are half-done and abandoned.

Sketch drawing is a highly embodied practice. First, it requires the physical movement of a pen across paper to record what I encounter, both externally and internally. The drawing skills involved are not exceptional techniques but rather abilities I have embodied over time through various drawing practices from childhood to the present. What is ultimately sketched derives from what I experience through my body—what I see, hear, smell, taste, think, and feel through embodied engagement.

For example, Figure 1 is from my fieldnotes, drawn when I was conducting ethnographic fieldwork at a judo gym in a Toronto suburb, Canada. The attempt to draw sketches was exclusively for the sake of my own learning—visualizing what I observed in the field, drawn from my memory, after the field, to learn about the field. I should add here that in my case, I was not only observing the people practicing judo in that space, but I was also participating as a member to learn what others do, thus a time lag between the moment experiencing and the moment drawing was always present. The sketch drawing attempts reflect my struggle to acquire the techniques that involve my body, the opponent’s body, the judogi, the social and physical surrounding environment, and so on. If I had learned the moves without difficulties, I probably would not have needed to draw those sketches. To me, it was a part of the process of inquiry by drawing, not necessarily by writing down, on the notes of my “bodily mimesis” (Taussig, 2011, p. 24). Although the notes did not guarantee that I could perform the technique by looking back at them, nor did they enable me to provide precise and detailed explanations, the sketches helped recall elements surrounding the experience as well as the process of attempting to draw it, much like drawing water from a deep well. The shaky southbound subway seat where I tended to draw on the way back from practice. Extremely sore forearms from grappling practice as I gripped the pen and notebook (see Washiya, 2017, 2022). At least, these sketches, no longer for learning, could be the material to argue with, but not presented as the final product of my academic process (see also Causey, 2017). In a sense, sketch drawing occupies a peripheral position within conventional academic inquiry. It neither directly represents the moment of experience nor functions as a descriptive explanation; rather, it serves as a means of eliciting something that exceeds what words alone can convey.

Figure 1.

This article aims to carve out the methodological potential of sketch drawing that emerges from performative, apprenticeship-based ethnographic fieldwork. The article is organized as follows: First, literature on sketch drawing in ethnographic, fieldwork-based studies is reviewed. In doing so, the dual character of sketching—as both a research process and a product—is highlighted. To further examine this methodological potential, the author’s sketches produced during apprenticeship-based ethnographic fieldwork are introduced. Particular attention is paid to the background contexts in which these sketches were produced and to how they subsequently contributed to generating an understanding of the field. Finally, the article develops a methodological perspective on sketch drawing with a specific focus on the notion of time lag involved in the practice, guided by Henri Bergson’s concepts related to time.

Observation and Sketch Drawing

To begin, it is useful to clarify how the terms sketch and sketch drawing are used in this article. Although sketches and drawings may be considered distinct activities, the distinction is not always clear (Azevedo & Ramos, 2016). Indeed, the terms sketch and drawing are often used interchangeably (Michael, 2020), a convention that this article also follows. The emphasis here is on sketching as a “spontaneous, immediate version of direct experience” (Geismar, 2014, p. 107) and as “an unfinished process” (Azevedo & Ramos, 2016, p. 144), through which further ideas and reflections may emerge (Lyon, 2020).

In general, sketch drawings in ethnographic works are used for documenting that observed as visual information. For many scholars, sketching is a useful approach for real-time observation during the participant observation process, as it enables settled observation in situ (Bertram & Neustupny, 2020; Heath & Chapman, 2020; Kuschnir, 2020; Michael, 2020; Taussig, 2011). The collaborative and communicative nature of drawing is emphasized here, as the act of sketching can capture the attention of people in the field, which may open up new encounters and dialogues (Azevedo & Ramos, 2016; Ballard, 2013; Colloredo-Mansfeld, 2011; Forde, 2022; Hendrickson, 2008).

