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MATERI ALS
Materials and Techniques of Renaissance Drawing
by M. Stephen Doherty 6
Graphite: The Drawer’s Humble Tool
by Bob Bahr 20
Custom and Handmade Paper
by Bob Bahr 36
MASTERS & APPROACHES
The Revival of an Influential Drawing Course
by M. Stephen Doherty 44
Studying Drawing With Professor Eakins
by Gerard Haggerty 58
THE FI GURE
The Human Form: How to Put It All Together
by Dan Gheno 64
Representing a Studio Model in an Outdoor
Setting
by Sharon Allicotti 84
The Creative Possibilities of Draping a Model
by Sharon Allicotti 86
Eleven Reasons to Attend Figure-Drawing Sessions
by Sharon Allicotti 88
LANDSCAPES
Constable’s Sketchbooks
by Lynne Bahr 96
Master Landscape Drawings: Evidence &
Interpretation
by M. Stephen Doherty 104
DRAWI NG FOR OTHER MEDI A
From Drawing to Canvas
by Joseph C. Skrapits 116
The Tradition of Drawing From Memory
by Joseph C. Skrapits 124
Capturing the Muse: Drawings by Sculptors
by Joseph C. Skrapits 132
Drawing Logic: Drawing for Sculpture
by John Taye 142
AMERICAN
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The Best of
Drawing
DRAW SIP 09 Contents:AA feature 9/18/09 2:45 PM Page 2
COVER
Bargue plate drawing by Jayme del Rosario,
courtesy of Judith Pond Kudlow’s NYK Academy.
Photo by Nathan Kraxberger
Copyright © 2009 by Interweave,
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American Artist The Best of
Drawing is printed in the U.S.A.
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132
36
104
124
96
DRAW SIP 09 Contents:AA feature 9/18/09 4:54 PM Page 3
4 THE BEST OF DRAWING
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EDITORIAL
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
M. Stephen Doherty
MANAGING EDITOR
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The Big Picture
We’ve tried to present a wide range of articles in Drawing magazine over the
last six years so that our readers could find stories in every issue that
addressed their exact needs. To do so, we needed to space out articles on par-
ticular topics across several years—we may have to wait a while to run anoth-
er article on landscape drawing, for example, if we are going to make an
effort to present all the topics readers want covered. That’s why a special
issue such as this one is so exciting—it allows us to group together previous-
ly published articles to create a very focused publication that’s a perfect fit for
readers who want something specific from our artist-writers.
The title of this publication is The Best of Drawing, but it may be better to
think of this as a carefully curated overview of the drawing process. We went
through all our issues of Drawing and chose articles that covered the essential
areas of draftsmanship. We start with materials, the first thing a draftsman must
have to begin. Our editor-in-chief, M. Stephen Doherty, fully explored the materi-
als of the Renaissance and the artwork of a great Italian Renaissance draftsman,
Parmigianino, to help readers understand Western drawing’s classical roots
(page 6). I had much too much fun researching and writing the lengthy piece on
graphite—arguably the most common drawing material of the modern world
(page 22). A look at custom-made paper closes out that section (page 36).
Two popular articles were chosen for the Masters & Approaches section—
one on the Bargue drawing course, which Van Gogh utilized early in his
career (page 44), and a look at American master Thomas Eakins’ systematic
approach to draftsmanship (page 58).
Drawing the figure is a practice that can immensely help artists from their
beginning exercises to their dying day—we can express the breadth of human
emotion and experience through depictions of the human body, a never-
depleted well of inspiration. Dan Gheno offers an overview of figure drawing
in his piece (page 64), which was previously only available in a special issue
published two years ago. Specific instruction on figure drawing from Sharon
Allicotti (pages 84, 86, and 88) round out this section.
Prehistoric artists depicted the land (and the beasts that inhabited it), and
this subject matter has never left the draftsman’s repertoire. Lynne Bahr and
Steve Doherty cover this aspect of drawing on pages 96 and 104. In many
cases drawings of landscapes were done as preparatory work for paintings or
other forms of art. The last section of this special issue addresses this func-
tion of drawing. You’ll find informative, instructional articles on drawing for
sculpture (page 132), transferring drawings to another substrate (page 116),
and honing your drawing skills through memory training (page 124).
The Best of Drawing is, we hope, the best way to survey the essential
aspects of draftsmanship through Drawing magazine’s lens—one that places
an emphasis on traditional techniques, competence in key skills, and repre-
sentational art as the ideal jumping off point for any kind of art you may
choose to pursue.
Editor’s Note
AMERICAN
ARTIST
FOUNDER, CREATIVE DIRECTOR: Linda Ligon
CEO: Clay B. Hall
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The Best of
Drawing®
DRAW SIP 09 Editor's Note:Editor's Note 9/18/09 2:52 PM Page 4
Contributors
Sharon Allicotti ("Representing a
Studio Model in an Outdoor Setting,"
"The Creative Possibilities of Draping a
Model," "Eleven Reasons to Attend
Figure-Drawing Sessions") is an artist
who lives and works in Glendale,
California. View her art or contact her at
www.allicotti.com.
Bob Bahr (“Graphite: The Drawer’s
Humble Tool,” “Custom and Handmade
Paper.”) is a freelance editor and writer
based in New York City.
Lynne Bahr (“Constable’s Sketchbook”)
is a freelance editor and writer based in
New York City.
M. Stephen Doherty (“Materials and
Techniques of Renaissance Drawing,”
“The Revival of an Influential Drawing
Course,” “Master Landscape Drawings:
Evidence & Interpretation”) is the editor-
in-chief of Drawing.
Dan Gheno (“The Human Form: How to
Put It All Together”) is a New York artist
whose work can be found in many pri-
vate and public collections, including the
Museum of the City of New York and the
New Britain Museum of American Art, in
Connecticut. He teaches drawing and
painting at the Art Students League of
New York and at the National Academy
School of Fine Arts, both in New York
City. He is a professor emeritus at the
Lyme Academy College of Fine Arts in
Old Lyme, Connecticut.
Gerard Haggerty (“Studying Drawing
With Professor Eakins”) is an artist and
writer who teaches at Brooklyn College.
His work has won the support of the
National Endowment for the Arts, the
National Endowment for the Humanities,
and the Ford Foundation.
Joseph C. Skrapits (“From Drawing to
Canvas,” “The Tradition of Drawing from
Memory,” “Capturing the Muse: Drawings
by Sculptors”) is an artist and freelance
writer who frequently contributes to
American Artist, Watercolor and
Drawing.
John Taye (“Drawing Logic: Drawing for
Sculpture”) is a Fellow in the National
Sculpture Society. He is an emeritus pro-
fessor at Boise State University, in
Idaho, and has taught many drawing and
sculpture classes and workshops. Taye
has exhibited widely, and his work has
appeared in many publications.
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DRAW SIP 09 Contribs:AA feature 9/18/09 4:55 PM Page 5
Materials
Techniques
Renaissance
Drawing
of
and
A 2004 exhibition at the Frick Collection included a rich
collection of drawings by Parmigianino, “one of the most undeniably
distinguished but also endlessly surprising artists of the Italian
Renaissance,” writes the show’s curator. by M. Stephen Doherty
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:09 PM Page 6
Self-Portrait in Profile
ca. 1530–1540, brown ink, 4 x 4
1
⁄2. Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna, Austria.
THE BEST OF DRAWING 7
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 5:48 PM Page 7
8 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Drawings
often reveal more about an artist’s per-
sonality, ideas, and methods than any
other aspect of their art. That is certain-
ly the case with Girolamo Francesco
Maria Mazzola (1503–1540), known as
Parmigianino, whose remarkable draw-
ings provide evidence of his prodigious
talent, his quick hand, and his fatal ten-
dency to procrastinate.
In honor of the 500th anniversary of
his birth in Parma, Italy, the National
Gallery of Canada in Ottawa (October 3,
2003, through January 4, 2004) and
The Frick Collection in New York
(January 27 through April 18, 2004)
presented a major exhibition titled “A
Beautiful and Gracious Manner: The
Art of Parmigianino.” The show includ-
ed 51 exquisite drawings, seven jew-
ellike oil paintings, and a dozen historic
prints considered to be some of the first
ever created personally by an artist (as
opposed to a professional engraver). It
was curated by David Franklin, the
deputy director and chief curator of the
National Gallery of Canada, and coordi-
nated by Denise Allen, an associate
curator at The Frick.
Parmigianino was fortunate to have
been born into a family of artists
when some of the greatest artists of all
time were active, including Leonardo
da Vinci, Raphael, and Michelangelo.
Although he was orphaned at age 2,
Parmigianino was raised by two
uncles who were well-established
painters and ran the Mazzola family
workshop. The prodigious young man
received training in a workshop filled
with prints and plaster casts of antique
sculptures, as well as copies of con-
temporary works in Florence and
Rome, and there is some indication he
may have also studied with Correggio.
As a telling indication of events to
follow, Parmigianino’s talent was first
recognized in his drawings. His repre-
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:09 PM Page 8
THE BEST OF DRAWING 9
sentations of figures, griffins, and
finials revealed a perceptive vision, a
quick and accurate hand, and a skillful
use of materials. He surpassed his
contemporaries in handling the three
most common drawing materials: red
or sanguine colored chalk, black chalk,
and pen-and-ink.
“The range of styles Parmigianino
essayed in red chalk during these early
years is impressive,” writes David
Ekserdjian in the catalog for the exhibi-
tion (Yale University Press, New
Haven, Connecticut). “One approach ...
is effortlessly polished and tautly disci-
plined, but also very delicate. ... By con-
trast, Parmigianino concurrently
employed red chalk to achieve dramati-
cally energetic effects, whether in a
fully resolved compositional study for
an unexecuted altarpiece or in a gar-
zone study for the figure of Saint
Vitalis in one of his frescoes for San
Giovanni Evangelista. Red chalk was
generally used in this period for highly
finished solutions, and Parmigianino
was well aware of its potential for heav-
ily chiaroscural, sculptural drawing.
“Parmigianino’s use of pen—in iso-
lation, or with wash—in this first
Parmesan period is equally many-
sided,” Ekserdjian continues. “There is
nothing in the work of Correggio or
any of Parmigianino’s other Parmesan
rivals that satisfactorily explains his
precocious confidence with pen and
wash. One possible explanation might
be the influence of Leonardo da Vinci
upon Lombard draughtsmanship.
“Another novelty that may date
from this moment is his use of pen
and wash on blue paper. This type of
paper, which was originally produced
in Arabia but within Italy appears to
have been a Venetian specialty,
allowed artists to experiment with a
colored ground without any need for
preparation. In Venice itself, blue
paper tended to be used by artists
such as Carpaccio as a backdrop for
meticulously disciplined pen and wash
drawings, sometimes heightened with
white, a more forgiving medium than
metalpoint that achieved a comparable
visual effect. ... Also around this time,
or perhaps a bit later, Parmigianino
began to exploit the potential of natu-
rally buff-colored paper, not for pen
and wash but instead for a combina-
tion of black and white chalks.”
OPPOSITE PAGE, TOP
Studies of Female
Heads, a Griffin, and
Finials
ca. 1522–1524, red chalk
and brown ink, 7
1
⁄8 x 5
5
⁄8.
Private collection.
OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW LEFT
Female Martyr
ca. 1522–1524, oil
on panel, 17
3
⁄8 x 10
1
⁄8.
Collection Städelsches
Kunstinstitut und Städtische
Galerie, Frankfurt, Germany.
OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW RIGHT
Circumcision
ca. 1523–1524, oil
on panel, 16
1
⁄4 x 12
1
⁄4.
Collection Detroit Institute
of Arts, Detroit, Michigan.
RIGHT
Circumcision
ca. 1523–1524, brown ink
and brown wash with white
heightening, 10
1
⁄4 x 8.
Collection the Louvre,
Paris, France.
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:09 PM Page 9
10 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Reba F. Snyder, a paper conservator
at the Morgan Library in New York City,
points out that while Parmigianino may
have created exceptional drawings
early in his career, there was nothing
innovative about his choice of materi-
als. “Red and black chalk were quite
common drawing materials long
before the Renaissance, and they con-
tinued to be used extensively by artists
until more mechanical drawing instru-
ments were introduced in the 18th
century,” she explains.
“The obvious reason these materi-
als were used so extensively is that red
and black chalk were naturally occur-
ring minerals in many parts of Italy,”
Snyder continues. “It was mined, or cut
from the ground, until the supply even-
tually became exhausted. Parmigianino
and his contemporaries had available a
plentiful supply of chalks in varying
shades of red depending on the
amount of iron in the ground. The
chalk was used by the artists just the
way it came from the earth, a natural
combination of clay and iron oxide. It
might be shaped in their hands and put
in a holder, and the artists could sharp-
en the end to draw fine lines or round
it off for broader strokes. While work-
ing, the artists are likely to have had
available three or four different pieces
of chalk of varying colors and degrees
of softness. They would sometimes
smear the chalk with their fingers or a
stump, scrape it with a sharp tool, or
wet it with water to create a wash.”
The pens and ink Parmigianino used
to make drawings with hatched and
crosshatched lines were also quite dif-
ferent from the steel nib pens, technical
pens, and bottled inks used today.
“Artists made their own pens by carving
the ends of feathers or reeds,” Snyder
indicates. “There was nothing exotic
about the materials, and they likely used
the feathers readily available from ducks
or crows, which varied in size and could
be shaped into fine or broad points.
With different amounts of pressure,
these could be used to inscribe thin,
faint lines, or dark, wide marks.
“The ink was probably iron gall
ABOVE
Virgin and Child in Glory With Saints
Jerome and John the Baptist, also
known as the Vision of Saint Jerome
ca. 1526–1527, oil on panel, 133
3
⁄4 x 58. Collection
National Gallery, London, England.
LEFT
Entombment
(first version), ca. 1524–1527, etching, 10
3
⁄4 x 8.
Collection The British Museum, London, England.
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 5:48 PM Page 10
THE BEST OF DRAWING 11
ABOVE RIGHT
Drapery Study
for the Vision of
Saint Jerome
ca. 1526–1527, black
and white chalk,
9 x 6
3
⁄4. Collection
Ashmolean Museum,
Oxford, England.
RIGHT
Study of the
Virgin and Child
for the Vision of
Saint Jerome
ca. 1526–1527, red
chalk, 9
3
⁄4 x 6
1
⁄2.
Collection École des
Beaux-Arts, Paris,
France.
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:10 PM Page 11
12 THE BEST OF DRAWING
made from oak galls,” Snyder adds.
“The husk was produced by a tree in
response to wasp stings or disease.
The oak galls were steeped in water,
and other ingredients, including iron
salts, were added to make the ink.
There were many formulas, some of
which produced brittle, dark brown
ink that eventually flaked off the draw-
ing. Black ink was also made from car-
bon and gum, and natural sepia ink
was made from the cuttlefish. Sepia
was not commonly used in the 16th
century; however, it did appear in sea-
side towns like Venice where the cut-
tlefish was readily available. In the
18th century, bistre, another brown
ink made from the soluble compo-
nents of soot, was popular with artists.
Of course all of these inks varied in
color and density depending on the
formulas used to make them and the
aging of the ink on paper.”
Most of Parmigianino’s drawings are
relatively small, with figures no more
than a couple of inches in height. In part
that is because paper was a precious
commodity in the 16th century. “Large
sheets were available, but most drawings
were done on relatively small pieces of
paper,” explains Snyder. “Unless artists
were preparing cartoons for a wall or
ceiling fresco, they usually made small
drawings, often using both sides of a
sheet. There were paper mills all over
Italy making various kinds of papers, but
artists used those papers very purpose-
fully. Every square inch was filled with
figure studies or compositional sketches,
with the paper being turned in different
directions to use all the available space.
“Another explanation for the scale
of the surviving Renaissance drawings
is that collectors often cut drawings
into several pieces,” Snyder adds.
“They did so because they thought the
presentation of the drawings would be
more beautiful. The condition of these
drawings speaks to the history of
drawing connoisseurship.”
Snyder points out that the red and
black chalks available today are not
exactly like those used by Parmigianino.
“Over the centuries, the highest quality
sources of chalk were exhausted and
the variety of chalks was diminished,”
she explains. “By comparison, the natu-
ral materials available today are not
nearly as plentiful or as varied, but we
LEFT
Madonna of the Rose
ca. 1529–1530, oil on
panel, 42
1
⁄2 x 34
1
⁄2. Collection
Gemaldegalerie, Dresden, Germany.
RIGHT
Study for the
Madonna of the Rose
ca. 1526–1529, black chalk
with white heightening, 10
1
⁄2 x 7
3
⁄8.
Private collection.
BOTTOM
Sleeping Man
ca. 1527–1530, red chalk,
7
1
⁄2 x 10
1
⁄2. Devonshire Collections,
Chatsworth, England.
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:10 PM Page 12
Grumbacher ad:best of drawing 2009 9/18/09 9:37 AM Page 13
14 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Sistine Chapel ceiling and Raphael’s
Vatican frescoes, and he also made
drawings directly from live models.
Unfortunately, Parmigianino’s time in
Rome proved almost fruitless in terms
of major commissions, in part
because the city was undergoing mili-
tary turmoil that finally erupted in
1527, forcing Parmigianino to flee to
Bologna. He eventually returned to
Parma in 1530 and made hundreds of
drawings in preparation for painting
fresco decorations and panels.
Throughout all these travels,
Parmigianino made both studies and
independent drawings that were not
preparatory for paintings. In addition to
working on figure compositions, he
designed architectural frames for altar-
pieces, tomb sculptures, bronze stat-
uettes, arms and armor, jewelry, and
cutlery. He is even known to have creat-
ed a few erotic drawings. Indeed,
Parmigianino was so obsessed with
making drawings of all sorts of subjects
that “his industry was often directed
towards avoiding his real professional
responsibilities,” observes Eskerdjian. A
number of important painting commis-
sions went unfinished, including fresco
decorations for the vault and apse of
Santa Maria della Steccata in Parma.
About 100 drawings for the project sur-
vive, underscoring the artist’s insistence
on perfection and on an endless process
of refinement. After eight years of work,
Parmigianino had still not completed
the fresco and his patrons put him in
jail. A sympathetic collector bailed him
out, perhaps in exchange for a group of
drawings, but the artist fled Parma,
became ill, and died at the age of 37.
Despite Parmigianino’s tragic death
at a young age, Eskerdjian concludes
his essay on the artist’s drawings by
stating, “It is first and foremost the
beauty, richness, and range of his
graphic works that make him one of
the most undeniably distinguished but
also endlessly surprising artists of the
Italian Renaissance.”
woodcuts, there is evidence that he was
so obsessive about supervising the
adaptation of his images that he may
have taken over from the craftsmen
hired to make the etchings. “If this
analysis is broadly correct,” writes
David Franklin, “then Parmigianino’s
perfectionism would have the unin-
tended effect of making him the de
facto father of Italian etching.”
At age 21, Parmigianino traveled to
Rome with four portable paintings
and a collection of drawings he
intended to use as calling cards to
solicit commissions from Pope
Clement VII and wealthy patrons. He
made use of his time by drawing
copies of the figures in Michelangelo’s
Adoration of the Magi
ca. 1527–1530, brown ink and brown wash
with white heightening, 13
1
⁄4 x 9
1
⁄2. Collection
Städelsches Kunstinstitut und Städtische Galerie,
Frankfurt, Germany.
now have a great variety of manufac-
tured artists’ materials.
“The revolution in artists’ materials
occurred in painting, not in drawing,”
Snyder says in summary. “Oil painting
was new, but drawing with chalk and
ink was not. Our appreciation for artists
like Parmigianino is based on their cre-
ative use of those standard materials.”
There are aspects of Parmigianino’s
work that do appear to be quite innova-
tive. He may have been the first artist
to create prints with his own hands
rather than in collaboration with a
craftsman who would translate his
drawings into etchings. While he did
prepare drawings for interpretation as
engravings, etchings, and chiaroscuro
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 5:48 PM Page 14
Hartford Fine Art ad:best of drawing 2009 9/18/09 9:39 AM Page 15
16 THE BEST OF DRAWING
M
atthew J. Collins, the princi-
pal assistant to artist Charles
H. Cecil and a teacher of
painting and drawing in the Charles
H. Cecil Studio in Florence, Italy, con-
firms Reba Snyder’s conclusion about
the differences between modern and
Renaissance drawing materials. “I’ve
been studying Old Master drawings for
the past 10 years, and it has been diffi-
cult finding drawing materials and
papers that even come close to those
used by the masters,” Collins says.
“I first became interested in learning
more about the masters’ work in 1993
when I saw an exhibition of Italian
Florentine drawings at The Art Institute
of Chicago,” Collins remembers. “I
made copies of drawings by Cristofano
Allori (1577–1621) and his father,
Allesandro (1535–1607), and I realized it
was difficult to emulate the variety of
colors and marks they achieved with the
materials available today. I decided to
conduct research to see if I could locate
or prepare materials that had the same
qualities as those used in the 16th and
17th centuries.
“The natural sanguine the masters
used was more fluid and velvety than
the Conté crayons we use today,” Collins
explains. “Conté is grainy and gritty
compared to the soft material the
Italians once mined in the earth. It
doesn’t allow for the same flowing,
rhythmic lines or the subtle blends
Parmigianino achieved in the 16th cen-
tury. Cretacolor brand drawing pencils
are the best commercially manufactured
drawing pencils I have found so far.
“In some ways the modern black and
sanguine pencils are suited to the world
of photographs that influence contem-
porary artists and not to the elegant
forms observed by the masters,” Collins
continues. “It is important to rediscover
those earlier materials so contemporary
artists have a better chance of achieving
the same rhythms in their drawings.
“There is some evidence that
Michelangelo mixed wax with chalk to
make a slightly harder drawing mate-
rial that could be sharpened into a fine
point,” Collins adds. “For that reason
I’ve been experimenting with making
my own drawing instruments by first
ABOVE
Virgin in Glory With
the Adoration of the
Shepherds and Saint
Francis
ca. 1529–1530, brown ink
and gray wash with white
heightening on blue paper,
pricked for transfer, 15 x 12
1
⁄2.
Collection Ashmolean
Museum, Oxford, England.
LEFT
Study for the Steccata
Ceiling, With Three
Canephori and the
Vault
ca. 1531–1533, brown ink
and green, blue, and brown
washes with white heightening,
8
1
⁄4 x 7. Collection The British
Museum, London, England.
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:11 PM Page 16
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18 THE BEST OF DRAWING
making a paste of beeswax and tur-
pentine, then adding sanguine dust
to form a stick of red chalk.”
In his pursuit of the perfect drawing
materials, Collins has consulted Sandro
Zecchi, a well-known art-material retail-
er in Florence and an expert on art
materials. “Even though the original
sources of sanguine in Corsica are
depleted, Zecchi says he has found a
supply in France,” Collins explains.
“He won’t tell anyone where he gets
the clay, but he sells chunks of stone of
varying degrees of quality that can be
cut into slices and put into a holder for
drawing. The stones are rather expen-
sive and a customer at Zecchi’s has to
sort through all the ones available to
find the best. The stones have to be cut
into strips or slices with a saw, and
those slices have to be cut down into
little sticks that can be sanded to fit into
a holder and sharpened to a point.”
While Collins has made some
progress in locating and adapting mod-
ern drawing materials, he has had less
success finding papers that come close
to those available in the Renaissance. “I
have a small stash of 19th-century
papers that are exquisite, and I use
small pieces of them to make draw-
ings, but most of my drawings are
done on cream-colored sheets of Modir
Italian paper that has a slightly textured
surface. The tone of the paper allows
me to add highlights with white chalk.
“Most of the other papers I’ve tried
either have a grain so distinct that it
distracts from the drawn lines, or
they are too smooth and don’t pull
enough chalk off the stick,” Collins
goes on to say. “I’ve also tried a num-
ber of handmade papers, and I’ve
found them to be too spongy. I have
talked to several mills about the quali-
ties I am looking for in a drawing
paper in hopes they will come up
with something more satisfactory.”
Collins adds that he likes doing sil-
verpoint drawings on papers that he
prepares. He coats the surfaces of
cold-pressed watercolor paper with a
ABOVE
Saturn and Philyra
ca. 1531–1535, brown ink and brown
wash over black chalk, 6
1
⁄2 x 4
1
⁄4. Collection
The British Museum, London, England.
LEFT
Saturn and Philyra
ca. 1531–1535, brown ink and gray
wash with white heightening, 4
1
⁄4 x 3.
Collection Royal Library, Windsor Castle,
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.
RIGHT
Saturn and Philyra
ca. 1531–1535, oil on panel, 29
1
⁄2 x 25.
Private collection.
