Drawing a Star, Roberta Pucci
- Jan 10
- 3 min read
What do you feel, or think, when you look at the stars?
In many cultures, the star symbolizes a particular destiny or an individual calling. In dreams and fairy tales, it often represents what makes a person unique. Just as travelers, pilgrims, and sailors have always found their way by reading the night sky, we can imagine a star guiding our own journey, along a path no one has ever walked, meant only for us.
Stars are always there, but only visible in the darkness. Perhaps that’s why they resonate so strongly with the spirit of winter, the darkest season. They reveal themselves at night, a time that, metaphorically, evokes moments of doubt or disorientation. Stars don’t take away fear or darkness, but they help us move through it with confidence, because light and dark coexist.
How can we explore the essence of this phenomenon through the creative process with materials?
You might try using a very light, opaque color, like white or pale yellow, on black or deep blue paper. With a simple, focused gesture, make a minimal mark – a dot, a tiny speck, just a hint. You’ll see how working on a black surface feels truly special. Each sign is powerful. As it emerges in the dark, undifferentiated space of the sheet, like from a thick matter, it feels as if all the darkness converges around that point of light.
Yet it only appears still. Within that first dot, compressed energy pulses are eager to move. From a fixed center, the star expands, radiating countless rays in all directions, each traveling in a straight line. This linear movement can be easily expressed using colored pencils, pastels, or a fine brush.
But light also behaves like a wave. In this case, it is no longer perceived as a bundle of lines, but rather as a surface that spreads and fills space. Thus, liquid materials work best here: something that flows, creates continuity and atmosphere, such as thick tempera or acrylic applied with a wide brush, a sponge, or even your fingers.
Light is both line and surface: a line when considered as the direction and radiation of a particle; a surface when understood as the diffusion and propagation of a wave.
I find a clear resonance between this dual nature of light and the two main families of two-dimensional art materials: dry, linear tools on one hand, and wet materials on the other. Each offers a different kind of gesture, rhythm, and mark-making, allowing us to explore this duality through the creative process.
I encourage you to try both, to alternate them, or even layer one over the other. What differences do you notice? How do your movements shift? What posture, thoughts, emotions?
Materials like chalks or watercolor pencils can be particularly interesting, as they allow a transition from line to surface depending on how they are used. And of course, the size of the paper matters too. A large sheet hung on a wall invites you to work standing, using the full range of arm movement, amplifying bodily awareness and the extroverted quality of the gesture. A small sheet on a table, by contrast, encourages a more intimate, meditative approach, bringing out even the smallest details.
Above all, the goal is to let the form emerge naturally from the process itself, rather than starting with a predefined shape in mind, or the complexity of the outline, such as a classic five-pointed star.
Try closing your eyes and imagining a pulsating star. Notice how it expands, how far its rays reach into the darkness.
Now let it emerge on the paper.
How is your star like?
Roberta Pucci, atelierista and art therapist:
More texts by Roberta in the library:
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