Five Artists Every Beginner Should Copy (At Least Once):
Why Stealing From The Masters Is The Only Real Art School That Matters
Let’s get one thing straight: every “original” artist you’ve ever loved was a thief. I don’t mean that lazy, copy-paste kind of plagiarism you see in the Instagram swipe file dumpster fire. I mean the proud, savage tradition of stealing fire from the gods—of dissecting, absorbing, and Frankensteining the best parts of the masters until you’ve built something dangerous, alive, and entirely your own.
If you’re a beginner and you’re not copying, you’re wasting your time. No, really. You’re spinning your wheels, drawing the same lumpy apples and dead-eyed anime heads, thinking someday your “style” will just show up in the mail. It won’t. You have to earn it. And the fastest, most brutally honest way to level up is to sit at the feet of giants—then steal their shoes and run.
So, let’s dig in. Here are five artists every beginner should copy at least once—who, how, and why, with dirty little hacks, stories, and the cold-blooded truth.
1. Leonardo da Vinci: The OG Art Freak
Who?
Renaissance weirdo, compulsive sketcher, anatomical voyeur, and all-around bastard genius. He was the blueprint for every obsessive artist since.
Why Copy Him?
Because Leo didn’t just paint, he understood. The muscles beneath the skin. The mechanics of a bird’s wing. The light on a skull at midnight. If you want to draw anything with a pulse, you start with Leonardo.
How To Copy (The Rusty Way):
Don’t just copy his finished work. Grab his notebooks, his anatomical studies, his bizarre inventions. Trace his lines—literally.
Reverse engineer his sketches. Take his scribbled hands and redraw them from different angles. He didn’t draw “pretty”—he drew to learn.
Build your own “mirror image” drawings. Leo was left-handed and wrote backward. Try it. You’ll hate me, but your brain will love you.
Ingredient Hack:
Study his “sfumato” shading—soft transitions, no harsh lines. Try to shade an egg the way he shaded Mona Lisa’s smile. If it takes you an hour, you’re doing it right.
2. Albrecht Dürer: The Printmaker Who Outlined The World
Who?
German Renaissance line-god, obsessive about details, with the kind of penmanship that makes modern illustrators cry.
Why Copy Him?
If you want to master line, hatch, and texture—if you want to make a mark that sings—Dürer is your man. His etchings and woodcuts are loaded with secrets, and every single stroke means something.
How To Copy (And Actually Learn):
Find his engravings (e.g., “Melencolia I”). Print one out, put tracing paper over it, and trace his linework for 20 minutes.
Break down his hatching patterns. Copy a square inch, over and over, until you can do it from memory.
Take a sketchbook to the cemetery or forest and draw trees and rocks Dürer-style—exaggerate the texture, hatch the shadows.
Try “pen only”—no pencil sketching, no erasing. Dürer didn’t need safety nets. Neither do you.
Personal confession:
I spent a month copying Dürer’s hands until my own looked like they’d aged 400 years. I’ve never regretted a minute.
3. Rembrandt van Rijn: The Painter Of Shadows (And Sinners)
Who?
Dutch Baroque bad boy, king of light and shadow, and portraitist of the damned.
Why Copy Him?
Rembrandt understood that painting is about light. Not just highlights, but real shadow—the kind that eats you alive. He painted faces like weathered cliffs, eyes that confess sins, and scenes that glow from inside out.
How To Copy (Without The Oil-Paint Hangover):
Do “grisaille” studies (black and white). Take one of his self-portraits and copy it in charcoal, just the values, no color.
Paint over a black canvas, building up light. Rembrandt worked from dark to light. Try his “additive” method—paint highlights onto shadow.
Make faces in bad lighting. Draw yourself by candlelight, streetlight, or a phone screen in a dark room.
Layer, layer, layer. Rembrandt’s paintings look effortless, but they’re built in dozens of glazes. Copying him means learning patience.
Dirty reality:
Rembrandt died broke, buried in a rented grave. His art was never for the “pretty” crowd—it was for the real, the haunted, the human.
4. Egon Schiele: The Pervert Prophet Of Line
Who?
Austrian Expressionist, all sharp bones, feverish sex, and broken poses. Kicked out of art school, jailed for obscenity, dead by 28.
Why Copy Him?
If you want to draw figures that move—that ache, that spasm, that drip with feeling—you need Schiele. He’ll teach you anatomy, but more importantly, he’ll teach you how to break it.
How To Copy (If You Dare):
Draw yourself, naked, in a mirror. Schiele did self-portraits that make Instagram look tame. Try his angles, his awkwardness.
Exaggerate your lines. Don’t smooth out the wrinkles. Make every line count.
Use limited color—just one or two, mostly earth tones.
Channel your inner voyeur. Draw what feels private, even a little wrong.
Personal confession:
First time I copied Schiele, my drawing made my roommate uncomfortable. Good. If you’re not making someone squirm, you’re not doing it right.
5. Jean-Michel Basquiat: The King Of The Raw And Unfiltered
Who?
NYC graffiti prodigy, poet, painter, rebel. Made art that was messy, honest, punk as hell. Died at 27, but burned like a comet.
Why Copy Him?
If you want to kill your inner perfectionist, break the rules, and paint with your damn guts, Basquiat is the gospel. He’ll teach you to mix text and image, to use color like a weapon, to layer chaos until it becomes meaning.
How To Copy (and Not Fake It):
Make a Basquiat “remix” page. Grab markers, crayons, cheap acrylics. Fill the page. Write over your images. Add symbols, crowns, repeated words.
Don’t erase. Every mistake stays.
Mix high and low. Paint something precious, then cover half with scribbles or price tags.
Use the entire space. If you’ve got white left, you’re not done.
Dirty Reality:
Basquiat made art in doorways, on refrigerator doors, on walls. If you’re precious with your sketchbook, you’re missing the point.
How To Actually Copy Without Sucking
Copy to learn, not to show off. These aren’t portfolio pieces—they’re brain fuel. Steal, dissect, repeat.
Don’t just imitate—deconstruct. Ask: Why did they do this? What can I steal and twist for my own work?
Copy widely. Don’t get stuck worshipping one style. Move on, Frankenstein what you’ve learned, and make something new.
Credit your sources. Don’t claim a copy as your own. That’s not punk—that’s pathetic.
Survival Strategy:
Make it a ritual: One week per master, one page a day. By the end, you’ll have absorbed more technique, guts, and grit than a year of YouTube tutorials.
Confessions From The Trenches
I’ve copied all five—sometimes for weeks at a time. My style is a collage of their bones, their blood, their worst mistakes. Every time I get stuck, I go back to one of them and ask: What would Leo do? How would Schiele make this ugly? How would Basquiat burn it all down and start over?
The dirty reality?
Every artist is a thief.
Steal bravely. Copy with intent. Then make it yours.
If you want to get good,
you’ve got to be willing to look stupid, get uncomfortable,
and learn from the ghosts.