If you were a kid who liked to draw in the early-to-mid 2000s, you were probably also into anime. Like most of us, that meant printing out images of your favorite characters on your parents’ printer and tracing them, trying to internalize the style. Repetition, copying, and even tracing can be valid ways to build basic skills. The issue is the foundation you’re building from. When anime becomes that foundation, it imposes narrow stylistic constraints. You end up learning form through heavily stylized interpretations instead of studying from life, which limits your range early on.
I was an anime kid myself until high school, when I enrolled in the art program and met an unusually dedicated teacher who happened to be a gallery-exhibiting artist himself. He recognized my potential and was determined to shift my focus away from anime and toward the fundamentals: anatomy, proportion, value, and composition. At first I struggled, and I even lashed out once when he told me to redo my concept sketches to make them “less anime.” In the end, though, his insistence was a gift that profoundly shaped my development as an artist. While my anime foundation is still very evident to those with the right eye, it could have been a lot worse.
The explosion of accessible platforms and tutorials has dramatically changed how artists learn. Rather than developing skills independently or from life, many now learn primarily by observing other online artists. This creates a recursive cycle of influence with one artist copying another, who in turn copies someone else. Styles and techniques circulate endlessly without much original experimentation. Over time, this pattern erodes foundational diversity, as technical variety and individualized skill development give way to homogenized, visibly trend-driven aesthetics.
This dynamic leads to a noticeable repetition of visual tropes across online art. Color palettes become homogenized as well, with similar tones appearing repeatedly. Shared tools, brushes, and software further reinforce these patterns, making distinct approaches harder to develop. As a result, styles converge toward a narrow definition of what is considered “acceptable,” limiting originality and experimentation.
To be clear, I’m not trying to disparage anime and manga, that is not my intention. The same logic applies to other media, such as Hazbin Hotel, where many young artists imitate VivziePop’s style. In my opinion, anime is an excellent entry point for beginners, offering the enjoyment of drawing cartoons while still allowing room to develop anatomical skills. I also still love anime. Series like Ghost in the Shell, Berserk, Serial Experiments Lain, and Higurashi no Naku Koro ni had a profound impact on my art, exposing me to themes I might never have discovered on my own. The issue arises when anime becomes a crutch. Without a solid grasp of the fundamentals, it’s nearly impossible to create something truly unique. You need to understand the rules before you can break them.
One of the main problems in online art culture is the overemphasis on style before mastering the fundamentals. Tutorials often reinforce surface-level replication, teaching artists to mimic popular looks rather than build a solid technical foundation. Algorithms that prioritize visibility for familiar or trending aesthetics only amplify this effect, encouraging repetition over originality. At the same time, it’s important to reject anti-anime sentiment as unproductive. The focus should be on developing a strong foundation first, with style emerging as a byproduct rather than a starting point. In the long term, technical depth and mastery provide far more value than simply mimicking popular aesthetics.
No comments:
Post a Comment