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:11 PM Page 18
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20 THE BEST OF DRAWING
liquid made from a combination of
glycerin, gum arabic, and bone-white
chalk and allows the surface to dry to a
hard finish that can be scratched with
strands of sterling silver. “The coating
is made using the formula Cennini
recommended in his classic book on
artists’ materials” (The Craftsman’s
Handbook, by Cennino D’Andrea
Cennini, translated by Daniel V.
Thompson Jr., Dover Publications,
Mineola, New York), he explains.
Collins concludes by saying his
research is intended to support the edu-
cation program of the Cecil Studio. “Our
school is different from others in that
we look at nature through the language
and rhythms of the Renaissance mas-
ters,” he explains. “We are concerned
with investigating the idea of beauty and
the means of expressing beauty.”
For more information on Zecchi’s art
supplies, write: Zecchi Colori Belle Arti-
Restauro, Via dello Studio 19/r, 50122
Florence, Italy; call: 011-39-055-21-14-70;
or fax: 011-39-055-21-06-90. For more
information on the Charles H. Cecil
Studio, write: Ms. Danielle DeVine,
Dept. DRAW, Borgo San Frediano 68,
50124 Florence, Italy; call: 011-39-055-28-
51-02; or e-mail: [email protected].
For more information on the
Parmigianino exhibition and a copy of
the catalog, call The Frick Collection at
(212) 288-0700, or visit the museum’s
website at www.frick.org. ❖
LEFT
Portrait of Victor Edelstein
by Matthew J. Collins, 1996, sanguine
on cream paper, 7
1
⁄2 x 6. Collection
the artist.
OPPOSITE PAGE ABOVE
Female Study
by Matthew J. Collins, 2004,
sanguine and white chalk
on cream paper, 10 x 7.
Collection the artist.
OPPOSITE PAGE BELOW
Copy of Cristofano Allori
Drawing for Judith With the
Head of Holofernes
by Matthew J. Collins, 1994, black
and white Conté on blue Canson
Ingres paper, 10 x 7
1
⁄2.
Collection the artist.
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 5:49 PM Page 20
THE BEST OF DRAWING 21
The raw materials shown above are used by New
York artist Karen Gorst to create drawings in the
manner of artists in the 15th and 16th centuries.
Starting in the lower left-hand corner of the photo-
graph is a reed pen filled with a sliver of sterling
silver that Gorst uses for silverpoint drawings on
prepared papers and boards. Next is a rolled
paper stump for carefully smudging charcoal; two
bamboo-reed pens for ink drawing; natural galls to
be boiled with ferrosulphate to make ink (see the
formula below); left- and right-handed quill pens
made from goose feathers; additional natural
galls; a bottle of ferrosulfate; two pieces of willow
charcoal; particles of gum arabic used in making
ink; and pieces of both sanguine and white chalk.
Stated briefly, her formula for making ink is to
mix 3 parts boiled oak galls, 2 parts ferrosulfate,
and 1 part gum arabic. “Boil the oak galls and
water to the consistency of tea and let that sit for
two to three weeks so the liquid will ferment,”
Gorst explains. “Add the ferrosulfate and strain
the liquid. It should immediately turn black. Then,
add the gum arabic.”
Gorst teaches medieval techniques of drawing
and calligraphy at a number of New York loca-
tions, including the Center for Book Arts (phone:
212-481-0295; www.centerforbookarts.org) and
Kremer Pigments (phone:212-219-2394; www.
kremerpigments.com). She also conducts work-
shops in public schools and art centers around
the country. For more information, contact Gorst
at [email protected].
Raw Materials for Drawing in
Ink, Charcoal, and Silver
DRAW SIP 09 Parmagianino:AA feature 9/18/09 1:12 PM Page 21
22 THE BEST OF DRAWING
The graphite in pencils is common and largely uncelebrated, but its history, appli-
cations, and physical properties are worth a closer look. by Bob Bahr
H
ow little does our society think of graphite
pencils? Well, small ones that cost about
three cents are given away free at some
government offices where forms need to be filled
out. Ditto at horse-racing tracks—even at minia-
ture-golf courses. In these situations, they are like-
ly used for just a few seconds, then thrown away.
The pencil’s luck is little better in the art world.
Graphite pencils compete with charcoal as the
least valued media—at least in terms of asking
price for a finished piece—a further insult when
one considers that a detailed graphite drawing can
take much longer to execute than an oil painting.
It wasn’t always this way: Graphite used to be
a rare commodity—rare enough to spawn imita-
tors. Counterfeiters would sell pencil-shaped
wood with the “lead” merely painted on. Others
would make pencils with graphite in place only
for the first inch or so of the writing end. The
mineral was so valued at one point that graphite
mining involved the kind of security used for the
extraction of a closely related form of carbon: dia-
mond. Operators of the graphite mine at
Borrowdale, in England’s Lake District, locked the
entrance to the mine each night and searched the
miners at the end of each day for smuggled
pieces. According to Henry Petroski’s exhaus-
tive—and somewhat exhausting—book on the
subject [The Pencil: A History of Design and
Circumstance (Knopf, New York, New York)], a
saying in the Lake District in the 17th century
held that “a mouthful [of graphite] was as good as
a day’s wages.” As the reserves dwindled in that
mine, which was renowned for its pure, high-
quality product, the owners occasionally flooded
the pit in the late 1600s to control supply of the
material and to prevent its illegal removal.
Graphite’s ups and downs are directly tied to
its usefulness. Artists and tradesmen had long
known about graphite’s ability to make marks,
but it was rarely found in pure form and there-
fore didn’t distinguish itself from other marking
materials. Artists interested in fine lines worked
in metalpoint using silver, gold, zinc, or true lead,
which left a faint, metallic line that could be
removed using the soft parts of fresh bread,
The Drawer’s Humble Tool
Graphite:
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:10 PM Page 22
Graphite leads at the
Caran d’Ache factory
in Switzerland.
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:11 PM Page 23
24 THE BEST OF DRAWING
General Pencil Company
sells graphite in the
form of pencils, sticks,
even fist-sized chunks.
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:11 PM Page 24
wadded up. Because graphite made a darker mark, it was
referred to as black lead. The discovery of the Borrowdale
deposit, which was initially only valued by the locals for
its ability to mark their sheep, represented the first time
that pure graphite could be cut into a stylus and wrapped
in string to make a writing instrument that made a con-
sistent, dark line. Its fame spread—and so did the confu-
sion of its true nature: Graphite is better thought of as a
higher form of coal, with no relation to lead. To this day,
some parents erroneously worry that their child could get
lead poisoning from the graphite in a pencil.
It’s important for artists to know graphite’s physical
properties in order to use the material to its best advan-
tage. The mineral is metallic in appearance, almost glassy,
which accounts for its sheen when applied in concentra-
tion. Graphite is useful for its superlubricity, which it gets
from the weak atomic bond between the hexagonal
“sheets” that its components form and this weak bond’s
interaction with moisture. This slipperiness means it can
be difficult to apply another material on top of a layer of
graphite. Artists warn that if drawing materials are mixed,
the softer media (charcoal, for example) should be laid
down first, because a harder material (such as graphite)
would eliminate the tooth on the surface.
Graphite came out of the Borrowdale mine in large,
pure chunks, allowing pencil makers to simply cut it into
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:11 PM Page 25
26 THE BEST OF DRAWING
small rods and lay it in the slots of blank pencils, then glue
another piece of wood over the slot to encase the graphite.
This product was in demand the world over. But because of
diminishing supplies and embargoes due to war, those out-
side of England experienced years of graphite scarcity. The sit-
uation became dire enough for France’s Minister of War to
commission the noted engineer Nicolas-Jacques Conté to dis-
cover an acceptable substitute for the Borrowdale graphite
pencil. According to legend, it took him less than a day, in
1794, to come up with the process still used today to optimize
a limited amount of graphite. Conté found the answer by effi-
ciently separating pure graphite from its matrix, mixing the
resulting fine-powdered graphite with clay and water, forming
the mixture into the desired shape, allowing the thin strings
to dry, then firing them in a kiln at about 1,800 degrees
Fahrenheit. (In contrast, Conté crayons, which represent an
extension of the engineer’s innovation, often contain wax
and/or softer clay and frequently utilize colored chalk or
another type of pigment.) This process not only created a con-
sistent, effective pencil lead but it also allowed Conté to manu-
facture leads in various degrees of hardness. That’s why today
the softest, darkest leads, such as 6B or 9B, are nearly 90 per-
cent graphite, while the hardest leads, such as 6H or 9H, are
less than 50 percent graphite. Approximately 5 percent of a
pencil’s lead composition is wax; when graphite strings are
impregnated with wax, they create smoother-flowing lines.
CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT
Connie XI
by Costa Vavagiakis, 2003, graphite,
25
1
⁄2 x 19
1
⁄2. Collection the artist.
Maria VI
by Costa Vavagiakis, 2005, graphite,
69 x 48. Collection the artist.
Rainbow XII
by Costa Vavagiakis, 2006, graphite,
12
1
⁄2 x 9
1
⁄2. Collection the artist.
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:12 PM Page 26
Advanced mining techniques for finding the mineral, and
the discovery in 1847 of a large deposit of graphite near the
Siberian border with China, have allowed graphite’s price to
stay very low. Pure graphite in its natural form is no longer
particularly desirable. Artists do indeed use graphite in solid
sticks, in pencils made entirely of 99.95 percent graphite,
even in fist-sized chunks—but it all enters the factory as a
powder—what Katie Weissenborn, an executive at General
Pencil Company, likens to “gray sugar.” From that state it is
mixed, molded, and fired into a variety of shapes and hard-
nesses, just as Conté suggested. It’s generally assumed that
the softer the graphite in the pencil, the darker the mark—
and this is true because the clay in harder pencil leads does
not contribute much to a line’s darkness. But as the graphite
content increases, so does the sheen.
Artists’ feelings on graphite’s sheen run the gamut, but
love it or hate it, this shiny reflectivity is something a
draftsman must take into consideration. Costa Vavagiakis, a
New York artist and instructor who draws detailed figure
drawings with a graphite pencil, points out that the sheen
can affect one’s process. “It acts like a shiny painting,” he
says. “You have to maneuver to not let that sheen distract
you—otherwise, it can be a total ‘flashout’.” Fernando
Freitas tells his students the sheen is unavoidable. Freitas,
the senior instructor of the Academy of Realist Art, in
Toronto, says graphite’s reflectivity becomes a bigger factor
Graphite pencils coming
off the assembly line at
the Caran d’Ache
factory in Switzerland.
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DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:12 PM Page 27
28 THE BEST OF DRAWING
in areas where a 9B or 8B pencil has been used. “It
becomes almost a mirror,” says Freitas. “But if you don’t
use nonreflective glass when framing the piece, the
viewer will never encounter it.”
New York artist Sherry Camhy makes sure viewers of
her work encounter graphite’s sheen—she builds her draw-
ings on black paper, with 9B graphite serving as the lights.
This artist turns what many consider a disadvantage into
one of the most compelling aspects of her work, and she
accomplishes it by seeing the entire process in reverse. It’s
a novel solution. “I’ve never explored graphite’s sheen as an
advantage because it only seems to happen in the shadow
patterns,” comments Freitas. Camhy instead lets the black
of the paper provide the shadows, and allows the sheen of
the graphite to provide the highlights.
Frederick Brosen also uses graphite in a fashion that
seems contrary to logic. Despite graphite’s superlubricity,
the New York artist puts down a graphite underdrawing for
his watercolors that is so thoroughly toned, Brosen says it’s
“almost like laying a light glaze over a complete grisaille.”
He reports no trouble with the watercolor paint adhering
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DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:12 PM Page 28
THE BEST OF DRAWING 29
to the graphite layer, but Brosen does recommend harder
graphite, such as a 6H pencil. “Subsequent washes of
watercolor will not mix with a hard graphite like this,” he
says. “With softer leads, you run the risk of having some of
the graphite mix with the washes and gray the colors.” The
artist reports that the more opaque watercolor hues hide
the sheen, and even when the more transparent colors
don’t, he doesn’t mind. “I happen to like what the graphite
does to the finish on the paper,” says Brosen. “But actually,
one often can’t really tell which is the graphite and which
is the watercolor. They sort of fuse together.”
The other popular underdrawing medium is charcoal,
which is slowly charred wood. Many oil painters prefer to
do their underdrawings with charcoal because the char-
coal can be brushed off, has a darker tone, and doesn’t
have graphite’s slipperiness, but even graphite’s slickness
has its proponents. English artist Christopher Cook buys
graphite in powder form, mixes it with oil and resin, and
pushes this mixture around on a prepared panel until an
image begins to emerge. “This mixture produces a very
slippery quality—especially on my nonabsorbent sur-
LEFT
627 West End Avenue
by Frederick Brosen, 2006,
watercolor over graphite,
32 x 24.
BELOW
Jesse and Friend
by Fernando Freitas,
2007, graphite, 12 x 16.
Private collection.
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:13 PM Page 29
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 31
faces—that encourages improvisation and risk-taking,”
reports Cook. “I have so far resisted the temptation to
use anything except damar resin and stand oil in the
mixture, as the pure graphite has allowed me enormous
range of expression. The larger particles capture intense-
ly detailed touches very well yet also allow geological
attributes to form in the image: erosion, sedimentation,
rock strata, and so forth. There seems to be plenty more
work yet to come from this intense focus.”
Intensity and graphite drawings seem to go hand in
hand. Pencils usually imply lines, and tone made from
line can only cleanly come from lines that are very care-
fully drawn, be they parallel or crosshatched. “For me, a
large part of the work is the process,” says Meghan
Gerety, a New York artist who draws silhouetted details of
trees and other natural forms. “It’s not so evident in
some reproductions of my work, but in person you can
see all the graphite strokes, all the time that went into it.
I am interested in how the process is reflected in the
In the Context
of War
by Meghan Gerety,
2007, graphite on
watercolor paper,
72' x 52'.
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 5:30 PM Page 31
32 THE BEST OF DRAWING
work. If you focus on the process, you can achieve the sub-
lime.” Gerety often starts with a color photograph of a tree
or other subject, then photocopies the image to reduce the
information—particularly the color and details. Tight real-
ism is not her goal at all. “I like the contrast between the
gestural nature of the subject and the obsessive nature of
my process,” she explains. “I am interested in the idea of the
place, the emotional or spiritual essence of a location.”
Gerety’s use of a multitude of lines to create tone is not
uncommon, even though graphite’s many forms allow for a
seemingly limitless number of ways to create dark passages
in a drawing. Adds Vavagiakis, “The line is really a point of
departure as much as it is a point of arrival. The line has to
be a ballpark figure in the beginning. One must start ges-
tural and then work toward pinpoint accuracy.” The artist
uses hatching to create dark areas but he will also use a
stump to create smooth, subtle tones—although he warns
that many of his fellow instructors consider stumping an
undesirable crutch, especially in creating transitions. “It
can get too velvety,” says Vavagiakis. “I sometimes will
stump—I see it like a glaze, with hatching being like a
scumble. Diego Catalan Amilivia and his peers have devel-
oped a technique with stumping where they sort of scum-
ble over a tone—they stump an area and then hatch over
the top of it. They are going for high luminosity and sharp
tactile definitions to emphasize the form.”
The key to precise hatching, which is crucial for a clean-
looking drawing, is having a sharp point on the graphite pen-
cil. Brosen uses a mechanical pencil, always sharp.
Vavagiakis favors no particular brand, but he usually works
from softer to harder lead. “I start in the middle range—usu-
ally an HB or a B,” the artist says. “I want to cover ground.”
He may end up with a 9H in his hand. It may seem counter-
intuitive to start with the darkest pencil first, then move to a
harder, lighter lead, but the issue is erasability. One must
press down harder with hard lead, which leads to a slight
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:13 PM Page 32
THE BEST OF DRAWING 33
ABOVE
Light and Illusion
Metaphor
by Sherry Camhy,
2005, graphite on black
paper, 33 x 54.
Collection the artist.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Etude
by Sherry Camhy,
1997, powdered
graphite on gray
paper, 14
1
⁄2 x 19
1
⁄2.
Collection the artist.
scoring of the paper. No eraser can completely eliminate
the resulting marks because any additional work in the
same area will show the valley of the scored line because
it will hold more of the newly deposited graphite. “The
worst thing you can do is score the paper. But if you do,
it’s not the end of the world,” comments Freitas. “You just
have to work more carefully to fill in the trench. Still, if
you tilt your head the right way, you will always be able to
see it.” On the other hand, very lightly applied lines from
a soft, dark pencil can be pulled up with an eraser—but
they shouldn’t be rashly eliminated. Those early, prelimi-
nary lines should be left in place even when the artist real-
izes some of them are wrong. “A beginner erases by eras-
ing the mark,” Vavagiakis says. “A professional knows that
a mark is something you work off of. Make the adjust-
ment first, then get rid of the unwanted mark. The fur-
ther you get in your drawing, the more sure you are about
the marks, and the harder you go.” The artist uses a vari-
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:14 PM Page 33
34 THE BEST OF DRAWING
ety of erasers on his drawings, from a typewriter eraser to a
stringlike polymer eraser, but the primary choice of
Vavagiakis and most artists and drawing instructors is the
kneaded eraser. “You can use it to create hard edges or gran-
ular ones that help suggest a lost edge,” says Freitas. “If you
roll the eraser to a point, you can very specifically tap dots in
the marked area. You can key in on pockmarked areas and
lighten certain spots to make them read the same as other
dots in that area. You can press it flat and get a chiseled edge
to sharpen a hard line for a contour on a drawing.”
Artists who work in graphite rarely recommend pencil
sharpeners. Instead, they suggest shaving the pencil to a
point with a knife or razor blade, then perhaps sharpening
the exposed lead with sandpaper. A sharp point doesn’t just
allow for sharp lines. It also prevents undesired scoring of
the paper. “If a pencil is sharpened properly, this forces an
artist to have a light touch, or the point will snap,” explains
Freitas. The type of paper used with graphite is not a grave
consideration. Graphite does not require the paper to have
much tooth—in fact, too much tooth can impede the flow
of a mark. “Find your preferred paper then stick with it,”
Freitas simply says. “Master it.” Vavagiakis prefers paper
that is externally and internally sized so it can withstand
much reworking. Dan Gheno, a devoted drawer, art instruc-
tor, and regular contributor to Drawing magazine, uses
ordinary bond paper for gesture drawings and favors
Bristol board for more finished graphite pieces.
Delicate beauty can emerge from simple tools.
Vavagiakis, a meticulous artist, began drawing with his
dad’s flat carpenter’s pencil, and he still recommends that
variety to students who need to loosen up. Most artists may
gravitate toward a specific brand of pencil, but even the
exacting Freitas says, “If a student wants to pick up his or
her pencil at the dollar store, I’m OK with that.” The magic
is in what you make with it. Says Cook, “I enjoy the ele-
mental status of graphite, a form of pure carbon that is a
close relative both of soot and diamond. These radically dif-
ferent states of the same element provide a good metaphor
for my creative process, especially the notion that some-
thing base can become precious.” ❖
“A beginner erases by
erasing the mark.
A professional knows
that a mark is something
you work off of.”
—COSTA VAVAGIAKIS
TOP
Home
by Stephen Sollins, 2002, graphite
on 12 catalogue pages, 30 x 32.
Courtesy Michell-Innes & Nash
Gallery, New York, New York.
ABOVE
Terrain
by Stephen Sollins, 2001, graphite
on catalogue page, 16
1
⁄2 x 22
5
⁄8.
Courtesy Michell-Innes & Nash
Gallery, New York, New York.
DRAW SIP 09 Graphite:AA feature 9/18/09 3:14 PM Page 34
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Drawing Sub Promo ad:best of drawing 2009 9/18/09 9:44 AM Page 35
DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/17/09 6:25 PM Page 36
THE BEST OF DRAWING 37
A
successful drawing requires the right mix of sever-
al elements, including the artist’s ability, the artist’s
vision or idea, and the chosen drawing material.
Artists have drawn on all sorts of surfaces throughout his-
tory, including handmade paper—the only kind of paper
around until the advent of machine-made papermaking in
the early 1800s. Today, a small, devoted group of artists still
seek out the more expensive and rare handmade paper,
maintaining that it both enhances their working process
and adds to the viewer’s experience. For them, a few small
art-supply chains and mail-order companies are invaluable
sources of the artisanal product.
“There is nothing more exciting than drawing on hand-
made paper,” says Kathryn Clark, co-founder of
Twinrocker Handmade Paper, a papermill in Brookston,
Indiana. “When you get up close to it, you see it’s really
different from machine-made paper.
When you look at a drawing, it’s
really important to get close to it,
and that’s when you notice the dif-
ference in handmade. The surface
texture is more alive.” Twinrocker
has made paper to custom specifications for artists such as
Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, Jim Dine, James
Rosenquist, Robert Liberace, William Matthews, and
Robert Motherwell, plus a host of lesser-known artists who
couldn’t find just the right paper in a typical art-supply
store. All Twinrocker paper is handmade, and the staff of
six maintains a rotating inventory of paper available for
purchase as overruns of special orders. An e-mail newslet-
ter alerts interested customers of what’s currently on
Twinrockers’ shelves.
Jeffrey Ingram Stone asked Twinrocker to make a paper
suitable for his drawings, which incorporate graphite ren-
derings, gouache, pen-and-ink work, and watercolor wash-
es. “I couldn’t find paper that I liked,” recalls Stone. “I
wanted to put on a heavy impasto, and I needed a paper
that would retain the brushstrokes. I wanted it to be very
thin and delicate, yet something that could hold up to
watercolor and pen-and-ink work. The other papers’ sizing
wouldn’t hold brushstrokes, or the paper didn’t have the
tooth I was looking for, or I couldn’t find the color I want-
ed. I’m very, very particular, and Kathyrn was great. She
would send me test after test after test. I would come back
Custom &
Handmade Paper
Daydream
by Jamie Wyeth, 1999,
mixed media on handmade
wove paper made by
Dieu Donné, 29 x 21
1
⁄4.
Collection David Wyeth.
© Jamie Wyeth.
Choosing handmade and custom-made paper over machine-made paper
involves trading consistency and low cost for an artisanal product with unique traits.
For some artists, it’s not a choice at all. by Bob Bahr
DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/17/09 6:26 PM Page 37
38 THE BEST OF DRAWING
the start, their ambition was to operate a small papermill
that could offer intense customer service. The couple
moved to Indiana in 1973 to be with a sick relative and
decided to relocate their operations to the family farm,
where they’ve been ever since.
It is now one of two notable custom-paper handmills in
the United States. Twinrocker starts a custom-paper job by
asking the artist to describe the surface, color, size, and
thickness preferred. Sizing and texture are considered next.
“We then make a trial so the artist can experiment with it,”
explains Clark. “We make adjustments until we produce
the perfect paper for them, and then we save the formula.
Once we know the specifications, we can make it again and
again.” The cost of the custom order depends on the size
and thickness of the paper. A setup fee of $200 applies to
papers created from a customized pulp, and the minimum
order of sheets is $500.
In New York City, the Dieu Donné Papermill has worked
closely with artists since it first began beating pulp and
pressing paper in 1976. For years, Dieu Donné supplied
handmade paper to outlets such as New York Central Art
Supply, but the organization filed for not-for-profit status in
with, ‘I want this weight,’ ‘I want more tooth,’ ‘warm up
this color.’” Stone ended up with a parchmentlike paper
with a brownish, middle value, which he named Toledo,
because he had noticed that it was the same color as the
buildings in that Spanish city.
Twinrocker attracts drawers and discriminating water-
colorists, but it also makes stationery and decorative
papers. “If it starts with P and ends with R, we make it,”
says Clark. Most of their output is sold directly to artists,
among whom it enjoys considerable word-of-mouth
praise—but it also sells a small amount to retailers such as
Kate’s Paperie, Dick Blick, Daniel Smith, and New York
Central Art Supply. The papermill, which is now located
two hours outside of Chicago, was founded in 1971 by
Clark and her husband, Howard, in San Francisco. From
Twinrocker co-founder
Kathryn Clark making a
22"-x-30" sheet of paper
at her papermill.
“[Handmade paper] adds significance
to the work. It’s significant in itself.”
—Melanie Nerenberg, Kate’s Paperie.
DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/17/09 6:26 PM Page 38
THE BEST OF DRAWING 39
New York artist Jeffrey
Ingram Stone asked
Twinrocker to make
this sketchbook to
his specifications.
BELOW
A detail of Stone’s
sketchbook made
from handmade paper
from Twinrocker.
DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/17/09 6:26 PM Page 39
40 THE BEST OF DRAWING
1988, and now focuses on working directly with artists at
its mill on 36th Street. “We’re not so much a production
mill,” says Paul Wong, Dieu Donné’s director. “We’re usu-
ally more involved with the artist and their project. Our
focus is custom-paper orders—we’re here when you can’t
find a particular color or some other trait in a paper avail-
able in the marketplace.” Like Twinrocker, Dieu Donné’s
minimum order is $500 and an artist may send specifica-
tions to the papermill for a unique product.