While drawing sketches was widely adopted by ethnographic studies in the past, they have increasingly disappeared and been replaced by photography and film, now often grouped together under the heading of visual methods (Azevedo & Ramos, 2016; Hurdley et al., 2017; Ingold, 2011a; Martikainen & Hakoköngäs, 2023) and/or other creative methods (Balmer et al., 2021). We can assume that ethnographic fieldnotes are filled with words, but these days we do not know to what extent they include sketches. Indeed, Sanjek’s (1990) comprehensive work on fieldnotes, as Ballard (2013) points out, does not mention sketching. Similarly, although sketches are commonly practiced in ethnographic fieldwork in many ways, how they work as an academic tool or connect to the production of academic knowledge still leaves space to be investigated (Geismar, 2014; Michael, 2020). Ethnographers in the field need to keep processing what they observe into many forms of documentary media, reprocessing it into a “more formal presentation” (Geismar, 2014, p. 97) or “translating” (Causey, 2017, p. 7) it into words. In the end, documented sketches, as Geismar (2014) argues, tend to be trivialized (see also Causey, 2017; Taussig, 2011).

These limitations highlight what it is that drawings can foreground, different to simply replicated photographic images. The intention of adopting sketching is found in its involvement with a unique way of seeing, knowing, and understanding the world (Balmer, 2021; Colloredo-Mansfeld, 2011; Hendrickson, 2008; Hurdley et al., 2017; Kuschnir, 2020; Meckin & Balmer, 2021; Taussig, 2011). Drawings are expected to complement text-based descriptions (Azevedo & Schroer, 2016; Schroer, 2020) and their analytical function brings forward “an active mode of perception” (Colloredo-Mansfeld, 2011, p. 4).

Dual Character of Sketch Drawing

The dual character of sketching—a process of research and its product—is an important focal point of this study. For instance, sketching is considered both a way of understanding and a way of representing knowledge (Azevedo & Ramos, 2016; Kuschnir, 2020; Michael, 2020). Using sketches is commonly regarded as an approach to comprehend the field, as well as a documentation of the ethnographer’s own experiences and the process of observation (Forde, 2022; Geismar, 2014), “both noticing practices and sharing ethnographic observations” (Harris et al., 2020, p. 638) and a place where “imagination and documentation coexist” (Taussig, 2011, p. 31). The dual character further extends the academic terrain. For instance, studies that produce forms of comics and graphic novels or sequential art, such as graphic ethnography or graphic anthropology, include the process of reflexive practice by researchers as well as the wider public as readers of the product (Azevedo & Schroer, 2016; Forde, 2022; Gilbert & Kurtović, 2022) and can encompass both the analytic and the aesthetic sides of drawing (Michael, 2020).

Focus and the Approach of This Article

This article seeks to further examine the dual character of sketching discussed above, particularly by focusing on the role of time and duration between the processes of academic production and their resulting products. In recent work, the author has explored approaches that move away from linguistic description (Washiya, 2023, 2024) and instead adopt a less descriptive approach termed subtractive inquiry (Washiya, 2022, p. 13). This idea draws on Henri Bergson’s concepts—especially that of duration—which problematize the tendency of academic description to spatialize time and movement (Bergson, 1912, 1946; Linstead & Mullarkey, 2003); see also Sackett, 2025). Through such subtractive practices, including sketch drawing in ethnographic fieldwork, this dual character does not necessarily bifurcate production and product into two separate domains; rather, they appear as intertwined and durational processes. The scope of this article thus aligns with this broader methodological endeavor to foreground duration, through the author’s sketches from apprenticeship-based fieldwork.

It is important to note here that as an apprentice, at least in my case, I needed to keep both hands empty while in the field to engage in the activities with people there. This differs significantly from more traditional ethnographic approaches, which often allow researchers in the field to focus on observation while holding pens and notebooks—or even cameras—in their hands. For a similar reason, apprenticeship-based sketch drawing also differs from what Sackett (2025) experimentally describes as “walking–drawing–writing” (p. 2), which positions sketching as one of several actions to be performed in the field. In apprenticeship-based fieldwork, however, the priority lies in engaging with actions and movements in the field rather than in sketch drawing itself. As a result, apprenticeship-based sketching relies heavily on memory. Practitioners are required to retain what they experience to document it later (Causey, 2017). Consequently, the qualitative gap between what unfolds in front of the observer and what is drawn (Azevedo & Ramos, 2016; Hurdley et al., 2017) becomes an unavoidable aspect of the practice. Sketching thus tends to be located after encounters and experiences in the field.

