
When I work in my art journal, I’m not trying to plan everything ahead of time. I’m responding — to the page, to the materials, and to the feeling I want the face to carry.
This is the way I usually build a face in about 30 minutes. It’s loose, forgiving, and rooted in simple choices rather than rules.
You don’t need to remember all of this at once.
Think of it as a way in, not a checklist.
I almost always start by outlining a face, neck, and dress.
I use:
The important thing is that the line can run.
Once the shapes are there, I take a wet paintbrush and let the line soften and spread. This immediately gives me:
At this stage, I’m not worried about light and dark — I’m just letting the face appear.

From there, I keep working with the same black pencil or ink:
Water does most of the work. Smudging, bleeding, and unevenness are welcome.
This is how the face finds its expression.
I don’t use many colors.
Usually just:
I want color to support the face, not compete with it.
Coffee stain often becomes part of this stage too — it warms the page and ties everything together.

I like pages that already feel lived-in.
I tone with:
Sometimes this happens before I draw.
Sometimes it happens as I go.
The goal isn’t coverage — it’s atmosphere. A toned page removes pressure and helps everything belong.
Almost always, my last step is adding white acrylic paint.
Not everywhere.Just where the face needs to breathe.
This might be:
I blend it with my finger and then stop.
This is often the moment when the face feels present — when it gently comes forward from the page.

I don’t usually decide a focal point in advance.
But I do decide what I want to protect.
Most often, that’s the face.
I let:
If the face feels calm and held, the page is working.
If you want a little direction without pressure, try choosing just one thing next time:
That’s it. One choice.
And even if you don’t — the above approach already works.
There are many ways to build a face.
This is simply mine.
It’s shaped by years of looking at art, working in journals, and trusting that softness often says more than precision.
If you forget the words, trust your hands.They know where to go.
I’m often drawn to the softness and restraint found in classical figurative painting. Artists working centuries ago understood how to let a face feel present without overworking it — using soft edges, limited contrast, and patience.
I don’t follow historical methods step-by-step, and I don’t believe you need formal training to work this way. These ideas simply echo what I’ve learned through years of journaling: that calm, layered work often carries more emotion than precision.
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