Drawings

William Fitzwilliam’s face holds our attention while his clothes almost disappear. Beneath a broad hat, the eyes are delicately shaped, the mouth firmly closed and the cheek shaded with fine, repeated strokes. Lower down, a few long lines stand for the fur collar, chain and folds of a substantial garment. The difference in finish makes the drawing feel unusually immediate: we can follow Holbein concentrating on a likeness, then recording the information that surrounds it.

The sheet, now in the Royal Collection, dates from about 1536–40. Its materials include black and coloured chalks and metalpoint on pale pink prepared paper. Fitzwilliam wears the collar of the Order of the Garter, although its elaborate links receive much less attention than his face. A copy after Holbein’s painted portrait survives in Cambridge. The drawing and that later copy preserve different parts of the portrait’s history. ^[1]

Across Holbein’s drawings, this movement between observation, selection and further use takes many forms. A face might be modelled in softly blended chalk, a jewel described with a sharp point, or a colour preserved in a written note. Some contours were subsequently traced or pricked. Drawings of hands isolate a particular problem, while designs for precious objects turn the sheet into an arena for invention. The surviving marks help us see how these different tasks were accomplished.

A Face Observed during a Sitting

A drawing brings us close to the time Holbein spent looking at a person. In Fitzwilliam’s portrait, the small changes around the eyelids seem especially considered. The two eyes occupy different widths because the head is turned. The nearer cheek expands into a broad, quietly modelled surface; the farther side narrows towards the nose. The mouth is held within that turning form by very little shading.

Such concentrated description can make us imagine an encounter. It cannot tell us exactly what Fitzwilliam felt, how he spoke or whether he found the sitting tedious. The marks give us an appearance. Their precision leaves room for different responses.

One unusually well-documented sitting offers a glimpse of the practical circumstances. In Brussels on 12 March 1538, Holbein had three hours with Christina of Denmark, whose likeness Henry VIII wanted to see during marriage negotiations. Susan Foister’s National Gallery catalogue explains that one or more drawings were probably made in her presence and carried back to England. The surviving full-length painting was a separate undertaking. This exceptional visit supplies no standard duration for every Holbein portrait. ^[8]

That distinction changes how we look at a sheet. An abbreviated shoulder may have preserved everything needed at that moment. An eye might demand many small additions because its particular shape mattered so much to the likeness. The uneven finish across Fitzwilliam’s portrait gives the viewer a sense of priorities, without allowing us to reconstruct a timetable for each stroke.

Paper as Part of the Complexion

The colour between the marks is easily overlooked. It can appear to be background until we notice that the same pale tone also inhabits a cheek, forehead or neck. Holbein often gave paper a pink coating before drawing on it. Royal Collection conservators Rachael Smith and Victoria Button explain that this supplied a useful middle tone: shadows could deepen it and light accents could lift it. Other portraits were drawn directly on white paper. ^[2]

Look again at Fitzwilliam. His face remains open and luminous despite the close network of fine marks. The paper’s colour unites the lightly shaded areas, while the eyes, nostrils and lip line establish particular features. The neck and clothing become progressively less developed, yet the coloured field keeps the whole sheet visually connected.

A coating and a sheet of paper also have their own material histories. Button cautions that dirt, wear and discolouration complicate any reconstruction of the original surface. A present-day reproduction does not give an untouched measure of the colour Holbein first saw. ^[3] This matters when comparing two portraits online: differences in illumination and reproduction join the real differences between the objects.

Watermarks provide another way into the support. Visible in transmitted light, they help conservators investigate the papers Holbein used. The Royal Collection’s account notes that many sheets have been trimmed, and that some were extended with added strips. ^[2] The rectangle we meet today may therefore differ from the piece of paper on which the artist began. Its edges, like its colour, deserve attention alongside the image.

Silverpoint before the Tudor Court

The early portrait study of Jakob Meyer zum Hasen offers a particularly clear encounter with another material. Dated 1516, it is drawn in silverpoint on white prepared paper, with red chalk in the face and small black accents. Its Basel inventory number is 1823.137. ^[4]

Meyer’s hat rises in a broad diagonal above an intricate cluster of curls. The face is compact, the mouth small and the coat loosely indicated. Fine lines can describe both an outer edge and a shadow: repeated strokes build density without filling the surface with an opaque mass. Across the hair, these marks turn and overlap; across the cheek, they become quieter and more widely spaced.