Below, I describe my sketching alongside my ethnographic fieldwork with my Shishō (master/teacher of apprenticeship in Japanese), who is a Matagi (traditional hunters of northern Japan) in a mountainous area south of Akita prefecture. Although the Matagi are known for bear hunting and their deep knowledge and skills of hunting as well as associated unique rituals, their practice is actually year-round [i]. I started my apprenticeship in the spring of 2020 and realized that Shishō and his community flexibly adapt their practice with the changing environment, including human society, climate, wildlife, and so on. It is worthy to note that keeping a record of the Matagi’s practice in today’s context is important not just for the sake of academics but also for taking over the wisdom and knowledge to face the increasing pressures exerted by bears on the public.

What to Sketch Once Hands Are Free

Figure 2 is from the day after engaging in chopping wood. You might not even need to note this particular practice of chopping wood, as for some people it would be already embodied and performable. To me, it is a process of allowing myself to recognize, first, my lack of proficient performance, which, in turn, facilitates the realization of what I do not yet know well. It shows a point to learn as a novice (Washiya, 2023).

Figure 2.

The chopped wood is then used for the stove at a small hut where Shishō spends time in the morning, where he sets up a roadside vending stall for wild mushrooms in autumn, and in the winter, cooks wild game on the stove. In mid-April, we were working on chopping a chestnut tree. Unlike many other areas in Japan at that time of year, Shishō’s property behind his home is still covered by deep snow. To begin, Shishō demonstrates how to chop. Not much is said. It appears so effortless and smooth that nobody would imagine he is over 80 years old. I pick up the ax and start chopping wood. I did not have much experience with it at that time, and the ax often got stuck in the middle of the wood. I kept trying to find a better way of doing it—and I hoped to model the movement but Shishō already walked away and started log bucking with a chainsaw. In apprenticeship-based ethnography, learning by doing is not necessarily by always mirroring the same actions. The vigorous sound that Shishō’s chainsaw makes gradually recedes, and I get into my task of chopping wood. Some time has passed, and there are some good pieces and some not-so-good pieces piling up in front of me. Shishō then comes over, takes the ax up, and shows me again. This time, my attention is focused more on the spot where the ax hits the wood, rather than the entire action of chopping I had paid attention to in the beginning. I take over the job again. There are still some good swings and some not-so-good ones, but it is getting better.

I drew a sketch after this chopping work was done. The piece of wood and the spot to aim are noted, as well as a small descriptive comment, “the base wood sinking into the snow.” Although the sketch is simple and does not carry a lot of information by itself, the drawn image together with some descriptive notes are more than mere two-dimensional images and, as Heath et al. (2018) argue, contain more information of the context of its production than it appears [ii].

Figure 3 is similar to Figure 2, a sketch of a moment of the fieldwork. After getting back from picking mizu (Elatostema involucratum) the Japanese wild nettle that grows in wet soil conditions in the nearby forested mountain, we unload it from the kei truck (a Japanese mini pickup truck) and place it down on the concrete near the water faucet in Shishō’s front yard. Shishō then grabs a bundle and puts the roots into the water-filled bucket. I knew Shishō cleans the harvested plants upon return from the forest before passing it to others for consumption, and by this time I had seen the practice already several times, but I had not actually done the washing yet. I rush in to crouch near Shishō, who is bending his back and scrubbing the bundle by gliding both hands rigorously back and forth along the stems. Grind, grind, grind, and pause. The rhythm continues for 10 s or so, after which Shishō puts the bundle in another bucket filled with clean water. I kept passing unwashed bundles to Shishō and then soon after took over the washing.

Figure 3.

The sketch was made while listening to instructions during a free moment while helping. At first, I was taking notes but then decided to draw a sketch, thinking that the movement of the hands and the sound could not be described well enough. One image vividly stayed with me—the roughness of Shishō’s hands. I had not paid much attention to his hands until that time. I remember that the thickness and roughness reminded me of a baseball glove and so I added the descriptive notes as well.