PRI NTMAKER AND PAPER ARTIST Laurence
Barker once called handmade paper the hyphen in “sup-
port-medium,” stressing its assertive role in the creative
process. Those who sell both handmade and machine-
made paper are also quick to point out handmade paper’s
collaborative personality. “The main difference between the
two is that handmade has more character; there’s more of a
sense of the person who made the paper,” says David
Aldera, the paper buyer at New York Central Art Supply, an
artist, and something of a paper guru in New York art cir-
cles. “The main reason someone would choose handmade
paper is for the aesthetics. It is for people willing to work
with the inconsistencies that handmade paper is more like-
ly to have, inconsistencies in texture, absorbency, weight,
and other traits. Papermaking is like baking a cake—you
can follow a recipe, but it won’t always come out the same
This laid paper from
Dieu Donné is a cotton-
linen blend.
This is a sample of abaca, from Dieu Donné, a
paper made from the abaca plant—a close relative
of the banana tree—found in the Philippines. Its
slippery, long fibers create a slightly uneven surface,
but its admirable durability is shown by abaca’s use
in the production of marine ropes.
DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/17/09 6:27 PM Page 40
THE BEST OF DRAWING 41
way. It’s an issue of human error and skill.” Adds his co-
worker and paper-department manager Kathy Hyde, “You
might notice a richness to the surface. I think you can
build a relationship with the surface of a handmade paper.”
Hyde and Aldera both say the appeal of handmade paper is
largely aesthetic and perhaps even romantic.
At Kate’s Paperie, Melanie Nerenberg, the retailer’s mar-
keting director, also sees both sides to the handmade paper
issue. “Once you put the human hand in it, you allow the
possibility for human error,” she says. “Conversely, there is
something incredibly enticing about a unique surface. It
may excite the artist. It may remove someone from their
comfort zone. You know paper from Arches is going to
“Artists swear that handmade
paper behaves differently,
and once they work on it,
they never go back.”
—Kathy Hyde,
New York Central Art Supply.
Cover stock produced
by Dieu Donné Papermill.
Simon’s green cold-pressed cotton
rag paper from Twinrocker, suitable
for drawings and pastels.
This cotton-rag paper from
Twinrocker has a cold-
pressed finish on one side
and a hot-pressed finish on
the other to give artists
their choice in one sheet.
This cotton-rag, cold-pressed paper
from Twinrocker was created for
drawing with graphite or charcoal.
Like the other papers shown here,
it has no sizing, making it less than
ideal for watercolor painting.
DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/18/09 3:18 PM Page 41
respond a certain way, but a handmade paper from Nepal is
going to respond very differently. It’s more unpredictable.”
Nerenberg says only about 10 percent of the paper at Kate’s
Paperie is handmade, which seems to reflect the market for
handmade paper in general.
Archival properties appear to be roughly the same for
both handmade and machine-made paper. Nerenberg
expresses some lingering concern about handmade paper,
but adds, “The reality is, we’re talking about deterioration
over a very long period of time, and we are talking about
people adding materials [paint, water, and the like] that are
harmful to the paper anyway. Archival
mist will negate the acidity or buffer
the paper if you are concerned about
it.” Aldera says he also believes the
archival properties of good handmade
paper are essentially the same as
machine-made.
The difference for artists usually
comes down to two factors: aesthetics
and cost. Handmade paper will cost
two or even three times the price of a
good, machine-made paper. (But Hyde
points out that handmade paper’s
higher cost may work to the artists’
advantage, forcing them to “commit to
what they are doing, invest in the
piece of paper and the work on it.”)
With machine-made paper, an artist is
trading uniqueness and the artisanal
aspect of a handmade item for consis-
tency and inexpensiveness. “Machine-
made paper is so regular that it is aes-
thetically boring,” claims Clark. “We
make paper as consistent as we can
make it—it’s not wild or uneven. But
just by making it by hand, there’s an
aliveness to it. The person who looks
at it goes, ‘Wow! What is it about this
that’s so different?’ The artist gets to work on a surface that
is really exciting to draw or paint on.”
Many artists prefer that paper be as innocuous as possible
to avoid distracting the viewer from the rest of the artwork.
And some have no problem making a silk purse from a sow’s
ear—and even like it. “I prefer the cheapest paper around,”
says New York artist Dan Gheno. “It allows me to decide what
kind of texture I will put on it.” Gheno usually uses an inex-
pensive bond paper or sketch paper from Utrecht Art
Supplies, neither of which pills like expensive paper might, he
says. His favorite brand of bond paper is Borden & Riley.
42 THE BEST OF DRAWING
“There is nothing more exciting than drawing on
handmade paper. When you get up close to it, you
see it’s really different from machine-made paper.”
—Kathryn Clark,
co-founder of Twinrocker Handmade Paper.
LEFT AND BELOW LEFT
The two sides—and very different surfaces—of Dieu
Donné’s 100% silk laid paper. This paper looks
delicate, but it is very tough. Technically, it is not
paper because it is made from an animal product.
This unusual surface provides an artist with
significant challenges—and, possibly, rewards.
DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/18/09 3:19 PM Page 42
THE BEST OF DRAWING 43
Cost and convenience may dissuade many artists
from working on handmade paper, while others have no
choice—their artistic vision involves a paper that doesn’t
exist. Jamie Wyeth has worked with both Twinrocker
and Dieu Donné in search of an unusual surface for his
art. “My quest has been to find an archival cardboard,”
Wyeth says. “I want it to look like junk. I’d gone to card-
board manufacturers and the only archival cardboard
they could supply was gray. In order to get brown
archival cardboard, I’d have to make 50,000 pounds of
it at once.”
Wyeth says he prefers the “give” that cardboard has,
plus the feel of it, the look of the surface, and the dis-
cernible pulp and “junk” in cardboard. He’s been work-
ing with Dieu Donné lately, but not to his complete sat-
isfaction. “We haven’t reached the bad look that I like,”
Wyeth says. “I realize cardboard ends up eating itself—
just breaking down, self-destructing—but I literally like
cardboard.”
Projects like Chuck Close’s pulp paintings also
require custom work that can best be done by a small
papermill like Dieu Donné. Sculptors and multimedia
artists keep Dieu Donné booked at least two months in
advance, and their artist list includes such luminaries
as April Gornik, Neil Welliver, Cy Twombly, Richard
Serra, Maurice Sendak, Ed Ruscha, Richard Tuttle,
William Kentridge, Lesley Dill, Sol LeWitt, Claes
Oldenburg, Terry Winters, and Close. The most suc-
cessful artists can afford to have their paper and other
materials handmade and custom-made. But the allure
of handmade paper extends to anyone with an exacting
artistic vision.
“Handmade paper signifies how important the details
are,” says Nerenberg, of Kate’s Paperie. “It adds signifi-
cance to the work. It’s significant in itself.” Adds New
York Central’s Hyde, “Artists swear that handmade
paper behaves differently, and once they work on it, they
never go back.” ❖
“The main difference between
[handmade and machine-made
paper] is that handmade has more
character; there’s more of a sense
of the person who made the paper.”
—David Aldera,
paper buyer at New York Central Art Supply.
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DRAW SIP 09 Paper:AA feature 9/18/09 3:19 PM Page 43
44 THE BEST OF DRAWING
THE REVI VAL OF AN
Influential
Drawing Course
2004 saw a museum exhibition and a new book that made
Charles Bargue and Jean-Léon Gérôme’s 19th-century
drawing course available to art students once again.
by M. Stephen Doherty
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:38 PM Page 44
THIS PAGE
Study for The Opinion
of the Model
by Charles Bargue, ca. 1867,
graphite, 9
3
⁄4 x 6
1
⁄2. Collection
The Walters Art Museum,
Baltimore, Maryland.
OPPOSITE PAGE
The Artist and His Model
by Charles Bargue, 1867,
hand-colored photogravure
issued by Goupil & Cie,
24
1
⁄2 x 19 (full sheet). Collection
Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, France.
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:38 PM Page 45
46 THE BEST OF DRAWING
the three-part drawing course formulat-
ed by Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824–1904)
and Charles Bargue (1826/27–1883) was
one of the most influential art-education
programs in the world. From Paris to
London to New York, most major
museums and art schools owned a
complete set of the 197 loose-leaf litho-
graphs and expected students to copy
them. Diego Rivera, Pablo Picasso,
Vincent van Gogh and hundreds of
other art students spent weeks and
months making exact copies of the lith-
ographs of plaster casts, great master
drawings, and life drawings. Van Gogh
was so convinced of the benefits of fol-
lowing the course that he completed at
least three separate sets after the 60
plates in Course III.
But despite the importance of the
Cours de Dessin, as it was titled, the
educational program was supplanted by
free, less rigorous methods as Modern
art became the dominant international
movement. By the 1950s, the academic
method of drawing plaster casts and
copying works of art, as well as spend-
ing days and weeks working directly
ABOVE LEFT
The Foot of Germanicus (Course I)
All the artwork in this article was created by Charles
Bargue and was published from 1866 to 1871
unless otherwise indicated. The lithographs were
printed as individual sheets from stones measuring
approximately 24" x 18". The copyright for all the
plates in the Drawing Course is held by the Musée
Goupil of Bordeaux, France, which has given
permission for the plates to be copied for
educational purposes only.
LEFT
Woman’s Arm, Bent (Course I).
OPPOSITE PAGE
Leg of the Crouching Venus (Course I).
From its initial publication in 1868 to 1873
until the first decades of the 20th century,
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:38 PM Page 46
THE BEST OF DRAWING 47
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:38 PM Page 47
48 THE BEST OF DRAWING
from live models, was so discredited
that sets of the Bargue lithographs were
seldom used by students. Only a hand-
ful of complete sets remained when, in
1983, art historian Gerald M. Ackerman
began searching for the plates to repub-
lish them in book form.
After 20 years of research, study,
and writing, Ackerman published a
book containing all the Bargue litho-
graphs and instructions on how to use
them. Concurrently, the Dahesh
Museum of Art, in New York City,
mounted an exhibition of the original
plates. Photographs of Van Gogh and
Picasso copies, as well as drawings
and paintings by Bargue, supplement-
ed the exhibition.
Gérôme and Bargue originally con-
ceived the drawing course as a way of
addressing what they believed was a
serious lack of skill and taste among
students of design and the decorative
arts. Gérôme, his colleagues, and his
students began making drawings of
plaster casts and a selection of paint-
ings; Bargue was engaged to copy those
drawings on lithographic stones to be
printed by Goupil & Cie, the most
important art publisher and dealer of
the time. Courses I and II were pub-
lished in 1868 while Course III, which
appears to be the work of Bargue alone
(since his is the only name on the fron-
tispiece), wasn’t published until 1873.
Course I of the Cours de Dessin
included 70 lithographic prints of plas-
ter casts, progressing from the simplest
images of an ear, a foot, or a hand up to
the final plates in which complete clas-
sical sculptures are presented for copy-
ing. Most of the objects are shown
twice, once as a schematic line drawing
with grid lines to help with measure-
ments, and a second time with three-
dimensional shading. Students were
expected to make exact copies of each
drawing in charcoal, laying in the
schematic lines and then adding shad-
ing. As they worked, the students would
observe both the Bargue lithograph and
their copies from a measured and
demarked distance to make sure their
completed drawing was exactly the
same size as the printed plate.
The second part of the Bargue/
Gérôme course presented 60 litho-
graphs of drawings and paintings by
ABOVE
Homer
(Course I).
OPPOSITE PAGE
Female Torso,
Rear View
(Course I).
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:39 PM Page 48
THE BEST OF DRAWING 49
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:39 PM Page 49
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:39 PM Page 50
THE BEST OF DRAWING 51
artists considered the greatest of any
historical period. Included are
Michelangelo figures from the Sistine
Chapel, Raphael paintings of women
and men, Hans Holbein the Younger
portraits, and drawings by artists of
the time, including Gérôme, Gleyre,
and Couture. Those were presented as
models of both expert skill and good
taste. By making exact copies of these
plates, the art student would gain an
understanding of form, line, value,
and aesthetics.
Course III, Charcoal Exercises in
Preparation for Drawing the Male
Academic Nude, was designed only for
fine-arts students because it was
assumed that designers and decorators
didn’t need training that led to drawing
a live model. The 60 lithographs were
referred to as academies, meaning
drawings or paintings of male models
in poses considered to be “noble and
classic.” Female models were not used
in life-drawing classes in 19th-century
academies until quite some time after
the middle of the century, and students
were expected to learn to draw the
female form from statuary and other
works of art. The first proofs of the
Course III lithographs showed com-
pletely nude men, while the more
modest later sets included loin clothes
draped over the men’s genitals.
Bargue’s lithographs in Course III
were outline drawings of the models,
almost all with no facial features and
very few notations within the outline
to indicate volume or anatomical
detail. In most cases, the outlines are
drawn in straight segments, and the
joints are delineated as sharp angles.
That’s because students were encour-
aged, when drawing the curve of an
arm or leg, to simplify the contour of
the part into straight lines. First, one
ABOVE
The Daughter of Jakob Meyer
by Hans Holbein the Younger (1497–1543), 1525,
black and colored chalks, light green wash
background on paper, 15
1
⁄2 x 14
3
⁄4. Öffentliche
Kunstsammlung Basel, Kumpferstichkabinett.
Holbein’s work was admired in the 19th century for
its “primitive” or “naïve” qualities, and a number of
the plates in Course II are based on his drawings
and paintings.
OPPOSITE PAGE, ABOVE LEFT
Copy of Portrait of a Young Boy
by Thomas Couture
(1815–1879), (Course II).
OPPOSITE PAGE, ABOVE RIGHT
Copy of a Roman Woman
by Adolphe-William Bouguereau (1825–1905),
(Course II).
OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW LEFT
Copy of Head of a
Young Italian Girl
by Émile Levy
(1826–1890), (Course II).
OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW RIGHT
Copy of Self-Portrait
by Andrea del Sarto
(1486–1530), (Course II).
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/18/09 3:20 PM Page 51
52 THE BEST OF DRAWING
DRAW SIP 09 Bargue:AA feature 9/17/09 6:40 PM Page 52
THE BEST OF DRAWING 53
marks the beginning and end of the
curve, then, “by finding the apex of
the curve and marking it, and joining
the three marks, an accurate approxi-
mation of the curve is produced from
which the curve can later be devel-
oped,” Ackerman explains. “If you
draw a curve without any help, you
will probably draw an arc, and you
may not know when to stop.”
Written instructions were never
published with the drawing course
because it was assumed that the
instructors who made the plates avail-
able to their students knew the long-
established, conventional routine of
teaching drawing and could explain
the recommended procedures. But a
hundred years after the course was
abandoned, few teachers can ade-
quately explain how the Bargue litho-
graphs might be used. In writing his
book, Ackerman was left with the
monumental task of preparing such
detailed instructions.
“The course had no text, and
although it was self-evident that these
were beautiful drawings—inspiring
and exemplary models that any figura-
tive artist would prize and want to
copy—I as an art historian and not a
trained artist found it hard to imagine
my writing an explanation of the plates
and their use,” Ackerman explains in
the preface of his book. He goes on to
credit Daniel Graves, to whom the
book is dedicated, for urging him to
write the book and for teaching him
how to draw. After studying with
Graves in Florence for five semesters
over a 10-year period, Ackerman felt
OPPOSITE PAGE
Copy of Young Woman
Kissing Her Child
by Auguste Toulmouche
(1829–1890), (Course II).
RIGHT, ABOVE
Copy of Study of a Baby
by Timoléon Lobrichon
(1831–1914), (Course II).
RIGHT, BELOW
Copy of Head of a Child
by Jules Lefebvre
(1836–1912), (Course II).
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54 THE BEST OF DRAWING
THIS PAGE
An Archer
(Course III).
OPPOSITE PAGE, ABOVE LEFT
Seated Man, Rear View
(Course III).
OPPOSITE PAGE, ABOVE RIGHT
Seated Man, Hiding
His Face in His Hands
(Course III).
OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW LEFT
Man in Profile,
Leaning to Right
(Course III).
OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW RIGHT
Seated Young Man,
Three-Quarter View,
Hair Somewhat Long
(Course III).
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CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT
Standing Man, In Profile,
Holding Out His Open Left
Hand
(Course III).
Standing Man in Three-
Quarter View, Holding
a Pole With Both Hands,
His Left Leg Crossed Over
the Right
(Course III).
Standing Young Man,
Turning His Head to the
Left, Right Hand Extended
(Course III).
Standing Man in Profile,
Hiding His Face in His
Hands
(Course III).
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 57
confident enough to write the recom-
mendations for using the Bargue
plates, with the help of Graves and
artist Graydon Parrish, his co-editor.
In order to faithfully pursue the
Bargue drawing course, an artist must
be prepared to devote a considerable
amount of time and energy to the
effort. Ackerman recommends spend-
ing up to 15 hours over several weeks
on each copy, always working from a
standing position. “It’s quite typical, in
the schools where the drawings are
still used, as in the Florence Academy
of Art, to spend three to five weeks of
three daily hour sessions making exact
copies of the plates in Courses I and
II,” he explains, “and it would take
less but still considerable time to copy
each of the plates in Course III, con-
sidering that the student would be
more advanced.” Furthermore,
Ackerman strongly recommends that
artists use the sight-size method of
standing a constant distance from the
Bargue plates and the drawing surface
so that the copies are exactly the size
of the image seen from that distance.
This practice will prepare the student
for drawing from live models. For an
appendix in the book that explains the
use of the sight-size technique,
Parrish prepared diagrammatic draw-
ings to explain how artists should
be positioned to use the technique.
Charles Bargue Drawing Course, With
the Collaboration of Jean-Léon Gérôme, by
Gerald M. Ackerman (with the collabo-
ration of Graydon Parrish), is published
by ACR Edition Internationale, Paris.
The Musée Goupil of Bordeaux, France,
which owns the copy of the course
reproduced in the book, has given per-
mission for the Drawing Course plates
to be copied and enlarged from the
book for study purposes. The book is
available from the Dahesh Museum of
Art bookstore; copies may be ordered at
www.daheshmuseum.org. ❖
ABOVE
Man Pulling on a Rope
(Course III).
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58 THE BEST OF DRAWING
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An unearthed drawing manual from America’s consummate realist painter demonstrates the breadth
of Thomas Eakins’ intellectual curiosity and the vigor of his methods. by Gerard Haggerty
Studying Drawing With
PROFESSOR
EAKINS
P
lease fill in the blank: “_______ is not a painter, he is
a force.” The missing name is that of Thomas Eakins,
and the cryptic pronouncement comes from the
artist’s friend, admirer, and onetime model, Walt Whitman.
Eakins’ A Drawing Manual, published in 2005, collects the
long-forgotten manuscripts for his planned instructional
book, helping us to understand the particular force that
motivated his genius: an unwavering belief that logic, labor,
and linear perspective could create what we see out of what
we know. In the artist’s own words, “You can copy a thing to
a certain limit. Then you must use intellect.”
Eakins’ intellect encompassed a multitude of subjects.
His vast expertise in linear perspective dovetailed with an
informed enthusiasm for higher mathematics, a discipline
he urged students to investigate because “it is so like
painting.” A fascination with optics led him naturally to the
camera, which, like perspective, can be used as a tool for
objectifying sight. His contributions to the field of stop-
motion photography alongside Eadweard Muybridge influ-
enced the development of movies. Eakins, who had once
considered becoming a surgeon, taught anatomy to medical
students as well as artists. He published a scholarly article
disputing the conventional wisdom about how muscle
groups work. (He was right.)
Eakins loved bone and muscle, which he analyzed in
ways that remind us that the term analysis traces its roots
back to ancient Greek words signifying “to take apart” and
“to resolve.” He took apart human bodies—animals’ too—
and he advised his students to do likewise. Although some
of his pupils at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts
(PAFA), in Philadelphia, initially recoiled at the idea of dis-
secting cadavers, Professor Eakins reported they were won
over after they saw the beneficial effects of the practice on
their colleagues’ art.
Most 19th-century American art schools styled them-
selves after the École des Beaux-Arts, in Paris, the institution
where Eakins enjoyed the distinction of being the first
American accepted to study with Jean-Léon Gérôme. The
French Academy placed a heavy emphasis on drawing from
plaster casts, but the curriculum that Eakins instituted at the
PAFA stressed working directly from life, along with anato-
my and linear perspective. The approach was remarkably
progressive for its time, and so was the school’s policy of
admitting women and men into the same classes. It’s
THE BEST OF DRAWING 59
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60 THE BEST OF DRAWING
BELOW
Perspective
Drawing for The
Pair-Oared Shell
by Thomas Eakins, 1872,
graphite, ink, and
watercolor, 31
13
⁄16 x 47
9
⁄16.
Collection Philadelphia
Museum of Art,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
OPPOSITE PAGE
[Thomas Eakins at
About Age 35]
by Frederick Gutekunst,
ca. 1879, gelatin print on
cream wove paper, 5 x 4.
Collection the Pennsylvania
Academy of the Fine Arts,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 61
possible to be too progressive, as Eakins discovered after he
lifted up the loincloth of a male model in a coed class to
reveal the articulation of the muscles beneath it. The press
got wind of the story and sensationalized it. The misstep got
Eakins booted out of the PAFA in 1886: a forced resignation,
technically, from the school that he had both run and revolu-
tionized. One year later, Eakins would be fired by the Drexel
Institute of Art, Science and Industry, in Philadelphia, for
repeating the revealing moment during an anatomy lecture.
Well, times change. In 2005 The Philadelphia Museum of
Art, in association with Yale University Press, published A
Drawing Manual, the textbook that Eakins was developing
until his job ended and his enthusiasm for the project
waned. Kathleen A. Foster’s introductory essay, “The Tools of
Art: The Drawing Manual of Thomas Eakins,” details the
combination of luck and
deductive scholarship that
gave birth to the book. After
the artist died one month shy
of his 72nd birthday in 1916,
his illustrations and text fell
into the hands of his widow,
Susan Macdowell Eakins. She
passed them on to Eakins’
protégé and lifelong friend,
Charles Bregler. The bulk of
Bregler’s materials ultimately
found their way into the
Philadelphia Museum of Art.
When the museum acquired
a second cache of related doc-
uments in 1985, the pieces for the book were all there—too
many pieces, actually, since Eakins had written multiple ver-
sions of some chapters and very rough drafts of others.
The best art historians are also detectives. Editorial choic-
es, including the chapters’ sequence, were made after scruti-
nizing watermarks, paper types, and the artist’s notes. Even
changes in penmanship came into play. His father was a
writing master, and the most elegant versions of Eakins’
handwritten text were assumed to represent his final draft—
although penciled addenda on some of these pages also
helped determine the last word. The resulting book,
designed by Frank Baseman, is a work of art in its own right
that evokes the no-nonsense clarity of Eakins’ teaching, and
the look of drawing manuals that proliferated in his time.
An illuminating monograph by Amy B. Werbel places
Eakins’ book in the context of the “art crusade”—a phrase
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62 THE BEST OF DRAWING
LEFT
This illustration opens
Chapter VI of Eakins’
book, which deals with
depicting the tricky
perspectives of
reflections on water.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Chapter IV of Eakins’
Drawing Manual
addresses mechanical
drawings.
coined by Peter Marzio to describe the zeal for teaching
drawing that swept across America in the first half of the
19th century. Two of the best-selling how-to-draw books of
the time, Rembrandt Peale’s Graphics and John Gadsby
Chapman’s The American Drawing-Book, both linked draw-
ing to prosperity and the common good. Chapman pro-
claimed that art “gives strength to the arm of the mechanic,
and taste and skill to the producer, not only of the embell-
ishments, but actual necessities of life. From the anvil of the
smith and the workbench of the joiner ... it is ever at hand
with its powerful aid, in strengthening invention and execu-
tion, and qualifying the mind and hand to design and pro-
duce whatever the wants or tastes of society may require.”
Eakins used Chapman’s textbook when he attended
Philadelphia’s Central High School, a first-rate public school
where Peale’s notions about drawing and daily(!) grading pre-
vailed. Although Eakins’ writing is less florid than Chapman’s,
the organization of his manual resembles both The American
Drawing-Book and the curriculum at Central High School.
The reader is introduced to linear perspective, mechanical
drawing, and isometric perspective; but where Peale spends
only two pages on linear perspective, Eakins devotes three
chapters to the topic. A chapter on the science of reflections
mirrors Eakins’ interest in optics, followed by what he claimed
were “entirely original” theories about bas relief sculpture.
Observations about stop-motion photography, equine anato-
my, and mathematical formulae for refraction make up the
books’ appendix, revealing that it is not just his love of linear
perspective that qualifies Eakins as a Renaissance man.
