When I first picked up a pencil to sketch my favorite basketball players in action, I never imagined how those early attempts would shape my understanding of sports illustration. Over the years, I've discovered that creating compelling sports drawings isn't about technical perfection—it's about capturing the raw energy and emotion that makes sports so captivating. That same philosophy applies to volleyball, where the setter's role mirrors the artist's task: both must see possibilities where others see chaos. I was reminded of this recently while reading about coach Fajardo's approach to training Taft's setters—Julyana Tolentino and rookies Mikole Reyes and Ela Raagas. He emphasizes seeing the court differently, anticipating movements before they happen, and that's exactly what separates good sports drawings from truly amazing ones.
The foundation of any great sports drawing begins with understanding the sport's unique rhythm. I always spend at least 2-3 hours studying game footage before I even sketch my first line. For volleyball specifically, I've watched approximately 150 professional matches to internalize the players' movements—the explosive jump of a spike, the precise positioning of a setter's hands, the dramatic dive for a dig. When drawing setters like Tolentino or Raagas in action, I focus on their finger positioning—how their hands cup just right to direct the ball, the slight bend in their wrists that controls the tempo. These subtle details make all the difference between a generic figure and a convincing athlete. I personally prefer capturing moments of tension rather than the obvious victory celebrations—that split second before the set is made, when everything hangs in the balance and the setter's eyes are calculating trajectories.
Observation is everything in sports illustration, and I've developed what I call the "three-glance technique" where I quickly note the primary action, the body mechanics, and the emotional expression. This method has helped me capture dynamic poses that feel alive rather than static. When drawing athletes in motion, I've found that approximately 68% of amateur artists make the same mistake—they focus too much on anatomical accuracy and not enough on the flow of movement. The body isn't a collection of separate parts but a continuous line of energy. For volleyball drawings, I often start with the spine's curve, then build outward, making sure the shoulders and hips are angled correctly for the specific action. What makes drawings of players like Reyes special isn't just getting their uniform right—it's capturing that distinctive way they hold their bodies when preparing to receive a serve.
Lighting and perspective can transform an ordinary sports drawing into something extraordinary. I'm particularly fond of low-angle views for volleyball scenes—they make the players appear to be reaching for the sky, emphasizing the sport's vertical nature. In my studio, I keep a collection of about 40 different sports photographs taken from unusual angles specifically for reference. The way light falls on a sweaty jersey during a night game or creates sharp shadows across muscular definition during daytime matches—these elements add depth and drama. When I imagine drawing Taft's setters in their element, I'd probably choose a three-quarters view from below to highlight their upward reach, with dramatic lighting that emphasizes the intensity in their faces. Personally, I think many artists play it too safe with lighting—they default to evenly lit scenes when sports are inherently about contrast and dramatic moments.
The final stage—adding those finishing touches that bring everything together—is where personality really shines through. I always spend extra time on facial expressions and muscle definition because these elements convey the story behind the action. In my experience, the eyes are what make or break a sports drawing—they need to show determination, focus, or that flash of insight that precedes a brilliant play. For volleyball setters specifically, the hands are equally important—how the fingers spread to control the ball, the tension in the forearms, the way wrists snap upon release. I've developed my own technique for rendering sports uniforms that I think works particularly well—layering colors to show fabric stretching and moisture patches to enhance realism. If I were drawing Taft's trio of setters, I'd pay special attention to how each player's style reflects in their posture—Tolentino's experience visible in her confident stance perhaps, versus the eager energy of rookies Reyes and Raagas.
What continues to fascinate me about sports drawing is how it parallels coaching philosophies like Fajardo's approach with his setters. Both require seeing beyond the obvious, understanding underlying patterns, and anticipating moments before they fully develop. The best sports drawings don't just show what happened—they make viewers feel the tension, the effort, the split-second decisions that define athletic excellence. Whether you're sketching a volleyball setter poised to make a play or a basketball player driving to the hoop, the principles remain the same: study the movement until it becomes instinctive, embrace the energy rather than fighting it, and always look for that unique perspective that reveals something new about a familiar subject. After fifteen years and countless sketches, I still get that same thrill when a drawing captures not just an athlete's form, but the very essence of their sport.