The drawing is not merely a representation of the objects depicted, but a selective and accentuated representation of knowledge that is not necessarily conveyed by photography (Sawchuk et al., 2011; Taussig, 2011). It is tricky, however, to draw, particularly those things in motion, and bodily performance of sketching is connected with the researchers’ ability to depict the moves (Causey, 2017). At least these sketches showcase that they are free from a static point of view, like a camera lens is, the moment a picture is taken. They can zoom in and out, highlighting specific parts (Causey, 2017; Colloredo-Mansfeld, 2011; Harris et al., 2020) and amplifying parts of the object or the activity to be drawn (Sawchuk et al., 2011) because the drawer’s gaze moves across different elements of the scene while observing the unfolding event. In this sense, the sketch becomes a kind of summary of multiple viewpoints that emerge during the act of observation.

Meanwhile, now that I look at the sketch of Shishō’s hands, for instance, I see the position of the fingers and mizu are not drawn ideally—both hands need to be parallel to the mizu, and the whole palm is involved in the process of washing, which keeps subtly adjusting to the surfaces of the stem of the plant, which is relatively soft and easily bent. Although there is a technical difficulty to drawing, my current understanding to point out the inaccuracy is also coming along with “skilled visions” (Grasseni, 2011, p. 19), which I may not have had at the moment when I drew the sketch. By sketching, the inaccurate understanding or past perception becomes retraceable.

The actual movement of hands is not static. Every time the ax hits into wood or hands grab and grind a bundle of mizu, the actual moves are different from each other. Indeed, sketching in real time is an act of documenting more than a single moment (Forde, 2022; Heath et al. 2018). Drawing these different moves into a single sketch is, in these cases, an attempt of abstracting the movement and seeking a halfway point between the synchronic moment as photographic representation does and the succession of moments as video footages represent through my bodily engagement.

Drawing a Map

Sketch drawing may appear somewhat different from map drawing. For the author, however, map drawing represents a form of drawing that captures key characteristics of sketching: it compresses the trajectory of three-dimensional experience into a two-dimensional form while also indicating its temporal progression. This compression is made possible by the fact that the act of sketch drawing takes place after the field experience.

For example, the above map (Figure 4) was drawn after wild mushroom picking one autumn day. The route had been paved by an excavator for carrying logs more than half a century ago. There are no clear signs or human-made landmarks, and the line of sight in the lower part of the mountain is mostly obstructed by overgrown cedar trees. There, I find it difficult to remember specific geographic locations. Furthermore, the view changes significantly from summer to winter, during which time I have been to the area only a couple of times. The map drawn above is a type of sketch in a broad sense. It does not utilize a static point of view, and its geometric features are distorted. Although I have gone to the area several times, I was not familiar with this particular route and wanted to record a note to remember it.

Figure 4.

The two-dimensional image does not clearly show the altitude (the top part of the map is higher) nor the distance (the line does not reflect the actual distance at all). It was drawn mostly for memorizing the relational positions between some landmarks, the type of mushroom to be found, and for future reference regarding which mushrooms to look for. Although the map does not include any names of the area nor the starting point, I can still get back to those locations even today with my map for reference. In a sense, the map drawing here is a practice of illuminating the movement and journey, as Colloredo-Mansfeld (2011) argues, but does not “stabilize the observer, setting his or her point of view” (p. 21).

I took a little more time to draw (Figure 5) both in the field and at the time of drawing. Unlike (Figure 4), it is drawn from a static, bird’s-eye view point to cover the entire area I had covered in the winter while hunting wild boars. The physical distance is relatively aligned with the objects drawn. Landmarks, such as houses or shops, bridges, and creeks are drawn, which enable me to easily locate myself. Events I encountered, such as the meeting spot assigned during the hunting, the area where we found a boar, the estimated distance to the boar by a peer hunter, and my estimate, are inserted. There are some descriptive notes of Shishō saying how boars tend to come here to dig earthworms.

Figure 5.