Those who dread the complexities of linear perspective will
smile ruefully upon learning from Professor Werbel’s intro-
duction that artists such as Gérôme and Jacques-Louis David
often hired specialists to map out the perspective schemes
that underlie their paintings. They will also take comfort from
Eakins’ opening assertion that “the whole science of [linear]
perspective is one of great simplicity and of easy comprehen-
sion.” Eakins leads us gently through the rationale for the sys-
tem, using commonsensical examples like tracing what we
see upon a windowpane placed at various distances from our-
selves and our subject, and offering pithy truths such as
“twice as far off, half as big.” Complications and geometry les-
sons accrue gradually. His black-and-white illustrations are
crisp—though some of the geometric diagrams ought to be
larger—and his language is as clear as glass.
Eakins was a beloved teacher—praised by his students,
who followed him en masse out the doors of the academy
when he resigned, and praised as well by subsequent
artist/educators such as Robert Henri. This elegant little
book offers a real sense of Eakins’ plain-spoken pedagogy: in
equal measure didactic and democratic, caring and exacting.
Many how-to-draw books preceded and followed Eakins’
manual, and it is not the final word on the topic. But it is a
valuable addition to one’s library and indeed to one’s life—
because it provides an opportunity to study with an
American master. ❖
For more information, or to order Eakins’ A Drawing Manual,
visit www.yalebooks.com.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 63
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64 THE BEST OF DRAWING
In this tutorial overview of the figure, we learn how to analyze and correctly draw
different areas of the body, and then bring it all together. by Dan Gheno
Y
ou wouldn’t build a house without referring to a
blueprint or try to take a trip without consulting a
map, anymore than you would set up your DVD
player without looking at the instruction manual.
Or, perhaps you would—as most of us do—resulting in
a clock that flashes 12 a.m. in perpetuity and a timer-record
function that never seems to find the channel or program
that you wanted. Many of us approach figure drawing the
same way, as if trying to reinvent the wheel each time we
sketch the human form. There are a multitude of helpful
guidebooks that provide crucial information about the fig-
ure and its underlying structure and overlying surface fea-
tures. Artists have compiled this hard-wrought information
over several centuries of looking and analyzing, each gener-
ation of artists building upon the previous generation’s dis-
coveries. This knowledge can be found in the many artistic
anatomy books on the market, as well as in general books
on figure drawing, such as Richard G. Hatton’s Figure
Drawing manual (out of print), but most of them go unread
by the average art student and many of the art profession-
als fearful of squelching their “creativity.”
It’s true, a little bit of anatomical knowledge can be a very
dangerous thing. A cursory study of the subject can result in
stilted, overworked, muscle-lumpy drawings by an artist
infatuated with his new-found knowledge. I learned this the
hard way when, at 10 years old, I tentatively began my study
of anatomy. The sternocleidomastoid in the neck was my first-
found and favorite muscle for weeks. I couldn’t draw a neck
that had any cylindrical solidity, but I certainly was proud of
my “knowledge”—that is, until I started to read more anato-
my books. The key, as many anatomists warn in their hand-
books, is to learn anatomy so well that you can forget it.
That way, it doesn’t interfere with your creative impulse,
allowing your subconscious to quietly and spontaneously
provide the technical information when you need it.
After flailing about for months, memorizing muscles
and drawing rubbery, flaccid drawings, I realized that I
needed to reboot my studies. I began concentrating on the
skeletal underpinnings of the human form as all the anato-
my books recommend. Like all contrarian youths, I had a
hard time accepting the truth: that the muscles follow the
underlying curve of the arm and leg bones as well as the
big planar shapes of the rib cage and the pelvis. But soon, I
could see the results of my study: more rhythm and a sense
of volume in my figure drawings.
It would be impossible to present all the art world’s
accumulated knowledge of the human form in one book,
let alone in this one article. Whether you’re interested in
The Human
Form:
How to Put It
All Together
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Weighted Stasis
by Dan Gheno, 2006,
colored pencil and white
charcoal on toned
paper, 24 x 18.
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66 THE BEST OF DRAWING
A
B
C
D
E
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 67
drawing the figure in a traditional or expressive manner,
it helps to read as many different anatomy books as you
can stomach—every book repeats a certain core of infor-
mation, but each book presents some surprises and
reveals juicy facts missed by others. I hope the following
serves as a road map that helps to get you started on
your own voyage. In this article I will summarize what I
consider are some of the more significant lessons that
I’ve gained from my study of the human form, its struc-
ture, and anatomy. Concentrating primarily on the sur-
face characteristics of the human form, I will explain
how to use this knowledge to draw more volumetrically
dimensional and gesturally dynamic figures. Although I
will need to refer to some anatomical terms now and
then, you needn’t worry. You won’t find them at all
intimidating if you occasionally refer to the two elegant-
ly simple diagrams by Jan Wandelaar.
The Core Figure
The core figure, as I call it, is the most important part of
the human form. Built out of the chest and pelvis, the
core figure serves as the hub or the trunk from which all
else emanates, including the entire gesture or posture of
the figure, not to mention the neck and head, the arms
and hands, and the legs and feet. As I’ve mentioned pre-
viously in my first article for Drawing (fall 2003), it’s
extremely important to note that the chest and pelvis move
in opposition to each other; they never sit straight, one
above the other. In a standing position, the chest usually tips
backward (see In the Distance), while the pelvis tilts forward.
Meanwhile, in a seated position, the pelvis usually tips rear-
ward and the chest slumps forward. No amount of detail
will save your figure drawing if you don’t grasp this funda-
mental gesture of opposition.
It’s sometimes difficult to perceive these relationships
while drawing the human figure, especially if you’re not
familiar with the supporting skeletal forms. Many of my
beginner students exclaim in frustration, “I hear what you say,
but I can’t see it—it looks like a jumble of bumps to me!” In
response, I point out the visible, bony landmarks or muscle
forms that you can use to analyze the tilt of these forms. On a
standing figure, notice how the stomach muscle turns dra-
matically inward under the belly button. In the rear, the poste-
rior pelvic crest (right of C) is often visible on a thin model, tilt-
ing forward in an almost parallel thrust to the stomach mus-
cle. Even on a full-sized model, the upper buttocks or gluteus
medius tends to follow the tilt of the pelvic crest underneath
(see Weighted Stasis). Next I look at the breastbone or the bony
surface of the rib cage sitting between the breasts and pectoral
muscles. On a standing figure, this bony landmark always
shifts backward toward the top. On the back of the torso, you
can almost always see at least an echo of the lower rib cage’s
structure underneath, even on a heavy model. This slightly
curved form tips forward in near unison to the slant of the
breastbone on the front of the chest. Although they are only
two outside lines, they act like the parallel, vertical planes on a
box. And when these two simulated boxes are stacked in
opposing angles to each other, they create a dynamic contrap-
posto, or opposition of forms in the torso.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Sideview of the Muscles of the Body
by Jan Wandelaar.
Wandelaar (1690–1759) drew a series of anatomical
plates for Albinus’ influential book on human anatomy
over the span of more than 20 years. Albinus gave
great credit to the artist of the copper plate
engravings that filled this book, Tabulae Sceleti et
Musculorum Corporis Humani. But Albinus felt that
he was the ultimate author of the images, explaining
that the artist “was instructed, directed, and as
entirely ruled by me, as if he was a tool in my
hands, and I made the figures myself.”
Muscle names: A) serratus anterior, B) external
oblique, C) pelvic or iliac crest with the posterior crest
to the right of tag and the anterior crest to the left,
D) deltoid muscle, and E) extensor muscle group.
RIGHT
Outreaching
Figure
by Dan Gheno, 2005,
colored pencil, 12 x 8.
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68 THE BEST OF DRAWING
So far, we have only considered the front and back planes
of the torso. Most artists remember to draw in the side
planes that run up and down the torso since the big light and
dark shapes tend to break at this point. But although many of
these artists know that the torso has a top plane, they fre-
quently forget to draw it. The top plane can be envisioned as
a sort of sloping tabletop that begins at the top of the shoul-
der or trapezius. It wraps downward across the top of the
arms or deltoids (D), and bordered by the collarbones, or
clavicles, continues to descend toward the centerline. Too
many artists draw the collarbones horizontally straight across
the torso, cutting off the depth of the plane and producing a
paper-thin, cut-out version of the torso. Most often on a front
view or side view, the collarbones slope downward into the
pit of the neck, creating a broad plane that tilts dramatically
forward. Along with the neck that sits obliquely upon its
slanted form, this top plane acts like a natural cross-section
that reveals the full depth and volume of the torso. It’s also
crucial to the overall gesture of the figure; it provides another
reference point for the tip of the rib cage, just as drawing the
top or bottom plane of a box helps to show the form’s tilt in
space. About the only time the collarbones look straight or
seem to curve upward is when you look at them from a lower
angle or when the figure is leaning back away from your
point of view (see Sargent’s Nude Man).
Once you’ve established the overall gesture of the core
figure, you need to look deeper into the supporting struc-
ture. Find the centerline first, whether you’re drawing a
front or back view of the torso. On a back view, you can see
the centerline reflected in the central structure of the spine
itself. The frontal centerline is a little more difficult to find,
but it is implied in the bony space between the breasts (S-
N) and runs down the middle of the stomach, or the rectus
abdominus. On thin or muscular models, you can often see
the centerline running through a vertical line, called the
linea alba (L), that divides the stomach muscle. The chest
and the pelvis are built upon a bilateral structure, which
simply means that one half of the form mirrors the other.
But be very careful when drawing in the centerline. We
usually see the torso in some sort of perspective recession.
That means that the far side of the form, past the center-
line, will take up less space. Even many advanced artists
forget to consider perspective. Some of them think the cen-
terline is too elementary to worry about, but in their haste,
they often make the far side of the core figure too big.
Nevertheless, don’t worry if you fall into this trap. Your gut
will tell you that something is wrong, and once you run a
belated centerline through your torso, you’re more likely to
catch and correct your mistake.
LEFT
Standing Male
Nude From Rear
by Michelangelo, ca.
1501, chalk and bistre,
15 x 7
3
⁄8. Collection
Albertina Museum,
Vienna, Austria.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Front View of the Muscles of the Body
by Jan Wandelaar.
Muscle names: F) flexor muscle group, L) linea alba,
N) infrasternal notch, S) suprasternal notch and the
top of the sternum or breast bone, P) patella, T)
inner end of the tibia, I) area near the midpoint of
the body, close to the trochanter and slightly below
where the major front leg muscles (rectus femoris)
enters the pelvis.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 69
A
B
C
L
N
S
I
P
T
D
D
E
E
F
F
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70 THE BEST OF DRAWING
CLOCKWISE FROM BELOW LEFT
Female Nude Study
by Pierre-Paul Prud’hon,
1809, chalk on blue paper,
23
1
⁄4 x 12
1
⁄2. Collection
Pierpont Morgan Library,
New York, New York.
Slumping Figure
by Dan Gheno, 2006, colored
pencil, 14 x 12.
In this slumping figure, the pelvis
tips backward and the chest
tilts forward, which compresses
the abdominal area in between.
Gesturing Figure
by Dan Gheno, 2005, sanguine
crayon, 23 x 15.
In this drawing I first imagined the
underlying structure of the core
figure, or torso, before drawing
the overlapping foreground arm.
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Getting a Likeness
Although this guideline will work on all figures, even still-
life objects, there is no such thing as a generic core figure.
I’ve explained previously in Drawing how to get a likeness
when drawing or painting a face (fall 2006). Simply put,
you divide the distances between features into three seg-
ments, estimating which distance is longest and which is
shortest. If you can’t find the likeness
at this broad level, you never will, no
matter how many details you throw
into the face. The same is true of the
torso. Try measuring the front of the
torso in a similar manner, dividing it
into three sections and comparing
each of their relative lengths as you
would do with the features. The first
segment begins at the pit of the neck,
or suprasternal notch (S) and ends
below the nipples at the infrasternal
notch (N); The second begins at the
infrasternal notch and ends at the
navel; the final section starts at the
navel and finishes at the pubic bone.
Once you establish this basic frame-
work, you can go to town on the
details, if you want.
But proceed with caution! Some
artists get too hung up on the details—
especially the breasts and shoulder
blades. Most people have a tendency to
draw the breast too large or skimp on
the rib cage so that the breasts seem to
float outside of the torso with no base of
support. With equal frequency, artists
tend to draw the shoulder blades too
small and tight to the torso, not leaving
enough room for the rib cage. I usually
ignore these details when I first set up a
drawing of the core figure. Instead, I
concentrate on establishing the underly-
ing curves of the rib cage, drawing
through the positions of the breasts and
the shoulder blades. Then, with a sup-
porting surface to work with, I add
these superficial details on top. On your
drawings of the female form, don’t for-
get to add a little extra bulk for the pects
THE BEST OF DRAWING 71
above the breasts. Above all, trust your eyes! Even though the
word bilateral implies an absolute symmetrical relationship
between each side of the torso, there is always some variation
from the norm, with one breast usually a little smaller than
the other and one side or segment of the “six-pack” abs larger
or more defined than the other.
In the Distance
by Dan Gheno, 2005, colored
pencil, 11 x 8.
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72 THE BEST OF DRAWING
The ribs are a particularly enticing—and baffling—
detail. Many confused artists look at the ribs and see a
mind-boggling webbing of details that seem to break into
long and short shapes, sometimes angular, sometimes cur-
vaceous, going in all different directions. You will find it
easier to analyze them if you remember that the rib cage is
basically barrellike in structure, and that the individual ribs
follow this form, starting high in the back at the spine and
then curving downward toward the front (see Michelangelo’s
Studies for Haman). The pesky complications start when
you try to add two very elegant muscles to this simple
mass: The serratus anterior (A), which grabs the ribs from
above and the external oblique (B), which grabs from below.
Luckily, these seemingly complicated muscles have their
own logic to guide your eye and pencil. The serratus is
literally a serrated muscle, with short fingerlike segments
that individually dig into the ribs. The overall muscle
follows a dependable arc that runs from underneath the
bottom of the shoulder blade and aims for the nipple in
front, before finally disappearing under the pectoralis.
The external oblique is the form that sits so gracefully
above the hips in athletic people and Greek and Roman
statues; unfortunately, most of us experience this on our
own bodies as “love handles.” As its name suggests, this
muscle rises upward toward the ribs at an oblique angle,
and on well-developed individuals, this muscle is also fin-
gerlike at the top. The external oblique muscle intersects
the serratus above, as if they were two clasped hands, fold-
ing into the same dependable, curving arc that guides the
upper muscle.
The Extremities
As you may recall from previous installments of this series,
you know that I like to begin my drawings of the figure
with a “line of action.” Coined by Thomas Eakins, this term
refers to a line, either imagined or actually drawn on your
paper, that indicates the overall thrust and action of the fig-
ure. The primary line of action usually runs through the
entire length of the figure, from head to toe, buttressed by
more specific, tributary lines of thrust that run through the
individual extremities. As I move deeper into the drawing
process, I concentrate on the core figure and then later
move into the extremities that radiate off of it. I usually
shift into the supporting limb or limbs—for instance, the
legs in a standing pose or an arm if the model is leaning
back in a seated position.
LEFT
Two Studies of an Ascending
Male Seen From Behind
by Jacopo Robusti, il Tintoretto, ca.
1540, charcoal with white heightening,
15
3
⁄4 x 10
1
⁄2. Collection Krugier-
Poniatowski.
Tintoretto drew the figure obsessively,
often rendering a single pose or action
several times on the same piece of
paper, perhaps in an attempt to
rehearse his painted figures before he
committed himself on the canvas, or
maybe to catalogue and memorize a
vocabulary of figure forms in his
subconscious mind.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Studies for Haman
by Michelangelo, ca. 1511, red and
black chalk, 10 x 8. Collection the
Teylers Museum, Haarlem, the
Netherlands.
When drawing a seated figure, it’s
helpful to compare the length of the
upper and lower legs, then compare
each individual leg segment to the
length of the torso.
The key, as many anatomists warn in their handbooks, is to learn anatomy
so well that you can forget it. That way, it doesn’t interfere with your
creative impulse, allowing your subconscious to quietly and spontaneously
provide the technical information when you need it.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 73
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74 THE BEST OF DRAWING
RIGHT
Indian Beggar
by Georges Seurat,
ca. 1878, graphite,
19 x 11
1
⁄4. Private
collection.
Note the shadow
patterns on the arms
compared to those of
the torso.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 75
Arms and Legs
Many artists have a difficult time attaching the arms and
legs onto the core figure so that the limbs seem to grow nat-
urally out of the torso in a secure, believable manner. There
is an easy solution that will sound so elementary you may
not want to accept it—give it a try anyway. In your mind’s
eye, visualize the core figure as if it were a doll with its arms
and legs removed, leaving empty, ovallike crosssections
where the limbs should attach. Then imagine the arms and
legs attaching into the empty slots. This will help you visual-
ize the relationship of the limbs to the torso’s big planes. In
the arm’s case, it is firmly rooted into the torso’s side plane,
not hovering outside the chest as some people like to draw
the upper limbs. The arm slides deep into the core figure
and is embraced by “the shoulder girdle,” with the pectorals
in the front; the shoulder plane, collarbones, and deltoids
above; and the muscles of the shoulder blade, or scapula,
behind. The arm can’t move without taking portions of the
torso with it. When the arm swings forward, upward or
backward, it takes the shoulder girdle with it. Notice how
the shoulder blades almost touch when both arms swing
back, or how the pects and the scapula move upward when
the arm does. It’s interesting to note that the scapula is
unaffected by an upwardly moving arm until just before the
limb begins to move above the line of the shoulder.
The arm has a great deal of mobility thanks to this shoul-
der girdle, but when the arm hangs parallel to the body, the
limb participates in the same light patterns that govern the
torso, as you can see in Indian Beggar by Georges Seurat.
And when the torso’s side plane is totally in shadow, the
entire arm often falls into darkness too. It’s vital to remem-
ber that arms and legs are basically cylindrical in nature,
regardless of their position or the lighting situation.
However, the arm and legs are not simple, smooth tubular
forms. Like the torso, the arms and legs are composed of
many hard, sharply turning muscles and bones that cause
the limbs to corner into decisive front, side, and back
planes, and split into equally decisive light and dark shapes.
You also need to be very careful when connecting the leg to
the pelvis. Don’t cement the leg to the top of the hip or pelvic
crest like so many artists habitually do. This high placement of
the leg doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for movement in the
limb. Some transitional muscles connect to the pelvic crest,
but the greatest mass of the leg enters the pelvis much lower,
near the halfway point of the body (I), where it has more flexi-
bility and can pivot more freely. Like the arm, the leg is con-
structed on a similar cylindrical basis, subject to all the same
planar and lighting effects—with one frequent exception: most
often we place the light source above the model, so on a sim-
ple, standing leg, the intensity of light usually dissipates radi-
cally as it cascades down over the long length of the limb. You
will find the light much brighter where the fuller mass of the
upper leg turns toward the light than on the lower leg. The
foot, on the other hand, often rebounds into a little more light
than the lower leg because the horizontally inclined top plane
of the instep faces the light more directly than any form on the
vertically oriented legs. Even if you place the light low on the
ground, you will usually encounter the same effect of dissipat-
ing illumination, only reversed.
LEFT, ABOVE
Shadows tend to follow the exteriors of cylindrical forms,
while on spherical forms, shadows cut across at right
angles to the direction of the light. Arms and legs are
essentially cylindrical, but they are covered by a
combination of contrasting rounded and cylindrical
subforms that are sometimes mostly spherical in nature,
sometimes spherical, or mostly cylindrical with elements of
roundness. But when you add up all the various movements
of these subforms, the overall thrust of the shadow shapes
tend to follow the outside of the cylindrical limbs.
LEFT, BELOW
Notice the
dissipation of
brightness as the
leg gradually drops
away from the
source of light.
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76 THE BEST OF DRAWING
RIGHT
A Hunchback Boy, Half-Length
by Annibale Carracci, red chalk with red
wash, 10
3
⁄8 x 8
7
⁄8. Collection Duke of
Devonshire, Chatsworth, England.
BOTTOM
Study of a Man Lying on His
Back (verso)
by Théodore Géricault, 1749, pen and
brown ink, 10 x 12. Collection Musée
des Beaux-Arts, Lille, France.
BELOW
Studies of an Écorché (verso)
by Théodore Géricault, 1749, pen and
brown ink, 9
1
⁄2 x 13
1
⁄2. Private collection.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Nude Studies for Saint
Andrew and Another Apostle
in The Transfiguration
by Raphael, red chalk over stylus on
cream paper, 13 x 9
1
⁄8. Collection Duke
of Devonshire, Chatsworth, England.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 77
Bones
There is nothing rigid or straight about these cylindrical
arms and legs. Even so, it’s sometimes hard to see the sub-
tle, curving line of action that runs through the limbs even
when they are bent upon themselves. Look closely: The
underlying bones of the extremities curve subtly, taking the
muscles on a ride with them. It can take a long time for
some artists to give up their preconceptions and see these
slight bends that run through the limbs. In fact, when told
to look for the bowing, many artists
inexplicably curve the limbs in the
opposite direction. Then, when
they finally grasp the concept, they
frequently over do it. For instance
when drawing the lower arm sus-
pended in midair, they will look at
the muscle mass that droops below
the ulna and often exaggerate its
appearance, drawing the overall
forearm like a piece of overcooked
pasta. If this is you, and you want
to avoid this effect, try visualizing
the bony structure underneath the
skin and muscle casing. Remember
that in architectural terms, these
bones of the limbs are essentially
weight-bearing posts or columns.
Built out of delicately refined twists
and turns, the bones coil just
enough to deflect the stressful
effects of the body’s weight and
actions outwardly away from the
core of their long forms. They can’t
curve too much beyond their basic
columnar structure, or they will
snap like a twig. Another important
architectural point: Avoid the equal-
ly annoying problem of drawing
the lower arms and legs too thin,
leaving barely enough room for one
bone, let alone the two bones that
support each of the forelimbs.
If you’re having a hard time see-
ing any of this, put some tracing
paper over one of your drawings and
draw the bones underneath. See if
your drawing makes sense and see
if the subtly curving bones will fit
your drawing without “breaking the
bones” to make them fit a faulty
shell. Many artists loathe this exercise—until they look at the
anatomical sketches by Michelangelo, Leonardo, and the
studies for The Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault.
They were Old Masters, not rank amateurs. That’s why they
understood the need to return to the bones when necessary.
They knew that you sometimes have to build from the inside
structure and work your way outward to find a better under-
standing of the surface forms and rhythms.
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78 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Action and Movement
There are a lot of muscular and skeletal parallels
between the arms and legs. But the legs present
a much more dynamic and rhythmic silhouette,
especially when viewed from a side view. The leg
bones don’t curve any more than the arm bones.
In fact, one of the lower leg bones, the fibula, is
straighter and doesn’t swivel like its counterpart
in the arm, the radius. But due to the massive,
overlying muscles, the legs display a more dra-
matic back-and-forth visual relationship. On the
upper leg, the larger muscles sit on the front,
while in the lower leg, the more massive mus-
cles sit on the backside, creating alternating
swellings that gracefully shift from the front to
the back. Even the bones participate in this set-
back of forms. When looking at the leg from the
front, notice how the upper leg bone, the femur,
angles inward, while the lower leg bones, the
tibia and fibula, shoot downward in a more verti-
cal manner. With the muscles fuller at the out-
side of the lower leg, this gives the impression
that the lower aspect of the leg is set back, slight-
ly to one side of the upper leg. The result is a
springlike structure that acts as a shock absorber
when we walk. Visually, this canted effect
between the upper and lower leg becomes highly
accentuated in an action pose when the figure is
off balance or running. There are a lot of helpful
analogies between the human form and our
four-legged friends to guide our understanding.
Since animals depend more on the speed of
their legs for flight or fight, the zigzag shock
absorber aspect of their limbs is much more
extreme and extends all the way through their
toes. It is not as dramatic as in an animal, but
the springlike action of the human leg likewise
continues down into our feet, through the arch
of the foot and the toes, which swing upward
and then downward as if they are grabbing the
ground for dear life.
In your pursuit of anatomical and structural
knowledge, don’t ignore the dynamic effects of
movement on the human form. This means that if
you decide to change the position or gesture of the
hand or foot, you must alter the entire arm or leg
as well. Stand in front of a mirror and try to move
your foot inward without at least slightly bowing
your leg outward. You will even feel the twist
pulling all the way up on your hip.
ABOVE
Standing Nude Woman
With Upraised Arms
By Adriaen van de Velde, ca.
1665–1670, red chalk, 11
3
⁄4 x 7.
Collection Los Angeles County
Museum of Art, Los Angeles,
California.
