Many years ago, when I was still in college, some friends and I wanted to start creating comics or graphic novels. One of these friends was “Gus,” who had the idea of making a series of miniature sketches for all the characters in his story. The first time I saw them, I thought it was great—he had drawn dozens of characters in a relatively short period of time. However, even though I recognized the value of his approach, I couldn’t convince myself to do the same, though I still tried it once. At the time, I was quietly considered the most talented among our small group, and I had foolishly allowed that notion to cloud my thinking. When it came time to work on something, I often dismissed the importance of developing a method, relying instead on my supposed talent and inspiration. Now, two decades later, as I’ve finally learned how to draw what I envision, I realize how beneficial it would have been to learn more from my friends back then.
Now that miniatures are part of my method, I have identified four interlinked benefits of exploring a drawing at a miniature scale. Let’s dive into them.
A paradise for negative space
One of the key advantages of working on miniatures is the clarity with which negative spaces are created. This happens naturally due to the size of the drawing—since it’s so small, there’s no room for unnecessary details. Our brain, and by extension, our hand, focuses only on the essential lines needed to convey what we’re trying to create.
This lesson became hardwired for me in 2015 during the final assignment of a Concept Art course. After my thumbnails were approved by the instructors (we had to create five scenes for a short story), I had to work on the larger-scale versions. When I did, I made the mistake of redrawing each scene from scratch, “eye-copying” the approved thumbnails. When I presented the first three pieces to the instructor, he pointed out that some of the original magic had been lost. What was the reason? I added lines and details where there hadn’t been any before, which muddied the negative spaces and made them harder to read. He then advised me to trace my own thumbnails instead to maintain the clarity of the elements I had already solved.
Spontaneity at its best
Because of the limited space, my strokes have fewer options—they must define the sketch within a small area. This constraint encourages spontaneity and strengthens the connection between vision and hand, leaving little room for overplanning or overthinking. That said, I don’t mean we should stick to our first sketches; there’s immense value in iterating and exploring different options at this stage, which is why it is a key pillar of my drawing method. The spontaneity of our strokes often contributes to the clarity of the negative space I mentioned earlier.
Once you’ve solved a character pose, silhouette, or composition at a miniature scale, you can carry that spontaneity into larger drawings, preserving the clarity and energy of the original.
The chance of failing fast at low cost
I have to admit that, for many years, my greatest challenge whenever I tried to do a drawing was not about the materials or having enough time. As I look back on all those frustrating days, the real problem was that I couldn’t bring my vision to life. While external factors may have been involved, it was mostly because I wanted to do it on the first try; if I wanted to do a big drawing, I took a huge piece of paper and tried to do the drawing at that large scale because that is what I wanted, right? Unless I was doing a replica of an existing illustration, when I tried to create my own scene with original characters, it almost never worked.
Many of us know by now that the quickest way to achieve something challenging is through failure, but more than that, understanding why we fail is the doorway to success. This is something working on thumbnails allows me to do. A quick sketch for a composition takes me about 1 or 5 minutes, and by then, I can tell if it’s heading in a good direction or if I need to explore another option. I can fill an entire letter-size page with six thumbnails in 15 minutes, and I know for sure that my final work comes from those explorations. On rare occasions, when inspiration strikes, I might solve it in the first or second sketch. But I don’t take those lucky moments too seriously—whether it takes 5 minutes or more per sketch, what’s important is learning whether your idea works or not before putting great effort and time into it.
And just like that, everything seems possible.
One thing that may seem obvious by now is that by first solving a drawing through a miniature thumbnail sketch, there’s very little you can’t achieve. I don’t mean that everything will be easy—challenges will arise, especially when your vision involves storytelling (a theme for another post). But what I do mean is that with this approach, even the most seemingly impossible drawing idea becomes approachable. Since I consciously incorporated this method into my process, I haven’t even begun to tap into its full potential. There are still many old drawing ideas I’ve kept on the back burner that I am so eager to try.
If you enjoy drawing and have struggled with translating what you see in your mind onto paper or canvas, try solving it in miniature first. If it works at that scale, it will work on a larger one.
Really useful approach - thanks for sharing!