Can drawing — sound, honest representation of the world as the eye sees it, not tricks with the pencil or a few "effects" — be learned from a book? One of the most gifted draftsmen, who is also one of the greatest art critics and theorists of all time, answers that question with a decided "Yes." He is John Ruskin, the author of this book, a classic in art education as well as a highly effective text for the student and amateur today. The work is in three parts, cast in the form of letters to a student, successively covering "First Practice," "Sketching from Nature," and "Colour and Composition." Starting with the bare fundamentals (what kind of drawing pen to buy; shading a square evenly), and using the extremely practical method of exercises which the student performs from the very first, Ruskin instructs, advises, guides, counsels, and anticipates problems with sensitivity. The exercises become more difficult, developing greater and greater skills until Ruskin feels his reader is ready for watercolors and finally composition, which he treats in detail as to the laws of principality, repetition, continuity, curvature, radiation, contrast, interchange, consistency, and harmony. All along the way, Ruskin explains, in plain, clear language, the artistic and craftsmanlike reasons behind his practical advice — underlying which, of course, is Ruskin's brilliant philosophy of honest, naturally observed art which has so much affected our aesthetic. Three full-page plates and 48 woodcuts and diagrams (the latter from drawings by the author) show the student what the text describes. An appendix devotes many pages to the art works which may be studied with profit.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
John Ruskin was an English writer, philosopher, art historian, art critic and polymath of the Victorian era. He wrote on subjects as varied as geology, architecture, myth, ornithology, literature, education, botany and political economy. Ruskin was heavily engaged by the work of Eugène-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc which he taught to all his pupils including William Morris, notably Viollet-le-Duc's Dictionary, which he considered as "the only book of any value on architecture". Ruskin's writing styles and literary forms were equally varied. He wrote essays and treatises, poetry and lectures, travel guides and manuals, letters and even a fairy tale. He also made detailed sketches and paintings of rocks, plants, birds, landscapes, architectural structures and ornamentation. The elaborate style that characterised his earliest writing on art gave way in time to plainer language designed to communicate his ideas more effectively. In all of his writing, he emphasised the connections between nature, art and society. Ruskin was hugely influential in the latter half of the 19th century and up to the First World War. After a period of relative decline, his reputation has steadily improved since the 1960s with the publication of numerous academic studies of his work. Today, his ideas and concerns are widely recognised as having anticipated interest in environmentalism, sustainability and craft. Ruskin first came to widespread attention with the first volume of Modern Painters (1843), an extended essay in defence of the work of J.M.W. Turner in which he argued that the principal role of the artist is "truth to nature". From the 1850s, he championed the Pre-Raphaelites, who were influenced by his ideas. His work increasingly focused on social and political issues. Unto This Last (1860, 1862) marked the shift in emphasis. In 1869, Ruskin became the first Slade Professor of Fine Art at the University of Oxford, where he established the Ruskin School of Drawing. In 1871, he began his monthly "letters to the workmen and labourers of Great Britain", published under the title Fors Clavigera (1871–1884). In the course of this complex and deeply personal work, he developed the principles underlying his ideal society. As a result, he founded the Guild of St George, an organisation that endures today.
Make sure this is the one! I came across THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING at the library on a random day, when I was a wayward 16/17-year-old (I am now 23). I had always wanted to draw, but found many of the drawing books to be not very useful/helpful (as the introduction states, in the "elements of drawing" copy/edition that I read).
Many modern how-to-draw books do not instill/nurture/teach/inspire one to develop their own artistic sense, and a keen observation/attention to detail, which are two things I managed to attain (and continue to attain), as a direct result of this splendid book by John Ruskin.
It's not an easy book to read -- in fact, I believe Ruskin himself states/warns in the beginning that some parts/activities will be quite tedious (such as the careful manual shading of gradients) -- he does say that if you really, really want to learn how to draw, you've got to be prepared to put your life into it (to that effect). He says something about having the diligence to put in 150-200 hours into learning how to draw (or how to do anything)...and since time = life, I guess that puts what he says into perspective.
John Ruskin's fine definition of drawing is as follows: "all art is but dirtying the paper delicately." I love the way he presented whatever he had to say/teach about art and drawing -- it's a real sharing/transference of knowledge.
Drawing's turned out to be a lifesaver for me. It's helped me to develop more confidence in myself and what I do...I'm very lucky to have had the good fortune to have been guided by THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING.
