On Tuesday, I'm starting my last live Draw Like You Mean It class for 2026. (And if you've already signed up, just enjoy this story.) I've taught this workshop for a couple of years now—but the seeds for the course were planted way back in 2005, when I took a drawing class from Steve Huston.
When I first saw his work, I felt intimidated, like I'd never be at his level—but I hoped some of his magic might rub off. He taught me how to understand and draw the shapes inside everything; how to start with gesture lines and anchor the form around the tension points. Next, I took a painting class with him, and I learned to apply those principles to my oils. Values and color wheels suddenly made sense. From that point on, my painting took off.
An early painting for the Disney Gallery, before I took drawing classes
So did my hunger for new lessons. I took figurative workshops with Steven Assael, Jeremy Lipking, Cheryl Kline. I tried my hand at plein aire with Jove Wang. I learned facial features from Karl Gnass and anatomy from Don Lagerberg. My buddy George Scribner gave me a few surprising secrets about painting people in landscapes.
Somewhere along the way, I let go of hubris and embraced the fact that I'll always be learning. Just two years ago, I took a workshop with Joseph Q. Daily, who was a gracious and capable teacher on top of being an award-winning artist. That 3-day workshop gave me new gifts that blew my mind.
But here's the thing: those teachers only gave me techniques. I had to make them my own. I had to practice, explore, and most of all, observe.
Cheryl Kline is the one who taught me the most about seeing. I spent a year painting live models in her weekly portrait classes. I'd lay down basic flesh tones, then she'd come over and add a garish red or an odd green, and boom, the face would look real. She made me look hard enough until I saw that tone in the model's face. She was right: there's green and purple and blue in flesh. I just had to open my eyes to what was right there.
That's the main thing I try to impart to my students. Yes, we cover shapes and gestures and lighting—but if you can learn to really see what you're looking at, you'll start assembling the pieces of your own vision together. Connections will appear in ways that only make sense to you.
Another painting for the Disney Gallery, this time after a few workshops. What a difference!
That's the main thing I try to impart to my students. Yes, we cover shapes and gestures and lighting—but if you can learn to really see what you're looking at, you'll start assembling the pieces of your own vision together. Connections will appear in ways that only make sense to you.
Like when I realized that my father had taught me about lighting long before I learned about values in art. He was a lighting designer, and he loved to lecture about it, even to his young daughter. It was super annoying, so I blocked it out.
Then a few years ago, when I was explaining highlights and shadows to a student, I heard my dad's words in my head—and I was able to tell the story of light in a way that applied to representational art. That became the foundation of all of my teaching. (thanks, Dad)
The lessons are still unfolding. I'm faaaar from perfect. Every student, every painting, every mistake teaches me something new.
Yet it all fits together because I have the gift of seeing. I can take any lesson, incorporate it into my practice, and make it my own. That's what I share with any student who comes to me: learn the skill, but make it your own. Find what you want to draw or paint and study it until you develop x-ray vision.
If you want to take Draw Like You Mean It, sign up here:
Last week, I shared the drawing of Bear, Rosa and Bill's dog. I just posted a video of the drawing process, in case you'd like to see how I approach my subjects. (And if you want me to draw your loved one, send me a good photo and I'll see if sparks an idea for a drawing video.)