Unlike those maps which emphasize how readers can situate the location discussed, or serve the purpose of an academic record to be shared (see Kuznar & Werner, 2001), the maps here are inaccurate and exclusively for the sake of my learning the field. For me, the map drawing helped to remember the geographic conditions and relational positions of the spots that I needed to pay attention to. It also denotes the timeline of my experience and the events that took place along the way. Although the map drawing does not mirror how Shishō or the local people understand the place (they don’t rely on maps), the maps allow me to comprehend the geographic feature of the area as well as recalling the encounters (see Geismar, 2014).

The map drawing also reflects that the perspective to draw the entire site is not only about the spatial dimension; it is also a matter of temporality and duration (see Gilbert & Kurtović, 2022). In other words, to draw the geographic map from a bird’s-eye perspective is based on my experience from an ant’s-eye perspective. While the latter cannot achieve a wide and abstract view, the sum of them can get closer to the former from the ground level. Moreover, the latter accompanies my experiences at each recorded topographic location. The blank part left also reflects the area I have not experienced yet. Here, the geometric and spatial understanding intersects with time, a matter that requires processual experiences with time.

Leaving It Undescribed

This sketch (Figure 6) is from the early period of my fieldwork at the site and the image still remains vivid in my mind to this day. Although the incident itself was a unique, once-in-a-lifetime event, the sketch—and the very act of sketching the moment—later generated different understandings and meanings.

Figure 6.

It was a sunny summer morning on the river bank. We were resting before another ayu (Plecoglossus altivelis or, sweetfish) fishing session—instead of using a fishing rod, we were diving in the river, using nets and harpoons. It was my first time fishing in the river like this. We were having onigiri (rice balls) and soda during lunch break. Shishō while smoking cigarettes, started looking up at the sky, and said, “they are coming, coming.” He held up his arms as if a shotgun were there, targeting the duck above. His cousin was doing the same move behind him.

It took a moment to realize what they were doing. I noticed the presence of the duck and started figuring out they were “shooting.” The image stayed with me as a sort of mental snapshot. I started to draw the sketch along with my fieldnotes after getting back home. Engaging in the drawing of the moments experienced in the field enabled me to see differently and think otherwise—revealing aspects that cannot be captured by words alone (Causey, 2017; Gilbert & Kurtović, 2022; Harris et al., 2020; Hurdley et al., 2017). Although it was not easy to draw the scene from my memory, I did not feel like describing the moment I encountered, in words. As Taussig (2011, p. 16) notes, “writing is actually pushing reality off the page,” and I was not sure how I could describe the moment of two old Matagi pretending to shoot so smoothly and naturally coordinating with one another against the flying duck. In a way, the sketch drawing was an attempt of “seeing the world without words” (Causey, 2017, p. 39), before categorical understanding is gleaned (see Washiya, 2022).

After drawing the moment when the two synchronized their move, I kept thinking about what I saw and started to develop my understanding [iii]: They were being playful. I learned that Shishō and his cousin had played together throughout their childhood and have been hunting together for over 60 years. However, after seeing my sketch and sharing my understanding of them playing, Shishō calmly smiled and said, “we are not just playing. We are practicing.” Although Shishō’s words did not in themselves explain in detail nor extend to stories as expected in drawing-based interviews (Colloredo-Mansfeld, 2011), the sketch without explicit and rigid meanings helped me to stay open for a reflexive detour into the past (Forde, 2022; Geismar, 2014; Hendrickson, 2008; Meckin & Balmer, 2021). Indeed, I started encountering Shishō doing the same shooting move to other birds quite often, and even to animals shown for a few seconds on the TV screen we watched in his living room from time to time. I am not sure if I would have gone through the process of understanding had I not drawn the sketch. At least the sketch enabled me to suspend describing the actions and the meanings, and remain open for understanding and re-understanding. Here, drawing plays both the result and the process of understanding, ongoingly (Michael, 2020). It is also important to add here that drawings do not necessarily conclude the process, and rather, they are open to ongoing conversations, discussions, and further inquiry (Forde, 2022; Fredriksson, 2023; Taussig, 2011). Here, Azevedo and Ramos (2016) illuminate this aspect well: “(d)rawing in the field is helpful, not necessarily or primarily to share a finished result but for sparking further intellectual processes through memorized imaginations” (p. 149).