Note the springlike structure
of the leg in this running figure.
RIGHT
Man Pulling on a Rope,
His Left Leg Rehearsed
a Second Time
by Lodovico Carracci, black chalk,
13
3
⁄4 x 10
1
⁄4. Collection Duke of
Devonshire, Chatsworth, England.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 79
A Flying Angel
and Other Studies
by Michelangelo,
ca. 1534, black chalk,
16 x 10
3
⁄4. Collection
the British Museum,
London, England.
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80 THE BEST OF DRAWING
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 81
Putting It All Together
As the previous examples demonstrate, you cannot
study the parts of the figure without looking at its totali-
ty. How do we arrange everything into an organized,
proportionate, fluid whole? First, I begin my sketch in
an improvisational manner, trusting my gut and eyes as
I rough it in. Then, like many artists, I usually employ
the head as my unit of measurement, judging it against
the entire body and each major body part. After I’ve
established that the parts work with the head, I counter-
measure on a larger level by evaluating the major body
parts against one another. To keep the confusion to a
minimum, I look for body parts that are, on average,
nearly equal in their measurements. I usually follow a
checklist, first comparing the upper arm against the
lower arm, then the upper leg against the lower leg and
eventually each separate leg section against the torso.
Don’t be surprised if you have a hard time isolating the
limbs into easily measurable, equal, upper and lower seg-
ments. For the arm, try to visualize it beginning at the
shoulder and ending at the knuckles of the hand. On the
back of the arm, you will generally find the midpoint at the
elbow. On the front of the arm, you will usually find the
midpoint at that large protrusion on the inner side of the
arm, called the epicondyle of the humerus (the culprit that
causes the funny tingling feeling after you’ve hit it). For the
leg, think of it as beginning at the hipbone and ending at
the base of the heel. You will usually find the halfway point
of the leg just below the kneecap or patella (P) on a front
view; and on the back, located behind at the faint flexion
line (see Prud’hon’s Standing Nude) on the back of the knee.
Both of these leg segments are very similar in length to the
vertical distance that spans between the iliac crest and the
collarbone—a particularly useful set of measurements
when drawing a seated pose (see Prud’hon’s Female Nude
Study). All of these body parts are well balanced with one
another, as you’ve probably already noticed if you practice
yoga. Many of its parts are capable of folding neatly into
one another, with the arms and legs able to evenly tuck into
themselves and the torso into the limbs (see Michelangelo’s
Studies for Haman). As always—and I can’t emphasize it
enough—this canon of measurements is only a jumping-
off point, giving you a place to start and something specific
to base your judgments against. While looking at the
model, ask yourself where the figure and its parts deviate
from the so-called norm.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Harry Seated, Hands Clasped
by Dan Gheno, 2006, colored pencil and
white chalk on toned paper, 24 x 18.
As you can see from the example of
Michelangelo’s Studies for Haman, it’s helpful
to compare one body part to another to
gauge the proportions of the figure. But don’t
become an unthinking abuser of proportional
guidelines, particularly when observing the
figure from a foreshortened point of view.
Trust your eyes—measure each body part
against the head. Then measure each limb
section freshly against each other as they
appear at the moment to your eye, not
according to a preconceived canon.
RIGHT
Standing Nude
by Pierre-Paul Prudhon,
charcoal heightened with
white chalk on blue paper,
24 x 13
3
⁄4. Collection Museum
of Fine Arts, Boston, Boston,
Massachusetts.
A faint flexion line occurs on
the back of the knee where
the femur and tibia meet,
usually at the midpoint of
the overall length of the leg.
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82 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Trust Your Eyes
I can only offer the briefest of overviews in this article and
perhaps provide you with the incentive to continue your
studies on your own. But even with all the many great
anatomy books that you can turn to, it’s not enough to just
work mindlessly from charts and texts—do your own
research from life and make the anatomical charts real to
your eyes and mind. Carry a small anatomy book with you
when you go to a sketch class or when you work in your
own studio from the model. Refer to the book as soon as
you discover a lump on the body that you don’t recognize
and can’t identify from your previous studies.
However, remember the most important lesson you can
learn from this series as you draw: Trust your eyes! Don’t
fall into the trap that tripped up many lecturers who mind-
lessly recited Roman-era texts on anatomy as they dissected
human cadavers for their students in the pre- and early-
Renaissance era. Researched by the great anatomist Galen
of Pergamum when it was illegal to dissect humans, these
texts were based on the dissection of animals, mostly pigs
and sometimes chimps. Everyone in the lecture hall,
including the lecturer, could see that the words didn’t
always match what their eyes saw. Unfortunately, for too
many years, they trusted the text instead. How many people
died in these early times because doctors didn’t trust their
eyes? Don’t let one of your drawings perish because you
trusted a book, instead of your own sight. ❖
Carry a small anatomy book with you when
you go to a sketch class or when you work
in your own studio from the model. Refer to
the book as soon as you discover a lump on
the body that you don’t recognize and can’t
identify from your previous studies.
BELOW
Recumbent Youth Posed
Nude, Except for His Hose
Pulled Down to His Ankles
by Annibale Carracci, red chalk,
9 x 15. Collection Duke of
Devonshire, Chatsworth, England.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Nude Man
by John Singer Sargent, graphite,
9
7
⁄8 x 7
3
⁄4. Collection Wadsworth
Atheneum, Hartford, Connecticut.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 83
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ONCE REASONABLY CONFI DENT with your figure-
drawing skills, you may wish to pose a further creative chal-
lenge for yourself by developing drawings that place studio
models in settings outside your work space. Models are apt
to feel uncomfortable out-of-doors, and it is frankly imprac-
tical to undertake a complex, detailed drawing outside, con-
sidering the vagaries of weather, lighting, and the possible
remoteness of a location. A more realistic approach
involves staging the scene with the figure posed in the stu-
dio and the landscape composed from a variety of plein air
sketches, photographic sources, and imaginative invention.
In the charcoal piece Study for Cradled, my solution to
the disconnect between the observed landscape and the
model posed indoors was to create a strong formal relation-
ship between the disparate parts. The diagram retraces the
principal repeating patterns and lines found in the figure,
drapery, and landscape features.
Traced in red, the drawing’s dominant pattern is visible in
the curving rhythms of the reclining pose and covering cloak,
which corresponds with the spiraling lines of the gnarled
shrub behind and left of the model. The spiraling motion
keeps the eye moving around, yet always remaining in the
image. Observe that the repeating spiral is elliptical, with its
diagonal axis (shown in green) consistently angled at about
45 degrees. The effect is to lead the viewer’s eye from the
lower left up to the right, terminating at the model’s head.
This strong directional vector is countered by the opposing
angle of the vinelike branches (highlighted in blue) reaching
down behind the figure. These secondary, flowing, organic
lines are reflected at three major points in the composition:
along the model’s right thigh, in the drapery folds at her
waist, and with the major fold of the sleeping bag beneath
(and following the angle of) her left upper arm. Minor repeti-
tions of the spiral motif appear in the folds of a small portion
of the model’s cover lying far left, just off the figure, and in
the oval-shaped stones in the lower right. The shape and posi-
tion of the small branch in the lower right foreground echoes
the major folds of the sleeping bag as well as the posing of the
model’s limbs. The addition of this grouping of twigs and
stones reprises the landscape theme in a potentially trouble-
some, isolated corner of the composition.
Comparing the drawing with the photograph of the model,
you can see the extensive changes I made in the cloak and
sleeping bag in order to repeat rhythmic lines throughout the
The reference photograph of the model in my studio shows the extensive
changes I made in the final work to repeat rhythmic lines and draw the
composition together.
This shrub, which I incorporated into the upper-left corner of my work, is from
the desert east of my home in Los Angeles.
Representing a Studio Model
in an Outdoor Setting by Sharon Allicotti
84 THE BEST OF DRAWING
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 3:22 PM Page 84
entire composition. In addition to physically rearranging the
drapery on the model in my studio setup, I made many
adjustments on the page in the course of working on the
drawing as the overall compositional needs became more
apparent. Moreover, in a departure from the original pose, the
entwining of the model’s feet mimics that of branches and
vines, further tying together nature and the human subject.
Extra-soft vine and willow charcoal and soft-pressed
watercolor paper allow me to easily lay down broad pas-
sages and experiment with the scale and position of forms.
Versatile and easily altered, charcoal can be effortlessly
wiped off with a soft cloth or chamois, or even blown off
the page using a bulb syringe. As the drawing progresses
and I become satisfied with my decisions, I develop details
using charcoal pencils and use compressed charcoal to cre-
ate areas needing more intense darks. Tones are lightened
and highlights lifted out with an eraser.
You can create cohesive, compelling compositions featur-
ing both figure and setting by designing a plan for your pic-
torial structure, as well as by understanding that an intuitive
conversation between artist and page must occur on an
ongoing basis. Begin to experiment with studies using soft
vine charcoal on sturdy drawing or watercolor paper. With
much practice, you will become increasingly responsive to
the unique, poetic voice of a complex work in process. ❖
THE BEST OF DRAWING 85
ABOVE
This diagram shows the repeated rhythms I used to reconcile the
outdoor setting with the model’s pose indoors. The red marks show
the curving rhythms. The green marks show the repeating, elliptical
spiral and its diagonal axis. The blue lines highlight the opposing
angle of the vinelike branches reaching down behind the figure.
BELOW
Study for Cradled
2002, charcoal, 22 x 30.
Collection the artist.
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86 THE BEST OF DRAWING
WORKI NG WI TH DRAPERY is considered by many
artists to be a challenge, if not a nuisance. But I have found it
to be an exciting and highly useful element in my figurative
pieces—and well worth the added effort. Drapery can extend
the possibilities of a pose, add psychological and narrative sug-
gestion, and help tie together parts of a complex composition.
Over many years of both drawing and teaching how to
draw drapery, I have devised some useful methods for
returning garments as close as possible to their original
position after the model has taken a break. Models may
break as often as every 20 minutes, and it is simply not real-
istic to expect that one will get the fabric back in precisely
the same place. But, because I always want to make at least
some modification to the drawn study for aesthetic improve-
ment and to suit the overall pictorial design, I am not undu-
ly concerned that the drapery does not remain exactly the
same throughout the session. The inevitable changes in the
drape caused by model breaks actually offers the artist sub-
tle variations often superior to the initial arrangement.
In Study for Wellspring, the drapery forms enabled me to
develop curved, swirling rhythms to play off those in the
landscape and to serve as a transitional element between fig-
ure and nature. I arranged the fabric to form a large “figure
eight” that began at the model’s upper torso and raised right
arm, flowed down and across the left bent knee, around and
beneath the right foot, and ran up the left covered arm to
complete the shape. I was also mindful of the exposed pant
leg, taking pains to arrange and redraw the folds to coincide,
as much as was practicable, with the overall drapery scheme.
The model demonstration illustrates how safety pins can
assist in holding folds and gathers at key points. I make sure
to run a pin through all of the fabric layers that make up the
fold. I use an inexpensive eyeliner pencil on the model’s skin
to mark the position of the pinned drape. The position of the
edges is also marked on the drape, using a small safety pin
or chalk mark to match the cross drawn on the model’s skin.
If the model is wearing a leotard, I use chalk instead of eye-
liner so it can be easily laundered out later.
I first sketch the undraped model, either nude or wearing
dancewear, in order to understand the model’s gestures and
the anatomical structure beneath the drapery. In the graphite
study Wendy, Draped, I intentionally allowed the underdrawing
of the knees to show through the fabric. Although the cloth is
not actually transparent, the drawing is a preliminary study for
a painting, so retaining such critical figure landmarks will be
useful in developing the final
piece. I used a twin-size bed-
sheet for the drape.
Study for Wellspring
2002, charcoal, 30 x 22. All artwork
this article collection the artist.
The Creative
Possibilities
of Draping
a Model
by Sharon Allicotti
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 87
Following the figure study, the drapery phase of the
drawing starts with a general overall sketch of the disposi-
tion of the principal drapery masses and major constituent
folds. As with any subject, I work broadly at first and grad-
ually focus on the details.
Figure draping is most effective when it reveals as much
as it conceals. By this I mean that the body is the emphasis,
and even if extensively covered, it should not completely
disappear under a drape. This objective is met by allowing
the fabric to settle on and hug key landmarks (for example,
shoulders, hips, and knees), depending on the pose. In
addition, I always allow strategic portions of the figure—
either nude or in form-fitting clothing—to be exposed, as
seen in both of the studies featured here.
I suggest to my students that they see draped fabric as a
marvelous array of curved and faceted planes—a visual as
solid as ceramic still-life props or a hilly landscape. I tell
them to contemplate the draped figures of Renaissance
stone sculptures—Michelangelo’s Pietá, in the Vatican, is a
superb example. This structural approach to analyzing and
drawing drapery will transform a perhaps confusing, seem-
ingly amorphous mass of cloth into a clearly observed,
understandable subject that can enhance the expressive
dimension of one’s figure drawings. ❖
LEFT
Note how I marked the
model’s chest with a
cross and matched it to
a pin on the drapery so
I could approximately
recreate the folds after
the model took a break.
LEFT
Wendy, Draped
in progress, graphite,
30 x 22.
BELOW
Wendy, Draped
2003, graphite, 30 x 22.
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 7:24 AM Page 87
11
88 THE BEST OF DRAWING
by Sharon Allicotti
Figure-drawing sessions aren’t just for students. Continuing with this practice
throughout your career will result in better art. Here are 11 reasons why.
Reasons
to Attend Figure-Drawing Sessions
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 89
Fey, Seated
2005, colored pencil on
blue-green paper, 25 x 19.
All artwork this article
collection the artist.
We all took figure-
drawing classes in art
school. And when the
semester was over,
many of us didn’t look
back. But there are
several good reasons
to continue figure
drawing. I can think
of 11 compelling ones
right off the bat.
1.
Maintaining the practice (and discipline) of the artist.
Just as a musician, dancer, or athlete must practice and train to maintain a level of
excellence, drawing the figure from life on a regular basis keeps an artist’s visual
and spatial abilities in good form—calisthenics for the artist’s craft, if you will.
Moreover, attending sessions regularly affords an excellent means to develop a bet-
ter work ethic. And just as one is more apt to continue an exercise program with
companions, drawing in the company of a group provides a real incentive to stick
with it. There is no overstating the value of a regimen that simply keeps one in the
activity of drawing, circumventing any number of distractions at home or simply
overcoming a case of artist’s block. Once you find a drawing group or workshop
that meets regularly, there are no excuses not to draw. (Information on how to find
figure-drawing workshops and artist groups is included at the end of the article.)
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 3:22 PM Page 89
4
the company of others, such objective
comparisons can be made without an
instructor’s assistance.
An improved ability to assess figure
proportion extends to drawing other
subjects where proportional discrepan-
cies may not be so obvious. Moreover,
in addition to strong anatomical
parallels with many animals, the body
can be conceived as analogous with
the manifold living and nonliving
forms of the natural landscape: It’s no
coincidence that we speak of the
trunks and limbs of trees, and find in
hilly terrain the undulating forms of a
reclining nude.
Samantha, Seated
2004, charcoal and
crayon on fawn-colored
paper, 41 x 29
1
⁄2.
90 THE BEST OF DRAWING
2.
Improve overall drawing skills.
“If you can draw the figure, you can
draw anything,” is an oft-repeated (and
very true) adage. Draftsmanship is tra-
ditionally regarded as the foundation
of painting, cartooning, and sculpture;
with the figure recognized for cen-
turies as the benchmark challenge of
the working artist. The great range of
movement possible, together with the
anatomical and structural complexity
of the body, including the effects of
perspective (foreshortening), require
special demands of an artist’s abilities.
The group experience of drawing
the live model accelerates the process
of training the eye, especially in terms
of gauging proportion. In my figure
classes, I encourage students to com-
pare all of their drawings to see which
bear the strongest resemblance to our
model. Without exception, the most
proportionally accurate drawings of the
model evoke a portrait-worthy likeness.
Although some of the students’ draw-
ings may appear as plausible figures,
they do not look like our particular
model, a distinction that even the
novice can detect. When drawing in
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 7:24 AM Page 90
4.
Draw better from photographs (and memory).
Conversely, having had the repeated experience of drawing from life,
one learns how to use photographs when it is necessary, or for con-
venience. Frequent practice with drawing the life model imparts
knowledge; successful observational drawing is not simply about
seeing, but understanding what is seen. I explain to my students
that the accomplished artist considers it more difficult to get a good
drawing from photographs than from life—usually the exact oppo-
site for the novice. The experienced figure draftsman realizes well
what information is missing from photos; he or she has the skills,
and also the ability, to employ memory to compensate for this.
In my own highly developed, time-consuming portraits, I often
use photos in conjunction with actual observation. I almost always
begin my drawings from life, devoting one or more six-hour ses-
sions to settling on a pose and redrawing and subtly adjusting
proportions to suit pictorial and expressive requirements. I then
make dozens of photographs, moving around my model and
varying the camera exposure. This process of extensive photo-
documentation more closely simulates actual observation than a
single photograph, but it is still best when used to supplement life
drawing. I refer to the photos
for rendering fine detail and
perhaps color in a highly
developed drawing or paint-
ing between sittings.
Please remember that
professional figure models
usually have different rate
schedules for photography
versus life modeling, charg-
ing a substantial premium
for photographs. Never pho-
tograph a model without
their express permission.
THE BEST OF DRAWING 91
3.
5.
An authentic experience in a digital era.
Drawing from the life model, you will see and understand your fel-
low human beings with greater sensitivity and acuity. In an electron-
ic age of increasing disassociation from authentic sensation, the
direct experience of drawing from the live, human subject yields
important insights unattainable by other means. This time-honored
practice promotes greater empathy for the human subject in both its
physical and psychological dimensions, offering insights into how
these two aspects combine to portray emotion and convey meaning
in figurative art.
Better than photographs.
No photograph—no matter how good—
offers the advantages of an actual spa-
tial encounter with a living subject.
Photos are static, momentary docu-
ments that lock in a pose from a sin-
gle, monocular position; the photo
does not offer the subtle variations in
vantage point possible when working
from life that enable an artist to grasp
the three-dimensional form of the
body. Even the best photographs pro-
vide mostly an abundance of surface
detail, but not the essence of a pose:
its weight shift and gesture.
I require my students to walk around
the model before beginning a drawing,
observing from many different angles
in order to better understand the pose.
I remind them the life model is a sub-
ject in-the-round and that the students
are not confined to the stationary posi-
tion of their easel to gather vital infor-
mation about the subject.
Finally, in terms of light perception,
the camera cannot approach the optical
latitude of the human eye, which can
adjust instantaneously to a wide range
of lighting conditions over the entirety
of the subject; an ability that is essential
to effective tonal description in drawing
and painting.
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 7:25 AM Page 91
Learn from others.
At the beginning of the term, I explain
to my figure-drawing students that
they can expect to learn as much (if
not more) from their classmates than
they will from me. This is not an
instance of false modesty, nor am I
known to be a lax teacher (as my stu-
dents will certainly attest). In truth, I
have learned a great deal from my stu-
dents over the years, which I have
applied to my own work as well as to
my teaching. Drawing with a group
offers a variety of approaches to a sin-
gle subject. Rarely does one have the
opportunity to view an individual
artist’s process, let alone that of sever-
al others. Most attendees, some of
whom are accomplished professionals,
will be happy to share information
about their working methods and if
requested, to comment or give advice
on another’s drawing.
Substantial savings in model fees.
Figure-drawing-workshop fees average about $15 per three-
hour session—versus $15 to $20 per hour for private sittings.
Eventually, if you have the space in your home studio, you
may wish to organize your own sessions. Splitting model
fees with even one other artist results in significant savings.
92 THE BEST OF DRAWING
6.
8.
7.
Network with other artists.
Few things are more crucial to an artist’s viability than an
affiliation with a creative community, yet negotiating the
social dimension of the art world can seem baffling. If your
aspirations include becoming more “visible,” associating
with other artists significantly increases the likelihood that
invitations to exhibit, make presentations, and the like will
be extended. Attending artists’ drawing groups and work-
shops is an excellent way to access one’s local art scene and
make important contacts.
Participation in drawing workshops enables one to tap
into the collective energy and expertise of a motivated
group of individuals. It is not unusual for lifelong friend-
ships to form in drawing groups. Working with others in
the field builds confidence and creates a sense of belonging
in a forum where news and information about events—
even scuttlebutt—can be exchanged.
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 7:25 AM Page 92
Sean Leaning on His Arm
2004, charcoal, 30 x 22.
THE BEST OF DRAWING 93
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 7:25 AM Page 93
94 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Wendy Reclining,
Taos (detail)
2003, graphite, 30 x 22.
Look for “uninstructed figure-drawing” or “life-drawing” workshops at local colleges, community recre-
ation centers, galleries, museums, artist clubs, and associations.
Also, figure artists—found through galleries, local art schools, and colleges—sometimes run figure-
drawing sessions in their own studios or belong to drawing groups that meet regularly to draw from
models. This arrangement confers the added benefit of working with talented professionals; attend one
workshop and, in turn, find out about venues from both participants and the models themselves.
How to Find Figure-Drawing Sessions
DRAW SIP 09 Allicotti:AA feature 9/18/09 7:26 AM Page 94
THE BEST OF DRAWING 95
Produce a series of drawings quickly.
Workshop time-limits, coupled with various factors beyond
one’s control, means that drawings produced there will
largely be learning experiences, which they truly are in the
best sense of the phrase. Most drawings done in workshops
are likely not exceptional, but some will invariably be of
interest to family and friends and perhaps even saleable.
Certainly, regular attendance at workshops enables one to
quickly build a portfolio ranging from rapid sketches to a
series of “resolved” drawings from longer poses. Begin by
first attending sessions featuring shorter poses from three-
minute gesture poses to a maximum of 25-minute poses.
These shorter-duration poses are the fastest way to hone
your basic figure-drawing skills.
Inspiration for personal work.
Through many life-drawing sessions over the years, I
have met a number of models I have gone on to hire
privately. Workshops are an ideal setting to discover
prospective subjects for your own personal creative
work. Skillful models may take poses that are espe-
cially inspiring, generating ideas for further explo-
ration. The majority of models are happy to arrange
private sittings, be it for figure or portrait. In the con-
text of a workshop, you and the model will become
familiar while working together in a comfortable
group situation.
Experimentation/exploration.
Working from the life model affords an ideal
opportunity to experiment with new tech-
niques or unfamiliar media and, quite possi-
bly, to expand your artistic range. The inher-
ent “no-pressure” nature of the workshop,
combined with an accessible and exciting
subject on view in front of you, promotes
risk-taking and exploration. ❖
9.
10.
11.
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96 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Washbrook
1803, black chalk and
stump, 13 x 9
1
⁄2.
Each stroke and mark in
this drawing has a unique
quality, lending a fresh -
ness and sense of life.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 97
Constable’s
Sketchbooks
John Constable responded to the landscape in pocket-size sketchbooks
he carried nearly everywhere he went. Although primarily used
as notes and studies for large-scale, highly finished oil paintings,
the drawings show an immense authority in a small format.
by Lynne Bahr
View of the Stour
1814, graphite, 3 x 4
1
⁄4.
Collection Victoria and Albert
Museum, London, England.
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98 THE BEST OF DRAWING
ABOVE
Stonehenge
1820, graphite, 4
1
⁄2 x 7
1
⁄3. Collection Victoria and
Albert Museum, London, England.
Arranging all the stones in such a small format
required Constable to view the scene from a very
close range. It seems the artist was able to do this
and still incorporate the objects on the periphery in
an effective composition.
LEFT
Binfield: A Watersplash
1816, graphite, 3
1
⁄3 x 4
1
⁄3.
In nearly all his drawings Constable commented on
the sky. Here he also attends to the footbridge,
explaining how it was built with heavy and light
strokes of his pencil.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Cornfield at East Bergholt
1813, graphite, 3
1
⁄2 x 4
3
⁄4. Collection Victoria and
Albert Museum, London, England.
In this drawing the artist concentrated on developing
differences in tone rather than relying on line to
define the forms.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 99
T
he British landscape artist John Constable
(1776–1837) believed that “we see nothing, ‘til
we truly understand it.” Suggesting that one
sees through the mind, not through the eyes,
this concept is central to understanding
Constable’s creative process. Largely known as a painter of
specific places—the Stour Valley, Salisbury, and Brighton,
for instance—he relied on sketchbooks to develop his skills
of visual perception in addition to collecting source material
for his oil paintings. Most important, however, the sketch-
books became a vehicle through which the artist could
respond spontaneously and freely to the subject he knew
and loved best: the English landscape.
