How learning to draw changed my view of beauty and aging
As I’ve entered my 50s, my social media feeds are flooded with celebrity makeup and skincare endorsements. Specifically, products to cover aging skin. When I became allergic to hair dye in my 40s, I eventually decided to grow out my natural gray. It took some getting used to and I did scour the internet for “natural” hair dye options, but in the end, it wasn’t worth it.
There’s nothing wrong with playing with different hairstyles, colors, makeup, or clothing, and having fun with changing up your look. It’s the idea that we need to hide the fact that we’re getting older that rubs me the wrong way. When I see an ad with a beautiful woman caking on thick layers of foundation to “correct” her skin or facial features, it angers me to my core. Because the message I’m receiving is “Don’t let anyone see your natural skin. It’s offensive and you should be ashamed.” We’re being told to literally “cover it up”. Don’t even get me started on plastic surgery.
Telling it like it is
Learning how to draw and paint portraits was a transformative experience in how I see a person and what makes them interesting to look at. I found that the Loomis Method¹ is the best and easiest way to construct the head and face. You always start with the same basic structure. The eyes are halfway between the crown of the head and the bottom of the chin, and the end of the nose is halfway between the eyes and the chin. Ear follows the line from the eyes. Essentially, all the features are equidistant from each other vertically and horizontally. However, to create realism in a rendering, you need to closely examine everything as if you’ve never seen a face before. Otherwise, you’re entering into an interpretation with unconscious bias. Perhaps the lips are a little crooked or the nose a little bigger than what your brain is telling you. In general, the proportions are always within a certain range, but the reason a drawing or painting actually looks like the subject is by capturing the differences. It’s what makes that piece of art interesting and captivating. We’re not all carbon copies of each other and to force that narrative whether in a piece of art or while looking in the mirror is a futile gesture.
I once was blind
The more I practiced constructing faces in my sketchbook or painting portraits, the more I caught myself staring at faces while watching a movie or even talking to a friend (which unfortunately caused me to not hear what they were saying sometimes). I get lost studying every line, curve, and highlight, wondering how I might capture that on canvas. Instead of picking apart why someone is or isn’t a great beauty based on an unattainable standard developed by some cosmetic company, I find I’m delighted when I discover those subtle differences that make this person look like they do. I’m no longer comparing myself to other women either because I understand our uniqueness is indeed our beauty.
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¹Loomis, A. (1956). Drawing the Head and Hands (5th ed., p. 160). Clube de Autores.
