In the beginning, there was chaos, and out of this chaos emerged a curious bunch known as artists. These artists, determined to bring some semblance of order to the universe, stumbled upon a rather ingenious invention: the grid.
Our story begins in ancient Egypt, where artists, faced with the daunting task of decorating vast tomb walls, decided to get organised. They created grids, not to solve any complex mathematical problems, but simply to ensure that Pharaoh's nose didn’t end up where his ear was supposed to be. This was an early attempt at quality control, and it worked. The Egyptians managed to draw people who looked like people, and gods who looked suitably divine, all thanks to their neatly arranged squares.
Fast forward a few millennia to the Greeks and Romans, who took one look at the Egyptian grids and said, "We can do that, but better" (facere possumus, sed melius.) They used grids to carve out sculptures with impeccable proportions and build temples that didn't fall over. It was all very impressive and laid the groundwork for a society that took geometry far too seriously.
Then came the Renaissance, a time when everyone decided that looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses was for amateurs. Enter Leonardo da Vinci, a man who probably would have used a grid to arrange his breakfast if he had the time. Leonardo applied grids to his sketches, ensuring his Vitruvian Man didn't end up with three arms and four legs, though he probably sketched that just for fun.
Meanwhile, in Germany, Albrecht Dürer, a fellow with a penchant for precision, took one look at Leonardo's grids and said, "I see your grid and raise you a perspective machine." Dürer's contraptions made sure that his art was not just accurate but scientifically satisfying, which was all the rage back then.
The Baroque and Classical artists of the 17th and 18th centuries saw the potential in these grids and adopted them with gusto. They used them to paint dramatic scenes that were so well-proportioned they could make even the messiest of battles look organised.
The 19th century rolled around, and artists still hadn’t let go of their grid obsession. Realists and academic painters used grids to achieve photographic detail before photographs were a thing, which made them both visionary and slightly redundant. However, Impressionists like Georges Seurat took a different approach, using grids not for precision but to place dots in such a meticulous manner that from a distance, it all made perfect sense, much like a pointillist magic trick.
Then came the 20th century, when things got really interesting. Modern artists, always on the lookout for new ways to perplex the public, used grids to deconstruct reality itself. Cubists like Pablo Picasso decided that if you could see more than one side of a face at once, why not paint it that way? This resulted in portraits that looked like they had been through a blender, but in an artistic sense, of course.
Piet Mondrian, however, took the grid to its logical extreme, painting nothing but grids. These were not just any grids but grids that represented the very fabric of reality itself, or at least a very orderly version of it.
In contemporary times, photorealists like Chuck Close used grids to transform tiny photographs into massive portraits with such detail that viewers often wondered if they were staring at a painting or a really, really good printout. And as we entered the digital age, the grid found new life on computer screens, helping designers make sure that everything from websites to video games' pixel art looked just right.
Thus, the humble grid, initially a tool to keep things from going awry, evolved into a cornerstone of artistic endeavor, proving that sometimes, the best way to make sense of the world is to break it down into little squares.
You can print artists grids for free.