Among the papers that were found after Constable’s
death was a quotation from a book on painting by the 14th-
century Italian artist Cennino Cennini, stating, “Day after
day never fail to draw something,
which, however little it may be, will
yet in the end be much, and do thy
best.” Constable took this advice by
filling sketchbooks with small
drawings of wherever he was at the
moment, especially during periods
when he was not painting, such as
during a tour of the Lake District in
1806 or the summers of 1813 and
1814. “The drawings vary from
individual people or things to
pieces of foliage,” describes Mark
Evans, the senior curator at the
Victoria and Albert Museum, in
London, which owns the largest
collection of Constable drawings in
the world, including the 1813 and
1814 sketchbooks. “They include a
man sitting on a bank, a woman
and child, and entire landscapes,”
says Evans. “We see things that are
major or minor elements in a com-
position—and whole compositions.” The drawings are
exquisite in terms of their execution, showing the artist’s
skill and sensitivity. “They are a means to an end,” adds
Evans, “but they have huge authority.”
Between 1809 and 1812, Constable painted directly from
nature in oil, making quick sketches that significantly
advanced his artistic development, “establishing, with bold
tonal and colour juxtapositions, landscape images of utter
originality,” writes Ian Fleming-Williams in Constable and
His Drawings (Philip Wilson Publishers, London, England).
His ability to experiment with light effects was more limit-
ed when he worked in graphite, and according to Evans,
Constable used the sketchbooks primarily to study a subject
in detail. “One infers they were done rapidly,” he says,
“because they are small, but they are highly finished and
meticulous.” The development of the footbridge in Binfield:
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100 THE BEST OF DRAWING
ABOVE LEFT
A Group of
Cottages and a
View Towards
Denham
1813, graphite,
4
3
⁄4 x 3
1
⁄2. Collection
Victoria and Albert
Museum, London,
England.
RIGHT
Farmhouse at
East Bergholt
1814, graphite, 3 x 4
1
⁄3.
Constable drew at
random in his sketch
books. This work
appears on the reverse
of two compositional
studies.
ABOVE RIGHT
Two Compositional
Studies
1814, graphite, 3
1
⁄4 x 2
1
⁄2.
Farmhouse at East
Bergholt appears on the
back on these studies.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Dedham Lock and
Mill
1816, graphite, 3
1
⁄3 x 4
1
⁄2.
One of several studies
for a large oil painting,
in this drawing the artist
distilled a complex
scene into an organized
composition.
DRAW SIP 09 Constable:AA feature 9/18/09 7:32 AM Page 100
THE BEST OF DRAWING 101
A Watersplash, a drawing in the 1816 book, is one such
example. Heavy and light strokes of graphite build up the
structure of the bridge, attesting to the artist’s attention to
detail in visually describing the structure.
Constable excelled as a draftsman in other ways as well.
Notably, in the sketches of whole compositions, the artist
had an unusually well-developed aptitude in organizing
individual elements. As Fleming-Williams describes, some
of the drawings present a point of view that incorporates
objects that normally are out of the visual range, revealing
how Constable convincingly depicted a broad sweep of the
landscape. In Stonehenge, for instance, one would have to
stand much farther away to include all the stones within
the pictorial space. Undoubtedly the artist moved his head
and relied on more than one line of vision in composing
the drawing, but he was nevertheless able to take in the
long view and convey it effectively in a small format.
Equally remarkable is the way in which Constable endowed
each stroke or mark with a unique and spontaneous quality
and avoided repetitive gestures,
as in Washbrook.
Drawing in sketchbooks
advanced Constable’s skills such
that eventually it did not matter
whether he drew or painted,
according to Fleming-Williams.
All that mattered was the use of
lights and darks. In Cornfield at
East Bergholt, for instance,
Constable enhanced the shad-
ows on the foreground to offset
the sunlit fields beyond, defin-
ing the scene in terms of light
and shadow. In A Group of
Cottages and a View Towards
Denham, he represented the
scene tonally, playing up the
subtle effects of light. Compared
with earlier drawings, in these
examples the artist relied less on
outlining the forms. “The whole
is seen as a tonal field in which
objects and their component parts are represented in terms
of lights and darks of varying strengths with a closely relat-
ed, quite spontaneous system of textures,” he writes.
Furthermore, at this point the artist was experimenting
with revealing and concealing certain parts of forms, which
was to become a critical aspect of his art.
By 1815, Constable had apparently begun recognizing his
powers as a draftsman, as evident in the three drawings he
submitted to the Royal Academy exhibition of that year. His
sketchbook of 1816 shows his new confidence as an artist,
achieved by the ambitious oil paintings he had recently
completed, as in Dedham Mill [not shown]. One of a few
drawings of the same scene that Constable had in mind for
an oil painting, Dedham Lock and Mill shows how the artist
worked out the composition. “With a relatively blunt-
pointed pencil and an unerring eye, Constable reduces a
scene of some complexity down to a miniature alive with
information,” writes Fleming-Williams. The Horizontal
Mill, Battersea, another fully realized sketch, depicts an
Constable used the sketchbooks primarily to study
a subject in detail. “One infers they were done rapidly
because they are small,” explains curator Mark Evans,
“but they are highly finished and meticulous.”
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102 THE BEST OF DRAWING
unusual structure that was
undoubtedly of interest to the
artist. It is, in fact, one of the bold-
est in the sketchbook.
Although the artist approached
some of the sketches with vigor,
others reflect a softer mood.
Salisbury Cathedral and the Bishop’s
Palace, for instance, conveys a slow-
er pace and a more sensitive touch,
perhaps because the artist had
recently married after a tumultuous
seven-year engagement. Some of
the other sketches from this period
share the lighter tone, as in
Osmington Church and Vicarage and
Redcliff Point.
In nearly all his drawings
Constable commented on the sky.
Even a cloudless day, such as in
Binfield: A Watersplash, is indicated
with a few strokes of graphite. “The
character of the day, or of a particu-
lar time of day, is for him an inte-
gral part of the scene, and some-
times it is quite remarkable how,
with the simplest of media, he is
able to capture the quality of light
prevailing at the time,” writes
Fleming-Williams.
Being truthful to nature in this
way was, in fact, central to
Constable’s work, and sketching
was the only means to that end
prior to the invention of the cam-
era. “Constable died around the
year the first photograph was made,
and I think there is something
symbolic about that,” says Evans, of
the Victoria and Albert Museum.
“Constable represents a vision that
in a way ended with the invention
of photography. He never saw a
BELOW
Redcliff Point
1816, graphite, 3
1
⁄2 x 4
1
⁄2.
BOTTOM
The Horizontal
Mill, Battersea
1816, graphite, 3
1
⁄3 x 4
1
⁄2.
This bold sketch shows
Constable’s immense
authority as a draftsman.
OPPOSITE PAGE, TOP
Osmington Church and Vicarage
1816, graphite, 3
1
⁄2 x 4
1
⁄3.
OPPOSITE PAGE, BOTTOM
Salisbury Cathedral and the
Bishop’s Palace
1816, graphite, 3
1
⁄3 x 4
1
⁄2.
Notice the sensitive touch in this drawing in
contrast to the boldness of The Horizontal
Mill, Battersea.
DRAW SIP 09 Constable:AA feature 9/18/09 7:33 AM Page 102
THE BEST OF DRAWING 103
photograph, but some of his pic-
tures have a photographic quality—
a palpable reality. But photos never
have that kind of assurance. It
comes out of the classical tradition
of Claude and Rubens.”
According to Evans, Constable’s
greatest contribution is not in the
way he handled pencil and paper
but in the kind of landscape he pur-
sued. As the son of a prominent
merchant, Constable knew the
houses, mills, farms, and waterways
of the countryside well. “For
Constable landscape was also land
where people lived and worked, and
for an understanding of which as
such he possessed special knowl-
edge and a trained eye,” writes
author Fleming-Williams. “This
meant that he understood more and
consequently ‘saw’ more deeply into
landscape than most other artists of
his time.” Indeed the landscapes he
created became “the warp and weft
of the idealized rural scene,” Evans
notes. However, viewed in the con-
text of Rubens and Claude, as the
paintings were when they were on
view at the Royal Academy, they
represented the cutting edge, with
their depictions of grain barges and
windmills. “They were no more
quaint than a factory would be
today,” comments Evans.
Ultimately, the sketchbooks
helped Constable to achieve an
extraordinary clarity of vision. By
working intuitively and striving to
see the landscape, like Claude before
him, with an innocent eye, he would
create some of the most admired
landscapes in Western art. ❖
According to Evans, Constable’s greatest contribution
is not in the way he handled pencil and paper but in
the kind of landscape he pursued. As the son of a
prominent merchant, Constable knew the houses, mills,
farms, and waterways of the countryside well.
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104 THE BEST OF DRAWING
T
he history of art is often pieced together
from scraps of evidence and pure specula-
tion, and drawings are often the most valu-
able resources in conducting that kind of investi-
gation. When someone discovers dozens of indi-
vidual studies for a large fresco, for example, they
understand all the various compositional ideas
the artist considered before executing the fin-
ished decoration. And when a carefully detailed
graphite study is linked to a painting of two war-
ring gods, scholars can see how the artist turned
studio drawings of hired models into an emotion-
ally charged painting of supreme conflict.
Some Old Master landscape drawings were
polished up by the artists so they could be used
as part of a proposal to a prospective painting
client, duplicated to satisfy several collectors
who each wanted the same drawing, or present-
ed as a gift to a patron who supported the
artist’s career. But even these refined drawings
failed to impress their owners as great works of
art, as evidenced by the fact that the collectors
seldom listed them in the inventories of their
holdings. Even when auction houses offered
the landscape drawings for sale, they tended to
group them together to be sold as a lot rather
than as individual treasures.
To those of us who are trying to improve our
abilities as artists, there is much to learn both
from the cast-off studies and the polished draw-
ings. And landscape drawings are often among
the most interesting scraps of evidence about
the thoughts and methods of the Old Masters
we admire. They are like the first draft of a
novel, the unedited version of a public speech,
or the unaltered score of a symphony. They
provide valuable insight that helps us expand
our own abilities to create art.
Drawing magazine selected a group of master
drawings to review, with each offering an oppor-
tunity to explore some important aspect of the
artist’s powers. All are reproduced in books that
are still in print, and several are currently on view
at the National Gallery of Art, in Washington, DC.
Drawings:
Landscape
Evidence & Interpretation
Many great landscape drawings were created as preparatory studies,
educational exercises, or informational journals and not as finished
works of art. We can now study those freely made graphic images for
evidence of the artists’ ideas and procedures. by M. Stephen Doherty
Master
DRAW SIP 09 Master Landscapes:AA feature 9/18/09 7:38 AM Page 104
THE BEST OF DRAWING 105
ABOVE
Pastoral Scene
With Classical
Figures
by Claude Gellée
(called Claude Lorrain),
ca. 1640–1645, pen
and brown ink and
brush with brown and
gray wash over graphite
on cream laid paper,
7
9
⁄16 x 10
1
⁄8. Collection
The Cleveland Museum
of Art, Cleveland, Ohio.
LEFT
View of the
Acqua Acetosa
by Claude Gellée
(called Claude Lorrain),
ca. 1645, pen and
brown ink and brush
with brown and gray
wash over graphite on
cream laid paper,
10
3
⁄16 x 15
15
⁄16.
Collection The
Cleveland Museum of
Art, Cleveland, Ohio.
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106 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Trees
ca. 1590, brown ink,
7
7
⁄16 x 5
11
⁄16. Private collection.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 107
Agostino Carracci (1557–1602):
LEARNI NG FROM NATURE
served artists well when they held a carved feather in their
hands and applied varying amounts of pressure to either
increase or decrease the width of an inked line. One imag-
ines that as Carracci sat under a tree and drew without any
preliminary graphite or charcoal lines, he guided his pen
effortlessly around the shape of the leaves and branches,
increasing the pressure as the shadows deepened and reduc-
ing it as the sunlight touched the left side of a trunk or leaf.
Most of the drawings made in this period emphasized
line over tone, so ink was a very appropriate medium with
which to make drawings. The images would have more
strength and permanence in ink than if they were done in
charcoal or colored chalk, especially if the drawings were
made in sketchbooks whose pages would rub against each
other as the artist carried them from place to place.
Because artists often kept their sketchbooks with them
at all times, frequently stopping to make notations about a
landscape, figure, or building that caught their attention,
the bindings that held the books together often broke apart
and had to be repaired with new strips of paper or leather.
Sometimes the artists would bind together different sets of
drawings rather than simply repair a sketchbook with its
original pages. They might want to have all their landscape
drawings together in one folio for easier reference; or they
might want to eliminate pages that were soiled or unused
when they glued the sheets together in a new book.
Agostino Carracci, along with an older brother and a cousin,
had a strong influence on the development of the Baroque
style of late 16th- and early 17th-century art in Italy because
of the pictures they executed and, perhaps more crucially,
because of the many students they trained. Among the
most important lessons that Carracci offered young artists
was the value of drawing directly from nature, as demon-
strated by this rapidly executed, expressive study of inter-
locking trees. One can almost feel the wind billowing
through the leaves that are drawn with a series of curled
lines stretched in a horizontal pattern. And the tree
branches are given dimension with lines that follow the
natural curve of their form, thus accentuating the play of
light and shadow.
Like many artists who excelled at drawing with a quill
pen, Carracci spent a number of years developing his skills
as a printmaker. The strength and control required for
manipulating an etching needle or an engraving burin
Among the most important lessons that
Carracci offered young artists was the
value of drawing directly from nature.
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108 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Thomas Gainsborough (1727–1788):
LI BERATI NG DRAWI NG FROM PAI NTI NG
With the work of most great masters,
there is a direct correspondence between
the subject and style of their drawings and
paintings. Portrait painters such as John
Singer Sargent made hundreds of char-
coal portrait drawings; masters of large
figurative compositions, such as Tiepolo,
created dozens of ink drawings of invent-
ed people twisting in space; and painters
of pastoral landscape scenes, such as
Claude Lorrain, drew landscapes with the
same compositional arrangements as in
his serene, late-afternoon painted vistas.
It is remarkable, therefore, that an
artist like Thomas Gainsborough, who
was admired for his portraits of English
lords and ladies, would consider the act
of drawing to be an opportunity to
explore new materials, concepts, and
styles of expression. This example of his
experimental chalk drawings was on
view at the National Gallery of Art in a
2007 show titled “Private Treasures:
Four Centuries of European Master
Drawings.” In the catalogue description
of the work, Jennifer Tonkovich, the
associate curator of drawing and prints
at The Morgan Library & Museum,
where the show originated in New York
City, comments that “although
[Gainsborough] occasionally made
studies related to portraits, landscapes
predominate among the artist’s draw-
ings, and he produced hundreds of
sketches throughout his career. Working
on paper allowed him the freedom to
experiment with unconventional combi-
nations of media and to study and record
nature for his own personal pleasure,
unrelated to formal commissions.”
Tonkovich goes on to compare this
Gainsborough drawing with “the ideal
tradition of Claude Lorrain. He eschews
the conventional devices of framing the
scene with trees and establishing a cen-
tral focus; he also shows no trace of
human or animal presence save for what
may be a lone sheep—drawn with
utmost brevity—atop the hill at left.
Gainsborough executed the sheet with a
layer of rhythmic, diagonal chalk strokes
that emphasize the thrust of the land-
scape. The softened, rounded features of
the rocks and trees, and the feathery sur-
face pattern, evoke a lush, dramatic set-
ting, presaging the landscapes of the
British romantic school.”
One can easily understand how an
artist who devoted most of his artistic
skills to serving English society would
take pleasure in creating experimental
drawings. In all likelihood, he would have
lost his sanity if he hadn’t found some
relief from flattering dukes and dowagers.
“Working on paper allowed [Gainsborough] the freedom
to experiment with unconventional combinations of
media and to study and record nature for his own
personal pleasure, unrelated to formal commissions.”
—Jennifer Tonkovich, associate curator
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 109
Wooded Landscape
With a Stream
ca. mid-1780s, black and
white chalk on gray-blue
paper. Private collection.
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110 THE BEST OF DRAWING
ABOVE
Notch in the White
Mountains, From
Above With the
Notch House
1839, graphite,
11
1
⁄8 x 16
7
⁄8. Collection
Princeton University Art
Museum, Princeton, New
Jersey. Gift of Frank Jewett
Mather Jr. Collection.
RIGHT
A View of the
Mountain Pass Called
the Notch in the
White Mountains
1839, oil, 40
3
⁄16 x 61
5
⁄16.
Collection National Gallery
of Art, Washington, DC.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 111
Thomas Cole (1801–1848):
ADDI NG EMOTI ON TO OBSERVATI ONS
It has been postulated that Cole’s additions and alterna-
tions were suggested, in part, by Nathaniel Hawthorne’s fic-
tionalized account of the Willey disaster. Hawthorne’s short
story, The Ambitious Guest, turns the natural disaster into a
day of reckoning for Willey and his daughters, who hoped
their visitor could help them achieve their selfish ambi-
tions. In her book The Anatomy of Nature: Geology &
American Landscape Painting, 1825–1875 (Princeton
University Press, Princeton, New Jersey), Rebecca Bedell
writes that “since Cole avidly sought out literary associa-
tions with the sites he painted, it seems likely that he
would have known Hawthorne’s tale.” Bedell goes on to ref-
erence another cycle of paintings by Cole, The Course of
Empire, which illustrates that “it is pride and ambition
(among other sins) that bring about the fall of the empire.
Hawthorne’s story points to the same lesson, the idea that
pride and ambition precede a fall.”
Making a comparison between Cole’s preliminary draw-
ing and the resulting painting is like studying the develop-
ment of a magazine cover illustration by J.C. Leyendecker
or Norman Rockwell. The raw material inherent in a draw-
ing of live models is changed to tell a story that can be
understood quickly. Gestures, facial expressions, and body
positions are adjusted to emphasize the most revealing
episode in the story and to heighten the emotional impact
of the underlying message. In Cole’s case, human gestures,
natural forms, and weather conditions are the elements
used to increase that sense of drama.
Although Thomas Cole is well respected as one of the
founders of the Hudson River School—the first native
school of art in America—his paintings often seem exces-
sively sentimental, moralistic, and overstated. For example,
one cycle of paintings, The Voyage of Life, illustrates the
life of a man from infancy to old age as he travels on a river
that changes from being a calm stream to a calamitous
waterfall and, finally, a dark ocean guarded by angels. Cole
uses a series of obvious devices—a floating cradle, a fork in
the river, a dark storm—to preach about the consequences
of age, bad judgment, and lack of virtue.
In contrast to his paintings, Cole’s landscape drawings
seem like chaste studies of nature. The linear graphite
examinations show little evidence of invention or exaggera-
tion, suggesting that one could probably still determine
exactly where he was standing when he drew the landscape
near his studio along the western shore of the Hudson
River, in Catskill, New York. It’s only when one compares a
drawing to the oil painting on which it is based that one
can understand how Cole imposed his beliefs—or the
belief system of a young nation trying to distinguish itself.
The subject of this drawing, Crawford’s Notch in the White
Mountains of New Hampshire, was the site of a tragic ava-
lanche that took the lives of Samuel Willey, his wife, their five
children, and two hired men. Willey had constructed a shelter
away from the base of the mountain where he thought he and
his family would be safe if such an event occurred, but on
August 28, 1826, the deflected boulders crushed the shelter
and spared the house. Cole visited the site two years after the
event and returned in 1839 to make a drawing of the exact
appearance of the mountain, valley, and home.
When Cole returned to his studio to create a painting
based on the drawing, he began shifting the composition,
adding figures, and inventing weather conditions. A man
now rides past a symbolic dead tree on a horse that senses
danger, a father and his children come out from the house
to greet the rider, and rain clouds burst on the top of the
mountain and instigate the tragic events.
It’s only when one compares a drawing to
the oil painting on which it is based that
one can understand how Cole imposed
his beliefs—or the belief system of a
young nation trying to distinguish itself.
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112 THE BEST OF DRAWING
William Stanley Haseltine
(1835–1900):
FOCUSI NG ON SI GNI FI CANT
& SALEABLE VI EWS
Although all artists prefer to draw and paint subjects that
interest them, those who aim to sell landscape pictures must
deal with several common expectations among prospective
buyers. One is that collectors prefer landscapes with historic,
geological, environmental, or personal significance; and the
other is that wealthy individuals tend to gravitate to the same
exclusive locations. That was true in the 19th century when
Thomas Moran and James Abbott McNeill Whistler sold hun-
dreds of prints, drawings, and paintings of everyone’s favorite
city, Venice, Italy; and it is true today when artists sell pictures
of wealthy communities such as Palm Beach, Santa Fe, and
Carmel by the Sea. The back streets of Podunk may fascinate
painters, but it is unlikely that collectors will share their
enthusiasm for the gritty appearance of an insignificant town.
It was no accident that Haseltine created dozens of
detailed drawings of rock formations along the shoreline at
Nahant, Massachusetts, the fashionable summer watering
hole for wealthy Bostonians that had geological significance.
In all likelihood, Haseltine discovered the shoreline while
attending Harvard University, where he was a member of
the Harvard Natural History Society. Louis Agassiz was a
lecturer at the college who frequently took his natural-
history students to Nahant to show them ice-sheared, pol-
ished rocks of volcanic origin that were thought to be
among the oldest on earth.
That particular coastline proved to be a perfect subject for
Haseltine’s precise drawings and oil paintings because he
believed “everything in nature is worth painting, provided
one has discovered the meaning of it. The picture will then
tell its own story.” So many wealthy art collectors were inter-
ested in the story told in Haseltine’s pictures of Nahant that
he could barely keep up with the demand for them.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 113
Haseltine used drawing materials and techniques
commonly employed by artists for hundreds of years. He
worked on blue- or gray-toned paper with dark graphite or
charcoal, and then he added highlights with white chalk.
He could effectively develop three separate values with only
two drawing materials. Although Haseltine’s drawings are
generally well preserved, many other such drawings on col-
ored paper have deteriorated. Quite often these papers were
dyed with fugitive colors that faded or changed over time,
or the ink used for the drawing proved to be unstable and
the images lost contrast. The best preserved of these draw-
ings tend to be ones in which the artist first toned the sur-
face with a professional grade of watercolor, casein, or
gouache, then applied the dark and light marks over those
midtone colors. The most popular colors were blue, tan,
gray, and green. Today there are a number of archival,
toned papers available for artists to use for landscape draw-
ing, some bound together in sketchbooks that offer sheets
of three or four different color options. For example,
Fabriano makes both the Fabriano Quadrato Artist’s
Journal and the Artist’s Journal pads with as many as 12
different colored laid papers that are ideal for tonal land-
scape drawing; and Legion makes its versatile Stonehenge
paper in several subtle shades that are perfect for tonal
drawing in graphite, charcoal, or chalk.
So many wealthy art collectors were
interested in the story told in Haseltine’s
pictures of Nahant that he could barely
keep up with the demand for them.
Rocks at Nahant
ca. 1864, graphite and watercolor,
14
1
⁄4 x 20
7
⁄8. Collection Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston, Boston, Massachusetts.
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114 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Daniel Garber (1880–1958):
I NTERPRETI NG PHOTOGRAPHS
Indiana-born artist Daniel Garber completed his education
at the Cincinnati Art Academy and the Pennsylvania
Academy of the Fine Arts, in Philadelphia, at a pivotal time
in the history of American art. Painters were being strongly
influenced by the French Impressionists they met while
studying in Europe or whose pictures were acquired by
American collectors; and they were fascinated with the pos-
sibilities that photography offered them.
Garber responded to both of these forces, and he devel-
oped an interesting method of using his photographs as the
source of highly textured tonal drawings that conformed to
the Impressionist aesthetic. First, he tended to work on laid
paper that was relatively thin, heavily sized, and had a dis-
tinctive linear weave. A laid paper such as Fabriano Roma is
much less likely to mimic the continuous tones in a photo-
graph than would a soft, mould-made paper such as Legion
Stonehenge or Rives BFK. A sheet of laid paper—which is
more often associated with writing stationery—is best suited
to drawings with subtle tones rather than those that require
deep, heavily worked dark passages.
The artist also handled his drawing tool in such a way
that it left patches of tones rather than solid, hard-edged
shapes. Garber may have been looking at a photograph to
understand the spatial relationships in the scene, but he
interpreted those relationships as he developed his draw-
ing. The same might be said of the methods Monet used to
capture the appearance of a garden or a haystack. The
Frenchman applied separate pieces of paint that coalesced
when seen from a distance.
This particular drawing of a quarry was the source for one
of Garber’s oil paintings, and the subject appears again in sev-
eral of his etchings. The quarry provided him with an oppor-
tunity to study the effects of light on a deep crevasse, a heav-
ing mountain, and a body of reflective water. Interestingly,
other artists have been attracted to quarries as subjects of
their paintings, presumably because the locations offered a
variety of landscape forms in one small area, and because
they afforded a degree of privacy one could not find along
an ocean beach or public lake.
