Full‑Body Seeing: How Sketching Rewires Our Perception

Musings from an Artist's Notebook: Seeing

I was just reorganising my notes app, when I stumbled across one of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite artists - Glenn Vilppu’s:

"You don’t really see something until you draw it.”

When I heard this this first time a few years ago, I thought he meant “see” in the literal sense—just copy what’s there. But the more I sketched, the more I realized I was being asked to re‑educate my eyes. Instead of glancing at a lion's outline, I began to notice the contrast between the soft fur and the bright reflection in the eye. The light dancing across the big cats mane and the powerful muscles underneath the skin.

That tiny exercise of seeing beyond what it is you think you see turns into a mini‑lecture on perception. Our brains, accustomed to processing scenes in a split‑second blur, are forced to slow down, to catalog angles, shadows, and textures as if each were a word in a poem.

Full‑Body Seeing: More Than Just Eyes

I love calling this “seeing with the whole body.” It’s not a mystical claim; it’s a practical technique. When you hold a pencil, your hand, arm, and shoulder join the visual process, your breath steadies, your posture adjusts, and suddenly you’re not merely observing—you’re engaging. And goes for taking the time "just looking at something" that speaks to you as well, if drawing isn't your cup of tea, by the way.

This embodied attention lets you pick up subtleties that the brain usually filters out: the faint tremor of leaves in the wind, the way a stone’s shadow shifts as the sun moves, the silent rhythm of a city street at dusk.

Philosophers have long argued that perception shapes reality. Merleau‑Ponty wrote about the “embodied mind,” suggesting that we never truly separate seeing from doing. In practice, drawing is one of the possible bridges between the two, turning passive sight into active inquiry.

"Sungazing" - Original Oil Painting

Different Lenses, Same Scene

Consider a bridge.

An engineer sees load‑bearing calculations, steel grades, and safety codes. A poet might see arches as verses, the river below as a flowing metaphor. As an artist, I hover somewhere in between, appreciating the structural elegance and the aesthetic grace.

This multiplicity of perspectives is why art feels like a democratic forum. Every line you draw is a claim, a hypothesis about what is versus what could be. And because the canvas is forgiving, you can test, erase, and rewrite—something far less easy in engineering reports or scientific papers. 😆

The Cost of Not Pausing

In our hyper‑connected age, speed is celebrated. We scroll, swipe, and skim, often missing the quiet details that give life its richness. When we skip the “draw/look‑first‑then‑see” habit, we risk living in a perpetual state of surface‑level interaction. The downside? A world that feels flatter, less textured, and oddly unsatisfying.

On the flip side, dedicating even five minutes a day to mindful observation—whether through sketching, photography, or simply staring at a wall and noting its cracks—can rewire our neural pathways. Studies show that focused visual training improves memory, spatial reasoning, and even empathy. In other words, seeing deeply makes us better thinkers, creators, and humans.

A Playful Invitation

So, dear reader, I leave you with a small challenge: grab any pen, any scrap of paper, and pick the first object that catches your eye—a mug, a plant, a stray cat lounging on a windowsill.

Spend ten minutes drawing it, not for perfection, but for presence. Notice what you discover about the object, and more importantly, about yourself.

What hidden stories will your pencil unveil today?

I can’t wait to hear about the surprising details you uncover. Drop a comment below or hit reply—let’s keep this conversation sketching its way across the page.

Thank you for reading. Go check out some of my other articles below.