Leaving Traces to Revisit

The above sketch (Figure 7) was drawn one winter’s day in a warm room of a ryokan (Japanese style hotel) after an exhausting hunting trip. There was no opportunity to draw the sketch on site; indeed, producing it afterward helped me process what I had experienced during that day of fieldwork. I sat down on the tatami mat and spent some time calming down. After trying descriptive note-taking as much as I could, I decided to draw my experience of the day. Sketching helped me to calm down more than writing did, in a way that Taussig (2011, p. 70) refers to as “a way of absorbing the shock so as to get control over it.” However, sketching out experiences is always difficult since they are not visually in front of us. The blue sky, the shining white snow covering the ground, and the weight of the deer on my shoulder—this was the day I had hunted a wild animal for the first time. The emotional and psychological experience I went through persisted for a while, after the moment of the last, fatal shot. It took a while to decide what to sketch and I came to draw what I was seeing in front of me, the scenery and the back of a peer hunter I was together with that day. In a sense, this drawing represents the researcher’s process of observation, reflecting the relationship between the researcher and what is being captured (Forde, 2022).

Figure 7.

The drawing process, however, was not easy. This kind of memory-based drawing, as Causey (2017) notes, is easier than other styles of observational drawings because of the simplification of the image that comes from partial and fragmented memories. But still, the attempt is difficult enough that the resulting drawing is not necessarily a reflection of what I recalled or imagined. The actual object I wanted to depict was not framed in this drawing, and it was behind me—the hunted deer I was carrying with a rope, dragging in the snow. The weight on my shoulder was the weight of the life I had just taken. The carcass was wrapped by a blue tarp; the plastic material somewhat made a vivid contrast with the white snow and the deer’s thick brown fur. I wanted to preserve the experience and the emotion without translation (see Causey 2017, p. 8; also, Michael, 2020)—the entangled excitement and fear that I could not fully articulate.

Here, Taussig (2011, p. 13) comes to mind: “(d)rawings come across as fragments that are suggestive of a world beyond.” It was this suggestiveness that I attempted to leave in the drawing. This sketch may not appear to reflect my experience directly as sketches are normally considered (see Geismar, 2014) but rather encourages a conversation with what is drawn, as Taussig (2011) notes, and more importantly, brings forward that which is not explicitly depicted. Here, absence in the sketch foregrounds what was there and facilitates the reflection of a researcher’s own presence (Forde, 2022) and, ultimately, the incompleteness of the drawing. Michael (2020, p. 282) argues,

. . . co-constructed with line, shape and composition coalescing with bodies, objects and settings, albeit in a manner that is incomplete, unfinished, unsatisfying . . . Just as the practice of pause is forever in a state of becoming, so it is for each “epistemic” drawing—forever unfolding, forever in a state of becoming.

In this point, sketching is not done solely to record as unchanging data but functions more as a “visual window” (Harris et al., 2020, p. 640) into subjective experiences in the field, or as a pathway to retrace each researcher’s observation and experiences. Importantly, the opportunity to retrace and further reflect is provided by the limitations and imperfections of my own drawing skills.

Sharing

The above sketch (Figure 8) was drawn by Shishō, since the object he attempted to tell me about was not physically in front of us, nor shared as a fixed image between us, he needed to sketch it in the way he remembered it, exclusively housed in his embodied experience. It was when we were talking about where to pick wild maitake mushrooms (Grifola frondosa) and were memorizing those locations, Shishō started telling me about a past practice called kiritsuke: a mark engraved in the trunk of a big tree to indicate that a large harvest was available nearby. Some marks also contained notes of the amount of harvest with dates. The marks served as a reminder of the location, often implying one’s achievement and territory. It was normally made up of several cuts by a machete and thus tended to appear as combinations of straight lines. “Each person has their unique symbols,” Shishō says, and I asked what his looked like. He first explained orally, describing strokes of lines and the face of an oni (demon). I realized I could pass him the notebook I was jotting down the descriptions in and asked him to draw it. He sketched it for me, and that is what is presented above.