Garber demonstrated an effective way of bringing imagi-
nation, style, and personal content to an otherwise mechan-
ical record of a landscape; and he showed how drawings
can become an integral part of that interpretive process of
realizing paintings and prints. ❖
Garber may have been looking at a photo-
graph to understand the spatial relationships
in the scene, but he interpreted those
relationships as he developed his drawing.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 115
ABOVE
The Quarry
ca. 1917, charcoal,
16 x 20. Collection the
Pennsylvania Academy of
the Fine Arts, Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania. Gift of the
artist.
LEFT
Quarry
1917, oil, 50 x 60.
Collection the Pennsylvania
Academy of the Fine Arts,
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Joseph E. Temple Fund.
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116 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Study for Diogenes in the School of Athens
by Raphael, silverpoint on pink prepared paper, 9
3
⁄4 x 11.
Collection Städel Institut, Frankfurt, Germany.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 117
F
or most artists, drawing is both a
pleasurable activity in itself and a
stage in the complex process of
creation. The final goal is often a
painting, usually on canvas, paper, or
a similarly portable support, or more
rarely today, on a wall. Between the
initial expression of a graphic idea in
charcoal or graphite, and its ultimate
realization in oil, watercolor, or acrylic,
lies the technical challenge of transfer-
ring the preliminary design to the
painting support. Artists in late
medieval times developed or refined
the basic transfer techniques that are
still widely used today; in addition,
modern technology offers the contem-
porary artist an array of options that
promise to save time and labor while
improving the accuracy of the trans-
ferred image.
TRADITIONAL TRANSFER
TECHNIQUES
GRAPHITE RUBBING: Possibly the
simplest way to transfer a drawing
onto canvas or another support, when
there is no change in scale, is to cover
the back of the drawing with a thin
layer of graphite using the broad side
of a solid graphite pencil. Next, the
drawing is taped, faceup, to the can-
vas; a tool with a dull point—such as a
stylus or the end of a paintbrush—is
then used to trace over the lines of the
drawing with enough pressure applied
to leave graphite marks on the paint-
ing support. The result will be a faint
graphite reproduction of the original
drawing on the canvas, with the accu-
racy and detail determined by the
artist’s care in tracing the original.
As with everything else in the crafts
of drawing and painting, practice
makes perfect. Experiment with differ-
ent tracing tools, the density of the
graphite layer, and variations in pres-
sure to achieve a satisfactory transfer.
Chalk or pastel can be rubbed on the
back of the drawing instead of
graphite. And since graphite rubbing
is really a primitive form of carbon
paper, a sheet of carbon paper can be
placed between the drawing and the
canvas as a substitute for the layer of
graphite or chalk on the back of the
drawing. Graphite rubbing is best suit-
ed for the transfer of small-scale
designs and simple outline drawings
without too much detail.
POUNCING (SPOLVERO): The revival
of fresco painting in Italy near the end
of the 13th century gave rise to two
important transfer techniques:
spolvero and graticolare. The art of
fresco required meticulous planning
A wide range of traditional and modern techniques is available
for transferring preliminary drawings onto the painting surface.
by Joseph C. Skrapits
From Drawing
to Canvas
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118 THE BEST OF DRAWING
TOP
Study for the Left Foreground
Group in the School of Athens
by Raphael, silverpoint with white heightening
on gray prepared paper, 11
1
⁄2 x 16. Collection
Albertina Museum, Vienna, Austria.
ABOVE
Cartoon for the School of Athens
by Raphael, charcoal and black chalk, with
white heightening, on many sheets of paper,
pricked for transfer, 9’ x 27’. Collection
Ambrosiana Gallery, Milan, Italy.
OPPOSITE PAGE
Cartoon for Annunciation
by Raphael, ca. 1502, pen-and-ink and wash
on paper, pricked for transfer, 11’ x 16
1
⁄2’.
Collection The Louvre, Paris, France.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 119
and preliminary work, including the
preparation of a full-scale drawing,
called a cartoon, comprising numerous
sheets of paper glued together at the
edges to cover the exact dimensions of
the wall to be painted. The surviving
cartoon for Raphael’s School of Athens,
for example, measures 9' x 27'.
Spolvero, or pouncing, was used to
transfer the cartoon onto the wall. The
lines of the drawing were first perforat-
ed with thousands of tiny holes. The
perforations were made in two ways: a
pouncing wheel, resembling a riding
spur, could be used to trace along
straight and gently curving lines—as
the wheel turned, it made holes at
evenly spaced intervals. More intricate
lines, such as the details in faces, were
perforated by hand using a sharply
pointed tool such as an awl or a sewing
needle fixed to a piece of wood.
Once perforated, the cartoon was
usually cut into sections, which were
then laid directly on the wet plaster, or
intonaco, of the wall in the correspon-
ding section of the fresco. Next, a cloth
bag filled with charcoal powder was
rubbed over the cartoon using circular,
daubing motions—the “pouncing.”
The charcoal dust passed through the
perforations in the paper and marked
the wall with a series of dots, which
provided guides for redrawing the
design on the wall after the cartoon
was removed. The pouncing bag was
made from a piece of coarse, heavy
linen, folded to double thickness.
Charcoal powder was placed on the
linen, and then the corners were gath-
ered together and tied to form the bag.
A shortcut transfer technique, called
incision, was sometimes used instead
of spolvero to save time. Instead of per-
forating the cartoon, the artist would
trace the lines of the drawing with a
stylus when it was in contact with the
intonaco, leaving physical impressions
of the lines in the plaster—a transfer
technique very similar to graphite rub-
bing, but of course useful only in fres-
co. In his entertaining and well-
researched book, Michelangelo & the
Pope’s Ceiling (Walker & Company,
New York, New York), Ross King close-
ly examines Michelangelo’s varying use
of spolvero and incision to transfer his
cartoons to the ceiling of the Sistine
Chapel. The project lasted four years,
from 1508 to 1512, during which time
Michelangelo’s confidence grew with
experience. In the early stages he used
spolvero exclusively because it pro-
duced more accurate and detailed
Since pouncing results in permanent damage to the
cartoon—not to mention the damage caused by contact
with wet plaster—the drawings were considered
expendable and often discarded after use.
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120 THE BEST OF DRAWING
The Music Lesson
by Jan Vermeer, ca. 1662 –1665, oil,
29
1
⁄2 x 25. The Royal Collection, St.
James’ Palace, London, England.
transfers. Near the end he relied
almost entirely on incision to transfer
the outlines of his figures, then paint-
ed faces and the interior modeling of
musculature freehand.
Since pouncing results in perma-
nent damage to the cartoon—not to
mention the damage caused by con-
tact with wet plaster—the drawings
were considered expendable and often
discarded after use. None from the
Sistine Chapel ceiling are extant.
Raphael’s cartoon for the School of
Athens survived because, though it was
perforated, he did not make the trans-
fer directly to the intonaco but onto an
auxiliary cartoon. King theorizes that
because the fresco was painted for the
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 121
ABOVE
Study for Miss Lala at the Cirque Fernando, Paris
by Edgar Degas, 1879, black chalk and pastel, 18
1
⁄2 x 13. Collection
The Barber Institute of Fine Arts, Birmingham, England.
RIGHT
Miss Lala at the Cirque Fernando, Paris
by Edgar Degas, 1879, oil, 46 x 30.
Collection The National Gallery, London, England.
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122 THE BEST OF DRAWING
pope’s private apartments
where few people would see it,
Raphael wanted to preserve
the original cartoon, which he
could then exhibit publicly as
evidence of his genius.
It’s not surprising that, as
oil painting on portable can-
vases replaced fresco as the
dominant mode of artistic
expression, artists largely
abandoned the labor-intensive
process of spolvero. However,
there may be situations—in
the production of large
murals, for instance—where
pouncing may still prove help-
ful. Pouncing wheels can still
be found; they’re used mainly
by sign painters today, and can
be purchased from large art
suppliers, such as Dick Blick,
that carry sign-painting mate-
rials. The best-quality pounc-
ing wheels have needle-sharp,
hardened teeth and swivel
handles, which ease the trac-
ing of curving lines.
SQUARING (GRATICOLARE):
Graphite rubbing and pounc-
ing produce transferred images that
are identical in size to the original
drawing. But many transfers involve a
change in scale as well: typically, pre-
liminary drawings and sketches are
enlarged or “scaled-up” for canvas or
wall painting. Renaissance fresco
artists used the technique called grati-
colare (squaring) to perform this task.
The basic principle of squaring is
familiar to anyone who’s read a map or
created a floor plan on a sheet of grid
paper. Horizontal and vertical lines,
forming a grid of squares, are drawn on
the preliminary sketch or cartoon. This
grid is visible, faintly, on Raphael’s car-
toon for the School of Athens. In this
case the graticolare was used to transfer
drawings of the individual figures from
smaller studies onto the large group
composition. But the same process
could be used to transfer the studies
onto the final painting support,
whether wall or canvas.
Another grid of squares, sized to the
desired dimensions, is drawn on the
support. For example, doubling the dis-
tance between the lines of the grid will
double the height and width of the
image when it is transferred onto the
canvas. The transfer is made by copying
the drawing by hand onto the painting
support, using as references the points
where the main lines of the drawing
cross the grid lines. A tighter grid, with
more closely spaced horizontal and ver-
tical lines, will enable the artist to make
a more accurate copy than a grid with
lines spaced widely apart. Like pounc-
ing, squaring results in a permanent
alteration of the drawing—that is, if the
grid is drawn directly on the paper. As
an alternative, the grid can be drawn on
tracing paper or clear acetate and then
positioned over the drawing to avoid
marking the paper.
Unlike pouncing, squaring sur-
vived the transition from fresco to
easel painting. Edgar Degas’ black-
chalk study for Miss Lala at the Cirque
Fernando, Paris clearly shows the
squaring lines the artist used to trans-
fer the image to his canvas.
Although squaring is normally used
to enlarge transfers, there’s no reason
why it can’t be used to scale down
drawings or to transfer drawings with-
out changing their size. Indeed, squar-
ing is probably the most versatile and
widely used of all techniques for trans-
ferring drawings onto canvas. It
requires only a pencil and a ruler,
which are inexpensive, portable, and
easily stored. Its disadvantage is that it
is labor intensive and time-consuming,
but given the fact that the artist has
already spent hours making the draw-
ing and is planning to devote many
hours more to the painting, the addi-
tional time—usually no more than an
hour or two—spent on squaring and
copying is negligible.
Squaring a drawing may in some
The Artograph MC 250 Professional Projector
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 123
cases save time in the long run:
Placing a grid over the drawing can
make distortions in figural propor-
tions more apparent, allowing the
artist to correct mistakes early and eas-
ily, in the copying stage, rather than in
the difficult later stages of painting.
MODERN
TRANSFER TOOLS
PROJECTORS: Latter-day replace-
ments for traditional transfer tech-
niques come in a variety of shapes and
sizes, but they share a common tech-
nological principle: the projection of an
optical image of the source (drawing,
photograph, or in some cases a three-
dimensional subject) onto a plane sur-
face. Optical projection requires, at a
minimum, a strong light source and a
lens to focus the image, and in fact
most projection systems today feature
a lot more bells and whistles. The basic
principle of optical projection has been
known for centuries, however, and was
used as early as the Renaissance in
such devices as the camera lucida and
camera obscura.
The artist David Hockney believes
that these early predecessors of the
modern film camera were used exten-
sively by masters such as the Van Eyck
brothers and Vermeer to achieve stun-
ningly realistic effects. The camera luci-
da and camera obscura could, theoreti-
cally, be employed to transfer the image
of a drawing onto panel or canvas; but
that would defeat their purpose, which
was to bypass the stage of preliminary
drawing altogether by enabling the
artist to fix an image of the “real world”
directly onto the painting support.
Today, an ordinary 35-mm slide pro-
jector can become a basic transfer
device for the artist. Its use presuppos-
es, of course, that one owns or has
access to a 35-mm film camera and
can take good-quality transparencies
of one’s drawings. There is also the
issue of possible distortion of the
image caused by the camera lens, the
projector’s lens, and the angle at
which the image is projected onto the
painting support. Only practice in
photography and in the use of the pro-
jector can adequately address these
potential problems.
An alternative tool would be an
opaque projector, which displays source
material—commonly photographic
prints but also drawings—directly,
eliminating the need to create an inter-
mediate transparency. Opaque projec-
tors are of two types: stand-mounted,
which project images downward onto a
horizontal surface; and tabletop mod-
els, which project onto vertical surfaces
such as walls or easel-mounted canvas-
es. (Some models can project both hori-
zontally and vertically.)
Opaque projectors are very popular
among artists who work from photo-
graphs, and most models have copy-
ing areas of 6" x 6" that easily accom-
modate standard-size prints. Some
more expensive projectors have copy
areas as large as 8
1
⁄2" x 11". Therein
lies a problem for the artist who
wants to transfer a drawing larger
than that. One solution would be to
shoot photographic prints of the
drawing. Another would be to make a
reduced-size copy of the drawing,
using either a commercial photocopi-
er (found at most office-supply stores)
or a flatbed scanner attached to a
home computer and printer.
COMPUTERS, SCANNERS, AND
DIGITAL CAMERAS: For the purpos-
es of this article, I borrowed an
Artograph MC 250 Professional
Projector from my local Dick Blick art-
supply store. This is a top-of-the-line
tabletop model featuring a precision-
ground color-corrected lens system
and 300-watt halogen lamp that proj-
ects startlingly sharp enlargements up
to 15 times the original size. The MC
250 has a 6"-x- 6" copying area, so I
made reduced-size scans of my draw-
ings on my computer. Alternatively, I
could have downloaded images of the
drawings from a digital camera for
printing from the computer.
Using the projector, I was able to
easily transfer several basic outline
drawings to canvases in a matter of
minutes. The projected images were
very clear and detailed—more than
adequate for my needs. In fact, were I
to consider buying a projector, I would
probably choose a less expensive
model, such as the general-purpose
Artograph Prism Projector, which is
suitable for transferring high-
contrast line art, patterns, and designs.
Projectors, coupled with comput-
ers, scanners, and digital cameras, can
certainly bring speed and convenience
to the process of transferring drawings
to a painting surface. They make it
possible to preserve original designs
intact, without marring by graphite
smudges, pouncing holes, or squaring
lines. But these modern conveniences
also add substantial financial costs and
a lot of cumbersome, complicated
equipment that eventually must be
serviced or replaced.
Ultimately, one’s choice of transfer
techniques and tools may reflect his or
her overall approach to art making.
How important is speed to you, and is
it worth the investment to make the
“chore” of image-transfer go more
quickly and easily? If past masters had
available to them the range of tools
available today, no doubt many of them
would unhesitatingly have adopted the
latest methods. Others, like the cur-
mudgeonly Degas, would have stuck
with the old ways. “Speed,” he once
quipped. “What nonsense! Nothing
was ever accomplished without the
patient collaboration of time.” ❖
If past masters had available to them the range of tools available today, no doubt
many of them would unhesi tatingly have adopted the latest methods.
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124 THE BEST OF DRAWING
A
rtists who wish to improve
their drawing skills would do
well to consider the crucial role
that memory plays in even the most
straightforward drawing from life. As
Kimon Nicolaïdes wrote in his classic
book The Natural Way to Draw, “With
the exception of the [blind] contour
study, there is no drawing that is not a
memory drawing because, no matter
how slight the interval is from the time
you look at the model until you look at
your drawing or painting, you are
memorizing what you have just seen.”
Various exercises for cultivating the
visual memory have been practiced at
least since the time of the Renaissance,
and, no doubt some form of memory
training was used by artists long
before that. For example, Leonardo da
Vinci recommended that artists,
before going to sleep at night, review
in their imagination the outlines of
forms they had studied during the day.
Similarly, in the 18th century, Sir
Joshua Reynolds told his students to
redraw from memory figures that they
had previously drawn in the life class.
Continual practice in this exercise, he
said, would soon enable the student to
draw “tolerably correct” human fig-
ures “with as little effort of the mind
as is required to trace with a pen the
letters of the alphabet.”
Probably the most comprehensive
approach to memory training for
artists was devised in the 1840s by a
wonderfully gifted teacher with the
unwieldy name of Horace Lecoq de
Boisbaudran. While a professor at the
School of Decorative Arts, in Paris,
Lecoq conducted some experiments
involving a group of enthusiastic 12- to
15-year-old students in his drawing
class. He wanted to find out whether
his pupils’ varying natural abilities to
recall visual forms could be improved
through a series of logically graduated
tasks of increasing complexity.
Lecoq began by asking his students
to memorize straight lines of different
lengths, then angles of different
degrees, followed by curves varying in
difficulty. He moved on quickly from
these abstract shapes to “one of the
simplest details of the human face, a
nose drawn in profile,” as he wrote in
The Training of the Memory in Art, pub-
lished in 1847. He pointed out some
salient characteristics of the form and
lectured on the nose’s anatomical con-
struction, then allowed the pupils to
study the image for a few days before
asking them to draw it from memory.
Lecoq took care not to require his
students to use a particular method in
committing the image to memory. He
wanted them “to have free scope for
their own natural and individual ways
of working.” Some simply looked at
the nose very attentively, others drew
repeated copies until they could
remember the nose’s modeling, pro-
portions, outline, and details exactly.
Lecoq was surprised at how rapidly the
young artists progressed. After three
months, they could draw an entire
head accurately from memory, even
down to details of the hair. The later
stages of the experiment involved the
memorization of engravings of classi-
The systematic methods of a brilliant 19th-century teacher can
help artists of all ages discover and develop their inner eye.
by Joseph C. Skrapits
The Tradition of
Drawing from Memory
DRAW SIP 09 Memory:AA feature 9/18/09 5:01 PM Page 124
Dancers at the Barre
by Edgar Degas, ca. 1900, oil,
51
1
⁄4 x 38
1
⁄4. The Phillips Collection,
Washington, DC. Although Degas
used models throughout his career,
his eyesight was sufficiently weak
at the time of this painting to make
it, most likely, a work from
memory. The somewhat awkward
placement of the figures in relation
to each other also implies the work
was done from memory.
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126 THE BEST OF DRAWING
cal sculpture, Old Master paintings
and drawings, and finally, the copying
of three-dimensional casts and original
sculptures and paintings in the Louvre.
Lecoq insisted on accuracy; only
when the memory drawings at each
stage were flawless could the students
move on to the next level. One pupil
recalled having to make a copy of an
engraving from memory five times
before the teacher was satisfied. The
exercises led eventually to the making of
memory drawings from a live nude
model, which Lecoq considered a neces-
sary, but dangerous, phase. In many
ways a traditionalist in his teaching prac-
tice, he believed that too-accurate copy-
ing of the imperfections of the human
body would fill his students’ memories
with ugly forms and spoil their taste for
the ideal. He therefore asked them to
make idealized, rather than exact, mem-
ory drawings of the figure, after having
first drawn it accurately from life.
All this preliminary training pre-
pared Lecoq’s students for what he
called the “true artistic application of
memory,” the accurate recall and
reproduction of figures in motion and
transient natural effects. He took his
students to a secluded outdoor loca-
tion—“a beautiful spot, a sort of natu-
ral park”—where hired models, both
clothed and unclothed, walked, ran,
sat, or stood about in full sunlight or
deep shadow. Lecoq allowed his stu-
dents “entire liberty to choose the
impression that had most vividly
struck them,” then had them repro-
duce the remembered images as exact-
ly as possible. The exercise, he said,
“made them really understand the pur-
pose of this unusual training, for with-
out it all their fine impressions would
have faded away rapidly like dreams.”
Lecoq never intended that his mem-
ory-drawing exercises should replace
traditional methods of instruction. They
were a supplement, not a substitute,
and Lecoq recommended that students
not undertake his memory training
until they could draw reasonably well
from casts and engravings. The purpose
of memory drawing was to force artists
to use their own eyes and develop their
powers of observation. Lecoq was reluc-
tant to prescribe any hints or tips to
facilitate memorization, because he sus-
pected that such tricks would be applied
mechanically by teachers who did not
take into consideration their students’
individual aptitudes and intellects.
Nevertheless, in an appendix to the sec-
ond edition of his book, published in
1862, Lecoq offered some general ideas
to guide artists in their memory work.
In observing any subject, he noted,
there are five principal points to keep
in mind: dimensions, position, form,
modeling, and color.
Dancer Putting on Her Shoe
by Edgar Degas, ca. 1892–1895,
etching, 9
3
⁄4 x 6
5
⁄8. Collection The Art
Institute of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois.
Degas relied on his memory when
composing his work.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 127
■
To determine dimensions, choose
some part of the subject (in a figure,
the head, for example) as a unit of
measure, and use it to compare the
proportions of different parts to the
whole.
■
To fix position, establish “land-
marks”—prominent points of the sub-
ject—and imagine horizontal and verti-
cal lines passing through them. The
points and the intersections of the lines
form a simplified grid that can be easi-
ly remembered and referred to when
drawing the subject from memory.
■
In observing forms, imagine them
enclosed within simple geometric
shapes—circles, squares, and trian-
gles—and then decide how far the
observed form deviates from the imag-
inary shape superimposed upon it.
■
Modeling, or three-dimensionality, is
best remembered by noting the pat-
tern of light and shade on the subject.
Pick one part of the subject, either the
darkest or the lightest, to use as the
unit of comparison to measure the
relative values of all the other parts.
■
Color observation requires judgment
of both value and intensity of tones.
In an advanced course of training,
after they had mastered memory
drawing in black and white, Lecoq’s
students memorized a series of pure
color tints, which they then could
use as fixed points of comparison to
judge the intensity of colors
observed in the subject.
These general methods are especially
important in the early stages of memory
training, but with practice, such con-
scious guidelines become gradually less
necessary, according to Lecoq. “For then
the proportions, points, shapes, model-
ing, and color are calculated by what I
may call the inner eye of the memory,
without recourse to previous calcula-
tions and reasoning, much as they are
judged by the eye in ordinary vision.”
Finally, Lecoq recommended one
overwhelmingly successful method of
committing any object to memory: the
“formula,” he called it, despite his
own distrust of formulas. With the
object in view, he said, trace its outline
or major forms in the air with the tip
of your finger or a pencil. Then look
away from the object, close your eyes,
and draw it again in the air. Repeat the
process rapidly, as often as it takes to
fix the object clearly in your mind.
LECOQ NOTICED that his students
applied the formula in different ways,
depending on their abilities to grasp
essential qualities of structure, mass,
Nocturne: Blue and Gold—
Old Battersea Bridge
by James McNeill Whistler, 1872–1877, oil, 26
7
⁄8 x
20
1
⁄8. Collection Tate Britain, London, England.
During the period when Whistler painted his
Nocturnes, the artist, who studied under Lecoq,
prided himself on the ability to turn his back on a
scene and describe it accurately from memory.
Because of problems with lighting and logistics,
Whistler painted many of this series from memory.
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128 THE BEST OF DRAWING
I know of only one recent instance of
Lecoq’s methods being handed down
from a teacher to his students. In the
1960s, Siegfried Hahn emigrated from
France to Albuquerque, New Mexico,
where he opened a school with Howard
Wexler. Hahn was one of the early advo-
cates of painting with Jacques Maroger’s
medium; he also brought a copy of
Lecoq’s book, which he used to develop
a method of drawing instruction founded
on the principle of logical progression
from simple to complex forms.
“Siegfried always told us to train our
memories when we were young, because
it’s easier then,” says one of his stu-
dents, Carol Allison. Allison has incorpo-
rated Hahn’s methods in the teaching of
her own students, who are mostly chil-
dren, but include some adults. Like
Lecoq, she finds it fascinating to watch
her pupils catch on to the power of mem-
ory training. “Many times, students come
to a point where they think a drawing is
finished, but when you push them a little,
it’s amazing how much more they can
remember about an object or a complex
subject like a still life.” In her own work,
Allison often paints landscapes from
memory in her studio, after making stud-
ies first, with color notes outdoors.
Allison and Joan Irey, her teaching part-
ner at the New Mexico Art League, locat-
ed the long-out-of-print English translation
of Lecoq’s The Training of the Memory in
Art, which Allison calls her “bible.”
Modern Applications of Lecoq’s Methods
Carol Allison and Joan Irey
use Lecoq’s methods when
teaching their art classes. Students
start by memorizing straight lines
and boxes. This may seem to
exaggerate the point, but Allison
says to draw them with utmost
accuracy is extremely challenging.
The students then advance to
curves, then basic forms,
and on to simple still lifes.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 129
Irey, far left, and Allison,
bottom right, let students
take a drawing as far as
they can, then they ask
them to execute the
drawing again from
memory. Students often
render the second drawing
with more detail and
accuracy than the first.
