Ask Better Questions

When we sit down to draw, the first question that often comes to mind is a simple one: How do I draw this? It feels natural, yet it assumes there is a correct method to uncover, a reliable formula that will ensure success if we follow it. Beginning from that assumption can subtly shift our relationship to drawing. Instead of entering into a process of exploration, we attempt to complete a task. We draw to solve a problem rather than to discover something new, and drawing becomes an exercise in control rather than curiosity.

Real progress in drawing rarely comes from having the right answers. It comes from learning to ask better, more generous questions. Artists who sustain a practice across decades seem to share this habit. They do not seek quick solutions or certainty. Their work is animated by curiosity, by a willingness to stay with ambiguity and allow new questions to arise from close looking. A good question expands the boundaries of drawing, keeping perception open. A narrow question contracts the field and shuts down possibilities.

Curiosity is not a talent, but a habit of attention. In drawing, it means remaining interested in what is directly in front of us, even when it appears familiar or ordinary. Curiosity asks us to look again. Why does that edge soften? How does the shadow deepen as it crosses the surface? Questions like these slow us down, require patient observation, and replace the labels we rely upon when time is scarce. When we believe we already know what something looks like, we stop seeing it. Curiosity keeps perception alive.

Instead of asking how to draw something correctly, we might ask: What do I see now that I did not notice before? In this reframing, the technique becomes secondary to our observation. The question directs attention outward, toward the subject, rather than inward, toward anxiety about realism and accuracy. The drawing begins to evolve as a natural conversation between eye, hand, and the drawing material.

David Hockney’s work offers a useful reminder of this mindset. Across paintings, drawings, photo collages, and digital experiments, Hockney returns to one question: How do we truly see? He challenges the idea that a single fixed viewpoint can convey the full experience of visual perception. Our eyes move constantly, gathering fragments over time. Hockney’s many media are not solutions, but ways of asking. Each shift in material prompts new questions about how perception unfolds.

Much of the time, a drawing begins in uncertainty. Before the first mark, the mind seeks reassurance. Instead of searching for a perfect starting point, we can begin with a question: What is the visual quality of this subject caught my attention? Perhaps it is a shadow, a tilt of the roof, or the subtle curve of a branch. Begin there and let curiosity guide the next mark. Each mark responds to observation, not as a final answer, but as a prompt for further questioning. In time, the drawing becomes an unfolding investigation of discovery, rather than a planned demonstration of an artistic skill.

This shift in focus from drawing control to drawing curiosity changes the emotional quality of drawing. The pressure to achieve falls away. Anxiety about realism lessens as the aim of a drawing becomes a process of noticing, responding, and learning. We no longer measure the drawing against an imagined ideal, but deal with the emerging relationships between lines, shapes, and values on the page. With practice, our questions become more perceptive. What effect will darkening this shadow have? How do these negative shapes relate? What does the light suggest about form? The act of drawing mirrors the mind's curiosity and enjoyment in the process of discovery.

The moment we begin to wonder whether the drawing might be finished often signals that our curiosity has run its course. The drawing has taught what it can for now. Reflection continues the conversation. What surprised me? Where did my attention shift? What questions remain unresolved? These reflections invite the next drawing and extend the inquiry beyond the page.

In this way, drawing becomes a continuous cycle of investigation. The sketchbook becomes a place not for right answers, but for seeing what emerges when drawing becomes a response to curiosity. This approach encourages patience, resilience, and a more generous attitude toward mistakes, which become stepping stones in the ongoing dialogue between eye and hand.

The next time you draw, begin not with an expectation of the finished image, but with a question about what drew you to the subject in the first place. Let your marks respond to what you notice. Allow curiosity to shape the unfolding of the drawing. When you eventually ask if it is finished, it probably is. Then ask what to explore next. Because in drawing, as in life, it is not the answers that carry us forward, but the quality of the questions that deepen our understanding.

New book available to order now:

The Habit of Seeing: Book One is a reflective exploration of attention, observation, and how we learn to see the world more clearly. Through short essays, it examines perception, presence, and the choices that shape how we notice what is in front of us. This book is not a how-to drawing guide and does not teach techniques or exercises; instead, it focuses on the inner conditions that make seeing possible. It is written for artists and non-artists alike, offering a slower, quieter approach to understanding vision and awareness.

The Habit of Seeing: Book One is available now. Click Here to order on Amazon.

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The Circle Line Art School Blog: A blog by Tom McPherson, Circle Line Art School. Join my YouTube channel for free drawing tutorials here.