Silverpoint belongs to the wider family of metalpoint techniques. A silver tip deposits a fine mark on a suitably abrasive preparation. Button’s study relates Holbein’s early handling to the practice of his father’s workshop, while distinguishing the larger scale of the Younger’s Meyer studies. She also observes their close proportional relationship to the painted portraits. That correspondence suggests a practical role as patterns, without settling the entire transfer procedure. ^[3]

Meyer’s name appears again on a different Basel drawing, made around 1525/26. This later sheet, inventory 1823.140, uses black and coloured chalk and has incised contours; the current museum record also lists lead stylus. ^[5] The earlier silverpoint study and the later chalk study should remain separate in our minds. Their shared sitter makes them rewarding comparisons, but their different dates, materials and uses prevent either from serving as a generic illustration of “Holbein’s method”.

Colour, Cloth and the Painter’s Brush

Mary Shelton, later Lady Heveningham , shows how richly a portrait drawing could be developed. The Royal Collection tentatively dates the sheet c.1543?. Dark fabric spreads behind the head, enclosing a face whose modelling remains delicate. The shoulders and chest are less fully described, but small ornaments give the clothing selected points of brightness. ^[9]

The necklaces are especially engaging. Their narrow threads cross the open area of the neck, while beads appear as a sequence of small dots. The little pendant is much clearer than the larger medallion below it. That imbalance makes the eye move between a finished detail and a suggestive outline. Each is legible, although each asks a different amount of the viewer’s imagination.

Kate Heard’s curatorial account identifies yellow and red chalk in Shelton’s ornaments and headdress. Brush-applied white picks out such details as the pearl and pale trimming. Blue watercolour colours the irises; black liquid medium gives depth to the velvet. Heard also points out that the bead pattern is recorded only in part. The sheet preserves enough information for its repetition without laboriously drawing every bead. ^[10]

The small coloured areas alter our understanding of the whole. “Chalk drawing” is a convenient description, yet the portrait moves between dry particles, fine brushwork and opaque dark passages. Close looking can follow those changes of touch without assuming that every visible material was applied in the same sitting.

No corresponding finished painting is known. ^[10] The drawing consequently preserves both a convincing likeness and an unfinished connection with another possible work. Its beauty does not depend on our filling that gap with an imagined panel. The differences between face, jewellery, headdress and open costume are already a complete experience for the eye.

Following a Contour towards a Painting

A contour can carry an astonishing amount of likeness. Trace the line of a nose, the meeting of the lips or the curve beneath a chin, and a face remains recognisable before its colour and shading are complete. The practical problem was to preserve those relationships when moving from paper to a painted surface.

Two drawings of Sir Thomas More make the surviving evidence unusually tangible. The larger, strongly worked sheet, RCIN 912268, dates from 1527 and has outlines pricked for transfer. The separate RCIN 912225, dated c.1526–27, includes brown wash and has contours traced with a stylus. The Royal Collection connects this second sheet with the More family portrait. ^{[11] [12]}

Pricking means making small holes along selected outlines. Powder passed through such holes can leave a dotted pattern on another surface; the operation is called pouncing. Tracing instead follows the contours with a tool, potentially transferring them through a sheet carrying chalk or charcoal. The original may retain an indentation from the pressure. An intermediate sheet can help preserve a valued drawing while carrying its design onward. ^[3]

These are possible mechanisms, not a universal sequence proved for every surviving portrait. Button found that the pricked More drawing does not align throughout with the Frick painting’s underdrawing. Some features agree closely while others diverge. The traced sheet gives a closer match, but its precise place in the process remains open. She also cautions that the pricking itself cannot be securely dated. ^[3]

A drawing can be closely related to a painting without having been placed directly against its panel. A contour can change while it is traced, transferred, strengthened or repainted. We see a family of working relationships rather than one mechanical instruction repeated without variation.

Richard Southwell’s drawing belongs beside the separate Uffizi painting . The Royal Collection identifies the sheet as preparatory for that portrait. Its written reminder about the sitter’s eye colour shows that transferring proportions and remembering colour were complementary tasks. ^[13] Lines preserved one kind of information; words could preserve another.

What the Hands of Erasmus Reveal

The Louvre’s Three Studies of Hands for the Portrait of Erasmus brings us away from faces while keeping the practical questions close. Two left hands occupy the upper and lower parts of the sheet. Between them is a more rapidly drawn hand holding a pen. The museum records silverpoint, black chalk and red chalk on white prepared paper. ^[6]

Look first at the lower hand. The fingers lie together but do not collapse into a single shape. Small changes at the joints, the gently turning nails and the ring distinguish one finger from another. Shading gives the back of the hand weight, while the outer line remains fine. Above it, the less developed study leaves more of the construction exposed.