P.S. I think I took a grand total of about 4-5 years to actually get through the book from cover to cover (I read it on and off from the time I was 17-22)...but I'm glad I took the time to gradually let my artistic senses develop (something that money and the average art class cannot buy).
Ruskin is a man after my own heart, he goes about it in a practical way: page one - fill a square - the entire first chapter is absolutely no nonsense - straight into accessible exercises meant to develop confidence with both ink and pencil, leaning on the mystical skills of Turner, Rembrandt and Durer's etchings to analyse ways of manifesting form through the stoke of a pen. To illustrate, this is Turner's distinctive engraving of a scenery close to my beloved Blair Castle.
Tough stuff and there is no one book that will provide all the answers, there are no ten books that will provide them either (blasted drapery folds!) but Ruskin is very inspiring with his little philosophies creeping through methods on rendering foliage:
"—what these trees and leaves, I say, are meant to teach us as we contemplate them, and read or hear their lovely language, written or spoken for us, not in frightful black letters, nor in dull sentences, but in fair green and shadowy shapes of waving words, and blossomed, brightness of odoriferous wit, and sweet whispers of unintrusive wisdom, and playful morality. Well, I am sorry myself to leave the wood."
"Now remember, nothing distinguishes great men from inferior men more than their always, whether in life or in art, knowing the way things are going. Your dunce thinks they are standing still, and draws them all fixed ; your wise man sees the change or changing in them, and draws them so, —the animal in its motion, the tree in its growth, the cloud in its course, the mountain in its wearing away. Try always, whenever you look at a form, to see the lines in it which have had power over its past fate and will have power over its futurity. Those are its awful lines ; see that you seize on those, whatever else you miss."
"And rivers are just in this divided, also, like wicked and good men : the good rivers have serviceable deep places all along their banks, that ships can sail in ; but the wicked rivers go scooping irregularly under their banks until they get full of strangling eddies, which no boat can row over without being twisted against the rocks ; and pools like wells, which no one can get out of but the water-kelpie that lives at the bottom."
I began reading The Elements of Drawing because of James Woods's reference to it in his wonderful book, The Art of Fiction. Woods calls The Elements of Drawing "a patient primer," in which Ruskin "takes his readers through the process of creation." What Ruskin did for drawing and painting in his book, Woods implies, he has tried in his own book to do for fiction writing. That was enough to get me started: I'm a huge fan of Woods's The Art of Fiction. If Ruskin's book could help me to appreciate the myriad steps that go into creating a work of visual art, as Woods's book has helped me in thinking about fiction writing, then I was on board.
Though I ended up liking Ruskin's book very much, I can't see myself recommending it in a universal sense. It is, as you might expect from a 19th-century British male art critic--a bit pedantic and slow-going at times. I sort of had to COMMIT to reading this thing, but once I did, I fell into its gradually building cadences, its chatty philosophical style, and its careful examination of the architecture, say, of a leaf. The Elements of Drawing became, for me, a kind of rainy-day book, a book to savor slowly, dipping in for 10 or 20 pages at a go, taking time to pore over the many diagrams and illustrations that Ruskin himself drew to accompany his text.
This book got me thinking more about light and shadow--about shapes and colors. Since reading it, I have been looking more closely and thoughtfully at the structures of leaves, and of trees. I think this would make Ruskin happy. I think I can safely make that judgement about him, since Ruskin's voice and personality are such a powerful component of this book. Just a few choice examples:
"[Be] bold in the sense of being undaunted, yes; but bold in the sense of being careless, confident, or exhibitory--no,--no, and a thousand times no, for . . . . good and beautiful work is generally done slowly."
"Rivers . . . are just like wise men, who keep one side of their life for play, and another for work; and can be brilliant, and chattering, and transparent, when they are at ease, and yet take deep counsel on the other side when they set themselves to their main purpose."
"Never make presents of your drawings. . . [B]e resolute not to give your work away till you know that it is worth something."
"Trees and leaves, I say, are meant to teach us, as we contemplate them."
I ended up loving Ruskin's strongly held opinions, whether or not I understood them (am not a visual artist!) or completely agreed with them. And some of his sidebars about the relationship between Nature and human nature are really lovely. John Ruskin would have been a hilarious, occasionally irritating, and thoroughly enlivening companion for a long rambling walk through the woods.