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130 THE BEST OF DRAWING
and light. “The abler ones may begin
with the big lines of the mass, that is,
the simplified impression of the whole
effect, before attending to details. The
weaker ones, being unable to grasp
the whole subject at once, will have to
make imaginary drawings of one part
only over and over again, and stroke
by stroke, in order that the impression
may be, so to speak, incrusted on their
mind.”
Repetition and rehearsal, either by
actually copying the image on paper or
by making imaginary drawings in the
air, were evidently key components of
Lecoq’s method, which was geared to
turning the visual memory into a preci-
sion instrument. Surviving works by
his students show that they learned to
record and retain vivid impressions of
complex objects and scenes with near-
photographic detail. Such training paid
off handsomely for some of Lecoq’s
pupils, who included the sculptor
Auguste Rodin and the painter James
McNeill Whistler. Their art forms were
based on their ability to understand and
remember transient effects: the human
body in motion, in Rodin’s sculpture;
subtle atmospheric moods, often noc-
turnal, in Whistler’s paintings.
In his later years, Rodin often had
models moving around him in his stu-
dio while he drew them, a practice
reminiscent of Lecoq’s exercises with
moving models in the open air.
Rodin’s drawings and watercolors of
dancers are made with confident,
sweeping contours that are accurate,
not because they were painstakingly
rendered from life, but because they
are so well observed and remembered
that Rodin could draw them with his
eyes closed—which he sometimes did.
Whistler developed an interesting
idiosyncratic variation on Lecoq’s
memory techniques; he depended on
verbal, rather than visual, cues to help
him visualize a scene. Happening
upon a subject he wished to remem-
ber, he observed it intently for a few
minutes, then turned his back and
described its essential points out loud,
as if reciting a poem. Lecoq would
have heartily approved of Whistler’s
adaptation. His greatest desire was to
The Tuileries Gardens
by Édouard Manet, ca. 1862, graphite and ink wash, 7
1
⁄4 x 8
1
⁄2. Private collection. Manet
made numerous sketches of his friends and Paris celebrities, along with sketches of
people in the park, to use as studies for his 1862 painting Music in the Tuileries Gardens.
The complexity of the subject matter ensures that Manet worked from memory.
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 131
empower his students to discover their
own inventiveness, to unlock the pow-
ers of their own imagination. As
another of Lecoq’s pupils, Henri
Fantin-Latour, said in honoring his
teacher, “Cultivating the memory, as he
especially recommends, means noth-
ing less than cultivating more intense-
ly the personality of each one of us.”
LECOQ’S I NFLUENCE, direct and
indirect, was greatest among the gen-
eration of artists who came of age in
the middle to last part of the 19th cen-
tury. The Impressionists’ interest in
painting figures in the open air may
have been stimulated by Lecoq’s exer-
cises using models posed outdoors in
the early 1860s. Édouard Manet’s
famous Déjeuner sur l’herbe, a studio
painting of an outdoor subject that
combines elements of direct observa-
tion and references to the grand tradi-
tion, is very much in the spirit of
Lecoq’s teaching, though Lecoq proba-
bly would have objected to the inclu-
sion of so much observed “ugliness.”
Manet would have known of Lecoq’s
methods through his friendship with
Fantin-Latour, as would another mem-
ber of their circle, Edgar Degas, who
shared Lecoq’s belief in the importance
of cultivating the memory. Alone
among the Impressionists, Degas
scoffed at the idea of painting directly
from nature. Though he did make life
studies of his beloved dancers, laun-
dresses, and horseracing scenes, Degas
relied on his memory when compos-
ing his finished oils and pastels, draw-
ing and redrawing the lines of his fig-
ures until they satisfied the demands
of his inner eye.
The connection between memory
and the creative imagination, so abun-
dantly demonstrated in Degas’ achieve-
ments, is a theme that Lecoq empha-
sizes again and again in his book.
Lecoq’s vision was holistic. His insis-
tence that students in his class initially
produce exact copies of memorized
models was but one step in a long
process, the ultimate goal of which
was—paradoxically—to free the artist’s
imagination from the grip of literalness.
“In the execution of such drawings
and paintings in our heads,” he wrote,
referring to the formula of tracing in the
air with a finger, with eyes closed, “our
ideas and feelings are unhampered by
material difficulties and have free play
to follow their natural inclination. They
need not be slavishly bound by the exact
appearance of things, which they may
modify at pleasure by selection, by
abstraction, by adding to them or taking
away from them, by emphasis or embel-
lishment, in short, by grafting, as it
were, the ideal upon the real.
“Is not that truly an act of assimila-
tion, whereby an artist, once he has
made nature his own, is able, so to
speak, to infuse her with his own per-
sonal sentiment?
“Thus the procedure that I advocate
must be admitted to exercise and
cultivate simultaneously artistic memo-
ry, artistic intelligence, and artistic feel-
ing. It is equally well adapted for
advanced as for elementary study.
Besides tending to develop the memory
and the higher faculties, it will lead to
the early formation of the excellent
habit, only too rare, of devoting a few
moments of head work to considering
the model, before the hand work is
allowed to begin.”
LECOQ’S BOOK was translated into
English in 1911, and his methods had
some impact on art education in Great
Britain and the United States during
the early 20th century. But artists’
increasingly widespread use of
mechanical memory—that is, photo-
graphic reference material—made the
arduous training of the visual memory
seem like a waste of time. Why go to
the trouble of committing a complex
subject to memory when you can sim-
ply take a picture of it? Lecoq’s elegant
system fell into disuse in the schools,
and today, is all but unknown except
among scholars of 19th-century art
and a handful of perceptive teachers.
That’s unfortunate, because there
are real advantages to cultivating the
visual memory, and serious disadvan-
tages to an overreliance on photo-
graphic material. As he demonstrated,
Lecoq’s methods, when practiced con-
scientiously over a long period of time,
can be a way of growing those “higher
faculties” of art: not only memory, but
imagination, intelligence, and feeling.
Relying on photographs may be a
shortcut, but ultimately, it’s a shortcut
to nowhere. Not only are the “higher
faculties” not stimulated, they might
actually atrophy in the long run.
I N CONTEMPORARY society, awash
with generic mechanical memories—
photographic and electronic imagery—
there is less occasion than ever to
exercise and develop our natural pow-
ers of visual recall. As we witness a
growing epidemic of memory loss
among the aging in our general popu-
lation, is there a connection? Studies
have shown that memory training can
benefit patients in the early stages of
Alzheimer’s. It couldn’t hurt those of
us who don’t have an organic brain
disease, but want to improve our
drawing skills—or maybe just remem-
ber where we put the car keys. As with
physical fitness, the lesson for memo-
ry fitness is simple: Use it or lose it.
There is, potentially, a lot to lose.
Horace Lecoq de Boisbaudran under-
stood that the ability to remember is
not merely a mechanical aptitude, a
parlor trick; it is the key feature of our
individuality, as artists and human
beings. Without our memories, we lit-
erally don’t know who we are. ❖
As another of Lecoq’s pupils, Henri Fantin-Latour, said in honoring his teacher,
“Cultivating the memory, as he especially recommends, means nothing less
than cultivating more intensely the personality of each one of us.”
DRAW SIP 09 Memory:AA feature 9/18/09 7:55 AM Page 131
Madonna Breastfeeding
the Christ
by Michelangelo, ca. 1525, red
and black chalk, 21
1
⁄3 x 15
3
⁄5,
Collection Casa Buonarroti,
Florence, Italy. Photo courtesy
© Alinari/Art Resource, New
York, New York.
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 12:56 PM Page 132
THE BEST OF DRAWING 133
“MY DRAWI NGS ARE ONLY MY WAY OF TESTI NG MYSELF,” wrote French
sculptor Auguste Rodin. “My object [in drawing] is to test to what extent my
hands already feel what my eyes see.” Rodin’s linking of visual perception to
tactile, emotional expression establishes the vital, but often overlooked, role
of drawing in the art of sculpture. Rodin is one among many master sculp-
tors—from Michelangelo in the 16th century to Henry Moore in the 20th—
who have also been superb, prolific draftsmen. They drew to understand and
explore anatomy, mass, and movement, and to try out possible compositional
solutions before translating their ideas, irreversibly, into marble or bronze.
For many sculptors, drawing is thus both a preliminary and a necessary
accompaniment to the realization of their three-dimensional conceptions.
A comparison of drawings by Michelangelo, Rodin, and
Henry Moore shows that while the means may have changed,
the aim of sculptors in making drawings has remained
remarkably consistent over five centuries. by Joseph C. Skrapits
Capturing
the Muse
Drawings
by Sculptors
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 12:56 PM Page 133
134 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Michelangelo
The rarity of Michelangelo’s talents as sculptor, painter, and
architect tends to ob scure the fact that he was, in some
respects, a typical product of the Renaissance studio system,
which valued skillful drawing as indispen sable to serious
accomplishment in any of the visual arts. The 15th-century
sculptor Donatello demonstrated this attitude when he told
his students, “The art of sculpture could be sum med up in
one word: Draw.”
Michelangelo learned to draw as an apprentice to the
painter Domenico Ghirlandaio, who used an elaborate tech-
nique of crosshatching in pen-and-ink over preliminary
drawings in graphite or chalk to build up a rich range of val-
ues and a convincing illusion of volumes in space. Among
Michelangelo’s earliest surviving drawings are copies of
robed figures from the frescoes of Giotto and Masaccio, also
know as Three Figures From a Group of Spectators, in which
the young sculptor-to-be transformed the flat patterns of
wall paintings into startling convex forms that appear to
bulge outward from the paper. He produced this effect by
carefully emphasizing the play of light on the folds of heavy
drapery, moving the viewer’s eye from highlight to midtone
to deep shadow in regular intervals, as would happen when
viewing a sharply lit figure in the round.
In black-chalk studies of a fragment of ancient sculpture
made later in his career, Michelangelo continued to refine
the crosshatching technique, employing subtler internal
modeling. His restatement of contour lines and his treat-
ment of the body as a fluid “machine” of interlinked
spheres, cylinders, and cones give these drawings a shim-
mering, abstract dynamism not seen again in European art
until the late 19th century, in the drawings of Paul Cézanne.
Michelangelo produced drawings for every stage in the
creation of his sculptures, using a range of styles that var-
ied with the functional requirements of the process. He
began with quick summary sketches that helped him visu-
alize his thoughts about possible treatments of the subject.
Once he’d more or less settled on a pose, he concerned
himself with how his sculpture would look from different
vantage points. Relying on his imagination, Michelangelo
could picture the front, back, and sides of his figures with-
out having to look at a model. Only when he was almost
ready to carve would he make life studies, and these were,
most often, not drawings of the entire body but of details,
such as the views of an arm, hand, and upper body in Study
for the Figure of Adam.
Priceless treasures today, these painstaking renderings
of the architecture of human beauty were treated roughly
by their creator. They were working drawings, and since
paper was expensive and Michelangelo exceedingly frugal,
he had no qualms about drawing over them for other proj-
ects, or tearing a large sheet with a gorgeous drawing on it
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THE BEST OF DRAWING 135
Study for the Figure
of Adam
by Michelangelo, 1511, red
chalk, 47
1
⁄5 x 10. Collection
Teylers Museum, Haarlem,
The Netherlands.
OPPOSITE PAGE, LEFT
Study of an Antique
Venus
by Michelangelo, black chalk,
10 x 7
1
⁄10. Collection the
British Museum, London,
England.
OPPOSITE PAGE, RIGHT
Three Figures From a
Group of Spectators
by Michelangelo, pen-and-ink,
11
1
⁄2 x 4
7
⁄8.
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136 THE BEST OF DRAWING
[Michelangelo’s] works but of figures ...
imagined and elaborated in order to
understand his technique.” Later Rodin
would hire a model and pose him in the
remembered gestures of Michelangelo’s
statues, which he would then use to
make rapid outline drawings.
Rodin’s habit of drawing from
memory, at a remove from his object
of study, was formed during his early
years as a pupil of the artist Horace
Lecoq de Boisbaudran, who had devel-
oped a course of studies for educating
the visual memory. The aim was the
preservation of direct observations,
proceeding from simple shapes to
complex three-dimensional objects
and whole scenes. Late in his life,
Rodin claimed to be still using Lecoq’s
methods, which he found particularly
effective in capturing the transitory
gestures of figures in motion.
As Michelangelo obsessively stud-
ied the rippling musculature of bodies
straining in heroic effort, so Rodin
intensely observed movement. “The
human body can be compared to a
striding temple, and like a temple, it
has a center of gravity around which
the volumes are distributed and
ordered,” he wrote. “Once you have
realized this, you know everything. It
is simple, but you have to see it.”
Although Rodin could model small
clay figures with amazing facility and
speed, drawing offered him an even
quicker means to comprehend movement. He made almost
no preparatory drawings for specific pieces of sculpture,
though he often drew his figures after they had been cast.
Instead, drawing served him in this more general way: To test
the coordination between his eye and his hand, and to improve
his chances of seizing and retaining not just the physical
appearance but also the emotional essence of a gesture.
In the 1880s, the artist developed a style of pure contour
drawing that dispensed entirely with internal modeling and
the illusion of depth. In making these later contour drawings,
Rodin had his models move around him in the studio as he
worked. He drew without taking his eyes off the model,
because he believed that the success of the drawing depended
on a con tinuous flow of feeling from his eye to his hand. “The
moment I drop my eyes, that flow stops,” he said.
The blend of precision and expressiveness in such con-
tour drawings as Reclining Female Nude, One Foot Propped on
into pieces in order to give one of his students something
on which to practice. Fearing that rivals might steal his
ideas, Michelangelo himself des troyed many of his own
drawings. The artist’s rare and exquisite, highly finished
drawings in red or black chalk, such as his famous Portrait
of Andrea Quaratesi, required weeks if not months of labor
and were usually made as presents to friends and patrons.
auguste rodin
Rodin’s encounter with Michelangelo’s work in Italy in the
spring of 1875 has rightly been called one of the seminal
events in modern art. But among the more than 7,000
drawings that Rodin produced, only a very few show that he
made direct copies of Michelangelo’s sculptures. Rather, he
would visit churches and museums during the day and
make multiple sketches in his room at night. Rodin
explained to his wife that his sketches were “not of his
Portrait of Andrew Quaratesi
by Michelangelo, ca. 1532, black chalk, 16
1
⁄5 x 11
1
⁄2.
Collection British Museum, London, England.
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 12:57 PM Page 136
THE BEST OF DRAWING 137
ABOVE
Study After Night by Michelangelo
by Auguste Rodin, ca. 1877, charcoal, 19
1
⁄8 x 24
5
⁄8.
Collection Musée Rodin, Paris, France.
BELOW
Study After Day by Michelangelo
by Auguste Rodin, ca. 1877, charcoal, 19
1
⁄8 x 24
5
⁄8.
Collection Musée Rodin, Paris, France.
ABOVE
Tomb of Giuliano Dé Medici
by Michelangelo, 1526–1531, marble,
248 x 165
2
⁄5. Collection New Sacristy,
San Lorenzo, Florence, Italy. On this
tomb sit the figures Night (left) and Day
(right).
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 5:31 PM Page 137
138 THE BEST OF DRAWING
Her Thigh depended as well on Rodin’s practice of keeping
his arm still while allowing his wrist to move freely. The sta-
bility of the arm delimited the scale and proportion of the fig-
ure—confining it to an area within the borders of the
paper—while the freedom of the wrist allowed him to search
for the truth of what he called the “great line,” which could
describe both volume and movement in a rapid, varying, but
unbroken mark of his pencil. Rodin sometimes later added a
wash of watercolor to the graphite outlines of his drawings,
which strengthened the sense of massiveness of the forms
and also enabled him to make minor corrections of the con-
tours, as he did with Cambodian Dancer en Face.
Formal perfection in drawing was not Rodin’s aim. “It is
a false idea that drawing itself can be beautiful,” stated the
sculptor. “It is only beautiful through the truths and the
feelings that it translates.”
Henry Moore
Henry Moore belonged to a generation of modernist sculp-
tors who seemed to reject the Renaissance tradition and the
vigorous naturalism of Rodin. Moore eventually looked to the
art forms of non-Western cultures and the dream imagery of
the collective unconscious for inspiration. Yet his many early
drawings from life prove that he began his career with a
sound grasp of traditional methods and a very personal, fun-
damentally sculptural way of thinking about the figure. In
these early drawings Moore discovered the theme that would
preoccupy him for much of his career as a sculptor: a vision
of the body as a heavy object; an expression, not of internal
dynamism, but of the force of gravity acting upon it.
Life studies such as Standing Figure have a palpable
weight that grows from the artist’s use of pen-and-ink to
develop thick outlines and a dense network of shadows.
Pen over chalk or graphite was the combination of materi-
als used by Michelangelo to make his early studies of fresco
paintings. Moore has used a hatching technique with the
pen that is reminiscent of Michelangelo’s crosshatching,
though Moore’s seems sketchy and random rather than
orderly and deliberate. Moore’s figure exudes the feeling of
having been desperately scratched or carved into existence
out of some hard, resistant material.
Around 1930, Moore began to experiment with the
Surrealist practice of “automatic” drawing, through which
he generated hundreds of ideas for sculptures by initially
letting go of conscious control. He explained, “I sometimes
begin a drawing with no preconceived problem to solve,
with only the desire to use pencil and paper, and make lines,
tones, and shapes with no conscious aim. But as my mind
takes in what is so produced, a point arrives where some
idea becomes conscious and crystallized, and then a control
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 12:57 PM Page 138
THE BEST OF DRAWING 139
and ordering begin to take place.”
Once an idea had crystallized,
Moore used complex combinations
of media—chalk, ink, gouache, and
wax crayons—to give a sense of bod-
ily substance to the creatures of his
imagination. Drawings such as Ideas
for Sculpture in Metal and Wire are,
in effect, highly realistic renderings
of abstract forms that might poten-
tially be carved or cast. Moore trans-
lated only a small fraction of these
ideas into wood, stone, or metal; his
method of drawing produced far
more ideas than he could ever carry
out. Moore’s well of inspiration was
virtually inexhaustible.
During World War II, Moore’s
drawing gained him his first wide
recognition outside the small circle
of enthusiasts for avant-garde sculp-
ture. Commissioned as a war artist,
he documented the condition of
Londoners who took refuge from
German bombing in the “tubes” of
OPPOSITE PAGE, LEFT
Reclining Female Nude, One Foot
Propped on Her Thigh
by Auguste Rodin, ca. 1900, graphite,
12
1
⁄8 x 7
7
⁄8. Collection Musée Rodin, Paris, France.
OPPOSITE PAGE, RIGHT
Cambodian Dancer en Face
by Auguste Rodin, ca. 1906, graphite and
watercolor, 12
5
⁄8 x 9
3
⁄4. Collection Musée Rodin,
Paris, France.
RIGHT
Standing Figure
by Henry Moore, 1923, pen-and-ink, and ink
wash, 16 x 8
1
⁄4. Private collection.
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 12:58 PM Page 139
140 THE BEST OF DRAWING
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 12:58 PM Page 140
the Underground. Today, Moore’s
Shelter Drawings are considered
among his greatest achievements.
Although stylistically related to his
drawings for abstract sculpture, they
have a timeless humanity that recon-
nects Moore’s art to Renaissance tradi-
tions. Pink and Green Sleepers has a
powerful simplicity and monumentality
worthy of Giotto.
Shortly after he completed the
Shelter Drawings, Moore received a
commission to carve a Madonna and
Child for a church in North ampton,
England. Michelangelo had received a
similar commission for a church in
Bruges, Belgium, in 1504. Comparing
Moore’s study drawing for his commis-
sion with one by Michelangelo shows
the extent to which drawings by sculp-
tors have changed over five centuries—
and the degree to which they have
remained, in essential ways, unchanged.
In Michelangelo’s chalk drawing,
the mother and child are depicted with
an astonishing economy of line. In
Moore’s Seated Studies of Mother and
Child, he has shown a movement of
the child toward the mother for nour-
ishment and protection, but his draw-
ings are much more heavily worked.
Using a combination of chalk,
graphite, watercolor, and pen-and-ink,
Moore works each drawing, searching
for the right composition for his piece.
Michelangelo’s drawing encapsu-
lates the lucidity and confidence of the
Renaissance, Moore’s the woe and fore-
boding of a world at war. Yet the germ
of the sculptural idea in both drawings
is identical: A large shape encloses and
shelters a small one. Whether the idea
is carried out in marble or wood, cast
bronze or welded steel, whether it is
modeled or carved, made rough or
smooth, grand or sweet, realistic or
abstract, these issues, which bring trou-
ble and joy and ultimately success or
failure to the sculptor, are determined
by individual talent, historical con-
ditions, and the dictates of
fashion. But the process of
germination transcends
individuals and historical
trends; and it begins, very
often, with a drawing. ❖
ABOVE
Seated Studies of
Mother and Child
by Henry Moore, 1940,
graphite, wax crayon, pen-
and-ink, gouache, and
watercolor, 10
4
⁄5 x 15.
Collection Henry Moore
Foundation, Hertfordshire,
United Kingdom.
LEFT
Madonna and Child
by Henry Moore, 1943,
bronze, height 7
1
⁄6".
Collection Henry Moore
Foundation, Hertfordshire,
United Kingdom.
OPPOSITE PAGE, ABOVE
Ideas for Sculpture in
Metal and Wire
by Henry Moore, 1939,
graphite, chalk, watercolor
wash, and pen-and-ink,
11 x 15. Private collection.
OPPOSITE PAGE, BELOW
Pink and Green Sleepers
by Henry Moore, 1941,
graphite, crayon, watercolor
wash, and pen-and-ink,
15 x 22. Collection Tate
Gallery, London, England.
THE BEST OF DRAWING 141
DRAW SIP 09 Sculpture:AA feature 9/18/09 12:58 PM Page 141
142 THE BEST OF DRAWING
IT HELPS TO DRAW BEFORE YOU START A SCULPTURE.
I find that if I draw first, I become more familiar with the
model’s proportions and body type. It also makes me more
awake visually, and warms me up to that particular model.
I recommend doing sketches of the model from four views:
front, back, left side, and right side. These are contour
drawings that simply show the proportional relationships,
rhythms, and masses of the model.
Quick gesture studies help me find a pose that is inter-
esting. I often have students do gesture drawings of the
same pose from different places in the room to better ana-
lyze the form and be able to visualize it in three dimensions.
Another helpful approach is to draw cross-contour lines
that explore the form at right angles to the direction of the
form. These lines help record the surface topography of the
model and are especially useful on complex areas. A lot of
people ask about using photos, but there are distortions in
photos, and unless the lighting is good they will not be that
useful. They don’t record a lot of the information one can
see and thus depict in a careful drawing. Drawings record
in a more personal way the information needed to create a
sculpture. I also use written notes, such as, “sharp edge” or
“shallow indentation.” I may record actual dimensions if I
plan on doing a life-size piece.
If there’s time, fully shaded drawings with strong side-
lighting will give a good sense of the form. It’s crucial to
carefully render the light and shade seen on the model, then
recreate the same light conditions on the sculpture as you
work. This can be a problem in a classroom because the light
is usually uneven in different parts of the room. If the shad-
ows on your sculpture appear the same as the shadows on
your drawings, then the form should also be fairly accurate.
Drawing for Sculpture
Drawing Logic:
by John Taye
Study for The Awakening
2001, graphite, 36 x 24.
All artwork this article collection the artist.
The Awakening
2001, wood, 76" high.
Study for The Awakening
2001, graphite, 36 x 24.
These two drawings emphasize proportional
relationships and contain measurements that
were used to create a large wood sculpture.
DRAW SIP 09 Taye:AA feature 9/18/09 1:01 PM Page 142
THE BEST OF DRAWING 143
Another helpful step in using drawings to plan a
sculpture is marking where the armature will be. If you
mark where the support will be on a full-size drawing
with red crayon, and also indicate the elbow and knee
joints, it helps when you’re bending the wire in place.
In a nutshell, be more sensitive to what you’re see-
ing, and plan the sculpture as much as you can
before you get into it. The better you draw, the better
you are going to be able to sculpt. I’ve never seen a
good figurative sculptor who wasn’t a good drafts-
man. Many students have told me that sculpture
helped them draw better. The two certainly reinforce
each other, as careful observation is important for
both. I like what the Italian sculptor Lorenzo Ghiberti
said: “Supremacy in sculpture is only attainable by a
superior draftsman.” ❖
LEFT
High Step
1996, bronze, 12" high.
BELOW
Standing Woman
1997, graphite, 15 x 7.
Cross-contour lines are used
here to show planes and
surface topography of the
model.
BOTTOM
Proportion
and Movement
Studies for
High Step
1995, graphite,
12 x 16.
DRAW SIP 09 Taye:AA feature 9/18/09 1:01 PM Page 143
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