Figure 8.

Studies have noted that sketches are considered a useful tool to get connected and have conversations with the people in the field (Ballard, 2013; Colloredo-Mansfeld, 2011). While collaborative work in the context of drawing tends to be discussed in those cases working with artists or skilled illustrators (Efron, 1941/1972; Gilbert & Kurtović, 2022; Sawchuk et al. 2011), this instance is more a collaborative attempt with the people in the field. Furthermore, this case illuminates that sharing is enabled in a specific way by sketching. This pictorial interaction is enabled by the nature of sketching—things that are not in front of us at a given moment, or absences, can be recalled and presented from the past as “mnemonic documentation” (Causey, 2017, p. 6). It is not exactly the way photographic images would provide, yet the image is strong enough to showcase the drawer’s understanding. This is one of the very approaches that our memory, through our body, becomes sharable.

Discussion

The above cases of apprenticeship-based sketching bring forward the unique characteristics of sketching: amplifying and abstracting; transferring an ant’s-eye perspective to a bird’s-eye perspective; suspending articulation; drawing attention to the absent; and sharing an image of what is not presently shared. These points are based on the fact that, unlike written words in fieldnotes, sketches cannot be replaced by combinations of symbols, such as alphabets (see Ingold, 2011a), nor do they come along with a signified as a signifier. Those sketches are not final products but rather are “just a step in an unfinished process” (Azevedo & Ramos, 2016, p. 144; see also Ingold, 2011b) and can mediate new understandings of the experience after sketch drawing has proceeded. In this sense, sketching functions as a set of stepping stones that leave a processual space for the (apprentice) researcher to generate understandings of their experiences. In other words, sketch drawing creates space for researchers to develop an evolving point of view—from the moment of experience in the field, to the time of drawing, and eventually to generate understandings.

A Matter of Time Lag

The essence of sketch drawing—the evolving, dynamic, and processual dimension of researcher’s engagement with the field—lies in the common thread found across these sketches; the time lag between the moment the object to be drawn takes place and the time the sketches are drawn and viewed, or between actions and perceptions. Drawing essentially encompasses this time lag, as Azevedo and Ramos (2016) argue when they describe it as a “two-way (from the outside world to the hand, through the brain, and back again) immersive and unending understanding and imagining practice” (p. 138). Technically speaking, to bridge this time lag, I could have used a hands-free video camera, but I prioritized my own learning, including geospatial sensibilities in the way the local people do. By doing so, I could avoid any interference of the device with my actions and more importantly my own psychological state as I felt that relying on the device to memorize for me could blunt my learning experience as an apprentice, and in its absence my focus was maximized (see, Washiya, 2017). For me then, naturally, sketching is always conducted after I encounter the object, to document the encounters and experiences. This nature of drawing makes a vivid contrast with photo taking, which is a “present congruent” attempt in the field (Washiya, 2017, 2024; see also Taussig, 2011). Ingold (2010) discusses,

It is a mistake to think that the camera does the same as a pencil, only faster; or that the photographic image achieves the same as the drawing, only with greater accuracy. For the pencil is not an image-based technology, nor is the drawing an image. It is the trace of an observational gesture that follows what is going on. The camera interrupts this flow of visuomanual activity and cuts the relation between gesture and description that lies at the heart of drawing. (p. 310)

Ingold (2013) emphasizes the processual character of drawing, which “is not the visible shadow of a mental event; it is a process of thinking, not the projection of a thought” (p. 128). The time lag housed within sketching, then, reflects the continuing flow between encounters in the field and the documentation of them. Take Figures 2 and 3, for example. They are the abstract forms of actions that are technically different every time. I, the drawer, formed this abstract representation by omitting each difference, both consciously and unconsciously. The abstract form is enabled because there were multiple actions in the process that are categorized as the same type of technique, and I ended up depicting what I observed in the best way I could. Map drawing reflects well the processual, chronological events and encounters into a synchronic image, almost compressing duration into a single sketch.

