In Trastevere the shutters open onto laundry strung across the alley and the dome of St. Peter's behind it, like another part of the neighborhood. Ninety-six watercolor-inspired illustrations move through Rome at that scale: the Colosseum framed to feel discovered, the sanctuary lamp glowing in a dark church, a red Vespa against a column older than anyone can say.

Then the Romans. The carabiniere in his cardinal stripes by the fountain, the flower seller at Campo de' Fiori, a grandfather and grandson sharing gelato on a piazza bench, a barista pulling an espresso for a stranger who will drink it standing. The palette stays in warm earth: travertine, terracotta, ochre, and the dusty saffron that is Rome's particular yellow.