PanPastels as the Skeleton of a Portrait
TOOLS & PREFERENCES
Before there is fur, there is weight.
Before detail, there is structure.
Before any mark becomes expressive, the drawing has to know where it stands.
For me, that knowledge begins with PanPastels.
I treat PanPastels not as a background tool or a preparatory convenience, but as the skeleton of the portrait itself. Everything else rests on what happens at this stage. If the structure is sound here, later work becomes a process of clarification rather than correction. If it isn’t, no amount of detail will save the drawing.
PanPastels allow me to think in fields rather than lines.
At this stage, I am not concerned with edges or texture. I am mapping weight, value, and temperature. Where the mass of the head sits. How light falls across planes. Where warmth lives and where it recedes. These decisions are broad, but they are not vague. They define the entire visual logic of the portrait.
This is where the colour story is set.
Every animal has an internal harmony that goes beyond surface markings. A grey is never neutral. A brown is never singular. There are underlying warms and cools that must be established early or the drawing will feel disjointed later. PanPastels are ideal for this because they allow colour to be placed gently, adjusted easily, and read as atmosphere rather than statement.
Nothing is committed too early.
Nothing is decorative yet.
What I’m doing here is mental mapping before execution. I’m asking myself where the drawing needs to breathe, where it needs weight, where it needs restraint. By the time I touch a pencil, most of the major decisions have already been made internally. The hand is simply following a plan the eye has already agreed on.
This is why everything else sits on top of PanPastels.
Once the base layers are established, they act as a stabilising force. Pencils, sticks, chalks, and details don’t have to fight for coherence. They’re responding to something that already exists. When fur is added later, it doesn’t float. It belongs. It follows the tonal logic that’s already in place.
Skipping this stage is one of the most common reasons drawings feel fragmented.
Without a unified base, artists often try to solve structural problems with detail. They add more texture. More marks. More colour. The drawing becomes busy, but not clear. PanPastels prevent that spiral by forcing you to resolve the big questions first.
Where is the light coming from.
What is the dominant value range.
What temperature governs the shadows.
These are not exciting questions, but they are essential ones.
PanPastels also encourage a different pace. Because they are applied with sponges or soft tools, they discourage fussy thinking. You cannot describe eyelashes with them. You cannot pretend detail exists before it actually does. That limitation is a gift. It keeps you honest about what stage the drawing is in.
This is where seeing is trained.
When you work without detail, you have no choice but to observe relationships. You notice whether a shadow is truly darker than the plane beside it. You see whether a highlight is earned or premature. You begin to understand form as a sequence of transitions rather than a collection of features.
Detail added too early interrupts that learning.
By the time I move away from PanPastels, the portrait already feels inevitable. Not finished, but coherent. The drawing knows what it wants to become. Later tools simply articulate that intention more precisely.
The teaching takeaway here is fundamental and non-negotiable: see before touching detail. If you cannot read the portrait clearly in its simplest form, adding complexity will only obscure the problem.
PanPastels give me a way to think broadly, quietly, and honestly at the beginning. They slow the process down in the right place. They create a foundation that supports everything that follows.
They are not the decoration of the portrait.
They are its bones.
And once the skeleton is sound, the rest of the body can grow without collapsing under its own weight.