Button’s examination follows the progression from silverpoint outlines and shading to additions of red chalk. She contrasts these careful passages with the freer black-chalk writing hand. The two kinds of mark occupy the same support yet create different impressions of pace and concentration. ^[3]

Their relationship is also debated. The Louvre connects the two left hands with the 1523 Longford Castle portrait. Its commentary reports Paul Ganz’s older view that the writing hand was a later addition by another artist, and Christian Müller’s proposal of a later study for an older Erasmus. ^[6] These positions concern a part of the sheet, rather than a simple choice between accepting or rejecting the whole object.

The hand studies therefore reward two kinds of attention together: the pleasure of seeing fingers become solid through fine marks, and the historical question of how several studies came to share one piece of paper. Neither requires every mark to belong to one uninterrupted moment.

Dark Lines and Worn Surfaces

An emphatic outline can seem surprising beside a softly modelled face. Earlier scholars sometimes interpreted these dark contours as later reinforcement. Button’s examination makes the question more specific: what material is present, where does it sit in the sequence, and does an indentation cross it? She argues that much black liquid contouring belongs to Holbein’s own practice, while acknowledging that the authorship of every line cannot be established. ^[3]

The distinction matters visually. Chalk is vulnerable to abrasion. If softer modelling is lost while a more durable liquid line survives, the outline can appear disproportionately strong. The present balance of a drawing need not reproduce the balance it once had. Button’s discussion of worn chalk and surviving black medium gives us a reason to look carefully before calling a face either unusually spare or heavily retouched. ^[3]

The older drawing of Edward, Prince of Wales , RCIN 912201, is a useful example. The Royal Collection dates this frontal likeness c.1540–43 and records that it is much rubbed. It is separate from the infant study, RCIN 912200. ^[14] The faintness of the older child’s face belongs partly to the object’s condition; it cannot securely reveal his health or the original strength of Holbein’s modelling.

Tracing introduces another complication. A groove can gather loose drawing material and look like a deliberately drawn fine line. Button identified this source of confusion in discussion of supposed metalpoint. ^[3] The catalogue’s “metalpoint”, a conservator’s “indentation” and our impression of a dark stroke answer different questions. The tool, the physical impression and the material collected inside it must each be considered.

Names Written across Time

Portrait inscriptions often offer the first foothold for recognition. They also have dates of their own. Fitzwilliam’s name at the top of the featured sheet was written in the eighteenth century. The lettering identifies the sitter for later viewers; it is separate from Holbein’s act of drawing him. ^[1]

Shelton’s inscription similarly uses her later married name, Lady Heveningham. ^[9] The face, the marriage and the surviving lettering occupy different moments. Reading them together enlarges the portrait’s history, provided the name is not treated as a label written during the sitting.

Other identifications remain less secure. The Royal Collection drawing usually called Anne Boleyn is probably the queen, but its identity has been debated. An inscription copied from an earlier identification forms part of the evidence. ^[15] The familiar title allows us to find the image; it does not remove the historical question.

The case traditionally called Simon George is more unsettled. The Royal Collection now titles the drawing Unidentified man, perhaps George Cornwall , with a tentative date c.1543?. The older expansion of the inscription to “Simon George” has been questioned. ^[16] Holbein’s authorship and the identity of his sitter are separate matters: uncertainty about a name does not make the drawing a copy.

These small acts of reading have a large effect on browsing. A familiar face may survive with a revised title, and a familiar title may cover more than one object. Dates, collections and inventory numbers let us keep our bearings while the historical interpretation develops.

Drawing an Object That Did Not Yet Exist

Portraits do not exhaust Holbein’s work on paper. In a design such as Basel’s Table Ornament with Caryatids , the sheet organises an elaborate object through outline, repeated ornament and suggestions of volume. The museum dates it 1533/36 and records black pen over a chalk underdrawing. ^[7]

The vessel swells above a narrow stem and a group of supporting figures. Curves answer one another across its sides; densely patterned areas sit beside long structural edges. The upper corners of the paper have been cut diagonally, making the surviving support itself an unusual shape. ^[7] Within that small field, Holbein gives the eye enough information to imagine a much more substantial object.

Here line does several jobs. It establishes the outer silhouette, separates projecting forms and describes ornament within them. Shading suggests surfaces turning away from the light. The figures at the stem seem to hold up the broad vessel, tying sculptural bodies to a functional structure. The figures turn its weight and support into something we can imagine physically.

The sheet is often encountered under a traditional title connecting it with a table fountain and Anne Boleyn. The current museum title is more neutral. The surviving drawing alone does not establish a working water system, a particular commission or the appearance of an executed object. ^[7] Keeping that distinction allows the invention on paper to remain vivid without supplying a lost object in unwarranted detail.

The table ornament opens onto Holbein’s broader design work . Follow the ornament along the rim, then down to the figures carrying the stem. Each change of line invites us to imagine a different surface, from a narrow curling edge to the rounded weight of a body.