I very much enjoyed reading John Ruskin, Victorian arbiter of taste, in this volume about how to learn to draw. The book is divided into three letters to beginners, each covering topics like observing the natural world, sketching with pen and ink, pencil and watercolor, and studying the masters to improve one's technique. I loved how specific he is, how opinionated. There is a wonderful appendix where Ruskin suggests artists to study, especially Albert Durer. I read a library copy, but may need to get one for myself.
Much info. Not just for drawing (ink & pencil) but for colorists as well (to my surprise). Lots of probably tedious exercises .... but necessary (although some look to be fun). Some of these I have stumbled on myself before reading this book (e.g. drawing/shading of stones) - and was somewhat gratified to see Ruskin including it in his exercises. Not sure if I have the self-discipline and/or time to fully benefit, but will try. Also, too, too many fine points about all aspects of art technique (that's a compliment! [ not a criticism]) for me to remember as I battle with the practice. Some of his points I sort of discovered on my own ... e.g. re colors, the "rule" about stronger values necessarily being foreground are in fact not inviolable ... but nice to hear it vindicated by an authority. I had been hopping around in this book, skimming it (being a library loaner), but have now gone back to the beginning to try to systematically work with it (no doubt I'll skip some sections ... because there is LOTS here), and will probably need to buy my own copy ... because this will be a long (lifelong?) endeavor. Part of the systematic work entails condensing his very detailed instructions - or gems of wisdom - in each of the many sections (he has conveniently numbered the many sections). Also, the writing and presentation style is, of course, somewhat archaic from what we're used to (esp. in this Youtube video age). But his insights seem deep and plentiful (commentators of another of his books - I forget which - indicate that his views on art, in that other book, are today obsolete and off-the wall in some cases, and it might turn out that some of the sections in this book might also be .... but so far, I've found them pretty insightful).
In questo intramontabile evergreen, il buon John ci trasmette alcune regole per disegnare bene, ricordandoci cionondimeno di quando in quando che non ci riusciremo mai. A disegnare bene. L'osservazione attenta della natura, e per natura si intendano le foglie, i rami e le chiome degli alberi, è l'orizzonte onnipresente, la vera anticamera di ogni buon disegno. Per chi invece non è assolutamente interessato ai dettami di Ruskin, il consiglio è quello di guadagnare direttamente l'ultima parte in cui il nostro introduce i concetti base per la comprensione della composizione di un'immagine. Dulcis in fundo.
A list of 200+ exercises in 3 letters to the budding graphical artist. For example, one exercise might state: draw a leaf multiple times, each time placing the leaf further and further away from you.
The third letter ends with a few laws, and at which point it starts to get academic: law of principality, repetition, continuity, curvature, radiation, contrast, interchange, consistency, harmony.
The author John Ruskin - who has his own wikipedia page - published these works in 1857, yet none of these instructions nor their accompanying illustrations have lost their relevance.
I started to read this classic (published in 1857) book of art instruction in 2018 when I first downloaded it from Project Gutenberg. I managed to move a copy to my Nook library in 2019 where I read some of it. It was no longer in my Nook library in Nov 2019 when the Overdrive app no longer worked on my Nook. I was able to finish reading the ebook on my Overdrive app on my laptop. I took a star away from this classic because I am not sure today's readers will enjoy the sentence structure and prose style of a 19th century writer.
A wonderful step-by-step guide to drawing and painting. If one has time and patience, this book will give the reader a foundation to develop their talent on. Written in 1857, it remains a valuable tool every budding artist should avail themselves of.
The first part of this was a very useful explanation and guide for beginning to sketch. I learned a lot. The second part was more descriptive and less instructive.
If C3PO wrote a text on drawing, it would read a lot like this. Eminent Victorian John Ruskin in prissy, fussy and rather dull, he also does his best to discourage the reader from pursuing art in the first place, which is both amusing and rather dismaying. There is some good information on period on drawing and painting techniques in this book but the reader has to work hard at excavating and resuscitating it.
I have had a life long block on drawing, but after reading through this book, I believe that if anyone can teach me to draw, it will be Ruskin. After I have gone through the exercises and made some progress, I will let you know how I do.
John Ruskin certainly knows how to draw but his way with words leaves something to be desired. Instead of inspiring me to draw, this book made me want to take a nap instead.