The processual approach can be further extended if we consider the time lag between when sketches are drawn and the moment viewing the sketches, as sketching in the field fosters dialogue with the experience (Taussig, 2011). Every time one views the sketches, it allows the viewer, in this case the drawer, to retrace the experiences [iv]. The last three sketches connect the past and present processually, drawn into the space left in the sketches without full descriptions to allow for further articulation to come. The original sketch stays open for me to inquire into meanings and reasons, correcting my understandings afterward, from the current standpoint, which is continually changing and growing [v].

Ethnography in general is, as Causey (2017) notes, an attempt at preserving the field which took place in the past. The emphasis in this article is not necessarily on the exact state of the past moment to be recorded and kept like photographic images as solid data, but rather on creating the space for researchers to re-relate with the past experience, differently. The reason why “I could see more than I had seen, more than was recorded in my notes, and more than was documented in my photographs” (Causey 2017, p. 7), in my sketches, is because I am also changing with time passing. From an apprenticeship point of view, such a processual character of sketching does not concretely divide the past event and the drawing present, but rather provides (and requires) space for the drawer (and viewer at the same time) to discover relational change with the original experience.

In other words, it is sketching that can connect and continue the divided past and present as a process. By juxtaposing the pen with the camera and the keyboard, Ingold (2010) argues that the former is rather a “process of togethering” (p. 311) with people. It is in this context that he advocates graphic anthropology, aiming “not at a complete description of what is already there, or has already come to pass, at joining together with persons and other things in the movements of their formation” (Ingold 2010, p. 304). I would argue here that time lag is one of the key elements that makes sketching open-ended and processual, through which the space for continuing dialogue with the field is enabled. If we consider the time lag, sketching is a processual, durational attempt rather than a so-called visual approach. It is a performative, body-based approach enacted with the field, and an attempt at learning from the field. It is the tool to preserve, reflect, and revisit. Time lag, thus, is a methodological medium for the researcher to engage, processually, with the object to study, and sketching plays the key role here.

Conclusion

The essential part of sketch drawing identified in this article is time lag, which enables researchers to create space for processual change. Rather than immediately transforming past experiences into descriptive data, sketch drawing requires researchers to pause, engage with those experiences through drawing, and later re-engage with them again. In this sense, time lag is not understood as a simple division between separate moments in time, but as an ongoing experience that remains connected to the field.

This is a time-consuming approach (see Sackett, 2025), one that may appear to run counter to the current academic climate. Considering the speed of contemporary academic production, it is not difficult to imagine ethnographic work being produced simultaneously with fieldwork itself, perhaps with the assistance of advanced technologies. While such productivity may far exceed that of sketch drawing—which necessarily involves time lag as a central feature—this article highlights another possibility. Rather than merely slowing down research, sketch drawing places greater emphasis on process, evolving viewpoints, and the researcher’s developing understanding. Through sketch drawing, the researcher’s experienced time with the field is not simply a collection of fragmented moments, but a lived and durational experience, echoing Henri Bergson’s well-known metaphor of “sugar in water” (Bergson, 1911). Time in the field thus encompasses not only changes in the surrounding environment but also transformations in the researcher. To maximize the merits of sketching, methodologically speaking then, researchers must take time, grow, and wait.

• [i] Shishō’s case is unique; unlike major Matagi practices, which are conducted by group hunting, his style is by solo or with a small number of people.

• [ii] Not everything is drawn in detail. I did not draw the gesture, or the movement of my body, for instance. This is largely because I could not accurately depict the physical movement. To communicate by drawing requires skill and different modalities than writing (Hurdley et al., 2017; Sawchuk et al. 2011), and my personal adjustment to what I can do is inserted here.

• [iii] This might recall what Sanjek (1990, p. 94) mentions as the “headnotes–fieldnotes relationship.” He notes the character of headnotes as something that keeps evolving and changing while fieldnotes stay the same as they are written.

• [iv] Emerson et al. (2011) note that sketches are descriptive and static snapshots that readers would be able to grasp the contexts.

• [v] For instance, I saw Shishō pretending to shoot ducks flying on the TV when we were watching a news program after having breakfast together at his home the day before I am writing this particular part. “Practicing,” as he told me, makes sense on one hand, but the pure playfulness is also rediscovered.