JEREMY COLLINS | Draw South

Last February, I spent 25 days in Chile with hopes of climbing Fitz Roy. Patagonia's foul weather blew away that dream, temporarily, but gave me ample time to work on my art.

Every day of the trip, I sketched in a children's book from 1935. I bought the small hardcover at a garage sale, then painted over most of the words to create a charismatic blank slate. Along with the book, I brought only a few tools: ink, watercolor, a Polaroid camera and a few paints. This meager palette let me shave weight and bulk--and gave me a challenge: traveling light forces reliance on simple skills.

My brother, Jonathan, and I spent a few days at Torres Del Paine, not to climb, but to draw, sit and just be.

This quiet time helped me grasp the universal beauty of Patagonia. Jonathan is not a climber, but when he saw Paine's granite rockets pointed toward the heavens, he was awestruck.

Along the river beneath the Torres Del Paine were gnarled junipers reaching out over the stream. As I sat, curled up in their branches with my sketchbook, I realized there was more than just water and trees. With the help of my bird watcher's guide, I picked out the lethargic Austral Pygmy Owl. Once discovered, I started to see them everywhere, plump oranges of feathers and beak, often at eye level. I wanted so badly to pluck one and take her back in my pocket.

This was the view most common: clouds molded over summits like hands on a potter's wheel.

I ran up the small peaks surrounding El Chalten every couple days to sit and draw. The wind was overwhelming, and at times I would hunker down behind a rock just to pen in a few lines.

Renan Ozturk and I somehow brought an 11-foot canvas up onto the bald summit of Mirador de los Condores, fought for an hour to get it anchored to the ground while it pulled to the sky, then painted for four hours in the wind. We have since shipped this painting to each other all over the world, collaborating and picking away at it, never quite sure if it's finished.

www.jercollins.com