Four weeks of observational drawing help students transform a self-portrait into a magical expression of who they are as artists.

Mayuka Thaïs

Summer programs at art schools are intense. Students juggle assignments across multiple classes, often while living away from home for the first time. Summer of Art offers a taste of the first year of art school while earning college credit. My goal, though, is not only to teach drawing but to connect with my students.

I was born in 1979, so I did not grow up with information one swipe away. I have watched students’ attention spans shrink, and I am always searching for ways to reconnect with today’s learners. I have come to believe we must meet students where their interests lie while helping them understand that art reflects the time in which we live. Each generation brings its own ways of seeing and learning.

In 2018, after finishing the entire Harry Potter series, I had a lightbulb moment that reshaped the self-portrait project I had taught for years. That summer, I offered my students an analogy: art school was my own Hogwarts. My magic was art, and each department was a house. They connected instantly. “In a traditional high school,” I told them, “your friends are gifted in different subjects. But at art school, you finally feel a true sense of belonging because everyone shares the same magic—the gift of making art.”

My four-week course is a fast-paced journey in learning to truly see—to draw what is there rather than what we think is there. Students begin by unlearning years of habit, even how they hold a pencil. Gripping it the usual way tires the wrist and limits motion; instead, I teach them to draw from the whole arm. With arms outstretched, they use the pencil to measure angles and proportions, blocking objects out in relation to one another.

We start with observational pencil studies: still-life studies of apples, perspective exercises, and cubes drawn freehand—no rulers, only careful looking. These studies teach cross-contour and show how a full range of values creates three-dimensionality. I demo everything they learn, so they see how an artist works.

From there, charcoal on toned paper teaches light logic: students lift value away to reveal the lights. White-pencil studies of glass bottles reveal the subtle differences in value within highlights themselves. Next comes oil pastel on gray paper, where students must lay down white first and use complementary colors to build an object’s true color. They may not use black oil pastel; black is the absence of light, so they mix darks from deep blue and brown, guided by a color wheel for this “backward” way of coloring. Each new material asks them to see differently.

Only after this foundation do students earn the final project: the Magical Portrait. Working from a self-taken reference photo with clear light on the face, students apply everything we have practiced—light logic, three-dimensionality, a full range of values—to express a chosen mood.

The real twist is the surface. Students work on heavyweight, dyed art paper in blue, green, or purple, letting the paper serve as the midtones and reserving lighter colored pencils for the highlights. If students render skin tones in colored pencil, any medium is welcome elsewhere. A little limitation sparks a lot of creativity. We also mask a one-inch border with blue painter’s tape so the image sits neatly framed within.

Because a portfolio asks students to show schools who they are as artists, the Magical Portrait becomes a springboard. Instead of simply rendering a strong likeness, students think about how to express themselves and add their own spark of magic. Students know from day one that we end with the Magical Portrait, and the anticipation builds all month. When I introduce it, they begin to smile. By the third week, their smiles turn radiant and contagious. I always create a Magical Portrait alongside them; over the years, I have themed mine around 1980s sci-fi and fantasy, from lightsaber-wielding heroes to glowing-eyed creatures of the night. The project asks students to synthesize compositional flow, focal point, light logic, and value while discovering their own personal style.

Teaching artists spend years learning to read the energy of each class. This project reminds me that connection often begins with something simple: a shared story, a familiar reference, an invitation to imagine. Sometimes all it takes is a little inspiration, imagination, and a touch of magic to help students find their creative voice.

Mayuka Thaïs is a senior lecturer at Otis College of Art and Design and a Humanities instructor at Stanford Online High School, with more than twenty years of experience teaching art across every age level. She received the Otis College Teaching Excellence Award in 2024. Find her at mayukathais.com and on Instagram: @mayukathais. mayuka@mayukathais.com