These Hands

Often, it seems, people want to avoid drawing hands. Put them behind a leg, or in the grass, or behind a head, or wrapped in fabric - just somewhere, anywhere they don't have to be drawn. Hands are complicated. People have a torso and two legs and two arms and a head. A hand has an arm and a wrist and a palm and four fingers AND a thumb. Not to mention knuckles and fingernails and all those intricate wrinkles and veins and sometimes even fine little hairs.

Like portraits, hands are expressive entities within themselves. How often has a hand carried more gesture and meaning than a face? Second to eyes, they can be used to express so much... if they can be drawn well.



The two drawings above were done for my current figure drawing class. The first was from life, of my own left hand, which was an incredibly awkward way to draw. The second was drawn from a photograph of my hand, and having the photo-reference allowed me to comfortably work over it for a longer time. These were done with charcoal on layout bond, a paper I'm liking more and more the longer I use it.

The big thing is, no matter how much anatomy you go over or how deeply you understand the various tendons and bones of the hand, it's drawn like any other thing. The knowledge of anatomy helps guide your eyes around the various landmarks - we know how the thumb is kind of like a turkey leg, with that big meaty part in the palm, and we know basic arc of the knuckles from one finger to the next. But as the hand twists and turns and moves about, we're forced to sight and measure it like any other object. Thankfully, with all those flat planes and long structures, the hand gives itself over to measurement really rather well.

I took photos as I drew my third project for the week, which was to be two hands interacting. I had some fun getting a reference photo of my right hand clipping a clothespin onto my left, giving them some emotion and expression. Like God granting Adam the touch of life, but OW!!! I worked on 18"x24" layout bond with vine charcoal and soft charcoal pencils.

The first step, as always, is the straight-line block-in. This is the most difficult step of any drawing. This is the foundation. Every angle must be sighted and every length must be measured. I used the length of the clothespin to measure everything else. This was all done in vine, which brushes right off the layout bond like it never existed.


Once the basic vine drawing looks accurate and clearly defines the two hands, I got out my sharpened 6B charcoal pencil and went over the outlines, following some of the more subtle curves and details of the forms. I also blocked in the basic shading, very loosely.


Then I ruined it all with a tissue by smearing everything around.

Actually, this is very important when working with charcoal, as this is where we do two things: cover our mistakes, and build up a midtone. By wiping out all the prior work, we also wipe out the plumb lines and various other lines used to build the sketch, and we give the whole drawing a nice layer of light grey.


Time to outline and shade again! Mostly shading this time around, being a bit more careful and detailed in the shadow areas. These are going to be the deepest shadows, the ones that really bring out the forms.



Then we wipe it out AGAIN. Really?? What??? What did that charcoal ever do to you? Well, I want a good midtone. Midtones so often get overlooked, which causes things to look severely lit and lose a lot of "roundness." So I like a nice medium gray. Now the fun begins.



Dudley is already having a lot of fun, see? =D



With the kneaded erasure sculpted into a thin wedge, the light areas and highlights are picked out. Any area that is not *absolutely* white gets smeared with my finger again to tone it back. What we're doing here is letting our five values gradually build up and blend together without a whole lot of effort on our part. When the lighter tones are in, the forms and details really begin to pop out.


The last stage is the longest and most tedious, especially depending on how much time I have and what kind of mood I'm in. Going back with the soft charcoal pencil, the outlines are carefully reintroduced, the shadows are deepened, and the details are brought to life. The tissue and the erasure come back into play, and there's a lot of finger smearing. It's all just plain diligence and a good bit of luck as to how the charcoal will lay and how the drawing when come together.




About 3-4 hours after the sketch was starting, the drawing is all done. I've been going over the smeary background a bit with a shamois, but there's not too much that can be done about it. For an academic drawing, though, it kind of looks appropriate.


In the end, hands are no more a mystery than anything else; they just demand time and attention. And they're so worth it when they come out right, so expressive and such bearers of humanity. So now and then, it's good to lift them out of the grass, or put them out in front of the clothing. It'll be worth it. =)

Practicing the Masters

When I was in 7th grade I took up the violin, followed by piano in 8th grade. For both instruments I took private lessons, and for both some of the first pieces I played were adaptations of works by Bach, Beethoven or Mozart. Within a year, I was playing full compositions by these Classical master composers. It was expected. It was part of the learning process, to play these great works, even though I was just starting out.

Why is it then, after over fifteen years of working on my drawing skills, have I just now copied a Michelangelo?

It was also one of the most intimidating drawing exercises I have done.

It goes without saying that art education is fairly limited before one heads into art school (and even then it's iffy) but when I realized how long I had gone without even considering the idea of learning from the masters - and how intimidated I was by the thought of it - my jaw dropped. I have, in the past, done some oil copies of a few works, but never really with the intent to *learn*. When you're playing the violin and presented with a little ditty by Mozart, you don't learn it just to have a song to play; you learn it in order to play the violin better. Likewise, anyone with any interest in drawing should copy drawings by the old masters (or new masters, for that matter) not just to make a copy of a beautiful work, but to learn how to draw better.

What did I learn by making the copy of the Michelangelo above? I learned about the subtleties of anatomy that can't be learned by copying from the rigid diagrams of an anatomy book. I learned about the massive twisting gesture of the human torso that requires more "oomph" than it ever appears to. I learned how line can curve and strengthen and weaken and fade in order to describe a shape without outlining it. I learned how value can show depth and texture, the tilt of a head and even expression. And all of that built on the basics of capturing a pose through the usual block-in, measurement and sighting.

I could have been given a photo of a person in the same pose and never learned so much. I have been working from photos forever, and have ended up with very inexpressive lines and shading that is often too light and narrow in value. It's one thing to copy the subject of a photo; it's another to *capture* the subject, as the masters captured theirs. By copying their drawings we learn how they did it, even just a little, to add to our own bag of tricks.

The Michelangelo copy was an assignment in my current figure drawing class, and even though it seemed a bit out of place in the usual process of drawing from photos of live models, I found it immensely educational - as you can tell! It was followed the next week by the Raphael drawing below. By the time I had started the Raphael I had lost the sense of intimidation I had when faced with copying the Michelangelo; I felt like this was something I *should* be doing.

It's something everyone learning to draw should try from time to time, and definitely something that should be introduced in art classes and private lessons. Once again, it's all about breaking down the mystery surrounding art. It isn't magic. It's little different than any other creative skill. All it takes is practical experience and knowing how.