What I Learned by Reverse-Engineering Sargent’s Lady Agnew of Lochnaw

Seeing Beyond the Surface

As a commercial photographer and cinematographer, I spend my days studying light, composing scenes, and capturing moments that tell stories. But every now and then, stepping outside my discipline and engaging in a different art form (like painting) reveals deeper truths about my own craft. I began painting again around two years ago, when I joined the Atelier of Fine Art in Los Angeles, training under Julia Diller. I have been making images professionally as an advertising photographer and cinematographer since the mid-2000’s, and as AI had started taking a foothold, I decided to branch out into painting, just for fun. I wanted to make images that exist outside of the digital world, something I can make with my own hands. Having studied painting for a few years in college as part of my photography program, it felt natural and familiar, like revisiting an old friend.

Recently, I took on the challenge of reverse-engineering John Singer Sargent’s portrait Lady Agnew of Lochnaw, trying to decipher the seemingly effortless mastery of his brushwork. What started as a fun exercise featuring an old-fashioned subject matter quickly turned into a lesson in observation, perseverance, and embracing my inner poet.

One of the first things that struck me about Lady Agnew of Lochnaw was how Sargent painted details- not by rendering them meticulously, but by suggesting them with a few confident strokes. As a photographer, I’m often lensing the sharp details of reality, but Sargent reminded me that it’s not always about exacting precision. It’s about knowing what to emphasize and what to let dissolve into the background. His approach is a masterclass in visual storytelling: highlight the essence at the absolute minimum, and let the mind of the viewer fill in the rest.

Studying Light: The Key to Dimension and Mood

Sargent was a virtuoso of light. His brushwork captures the glow of skin, the shimmer of silk, the way shadows gently caress the folds of fabric. As I tried to mimic his choices, I found myself thinking about how I use light in my photography. Whether sculpting a portrait with lyrical brush strokes or letting soft window light create an ethereal glow, he knew how to tap into deep wells of impossible beauty. Sargent’s ability to translate light into paint reaffirmed something I always strive for in my images: light is not just illumination, it’s emotion.

Understanding Effortlessness and Persevering Through Difficult Passages

There were moments in my painting process where I wanted to quit. Passages that felt impossible to get right, brushstrokes that seemed clumsy rather than refined. But studying Sargent’s work forced me to push through. He made his work look effortless, yet the complexity of what he achieved only became apparent when I attempted it myself. This struggle mirrored the creative blocks I encounter in photography, where a composition isn’t quite working, or an edit feels endlessly frustrating. The lesson? Keep going. Mastery comes from pushing through discomfort.

What appears effortless is often the result of years of discipline. Sargent’s brushstrokes are confident, deliberate, and yet full of movement. In photography, I think of this as the ability to capture a fleeting moment with precision, as in knowing exactly when to press the shutter by listening to my body. His work reminded me that spontaneity and control are not opposites; they are partners in creating something that feels alive.

It’s easy to obsess over details, whether in a painting or a photograph. But Sargent teaches an invaluable lesson: perfection isn’t about rendering every single detail; it’s about balance. The looseness in Lady Agnew- the gestural strokes in the background, the way the dress melts into abstraction, felt like a reminder that sometimes, suggestion is more powerful than absolute clarity. In photography, I find this in introspective moments, in motion blur, in grain, and in the beautiful imperfections that make an image feel organic and soulful.

At first glance, Sargent’s brushwork can seem almost chaotic. You’ll find random smears of color, surprising choices in highlights and shadows. But when I zoomed out, I saw how every stroke had a purpose. This mirrors my experience with photography: what initially feels like an overwhelming, disorderly composition often resolves into something meaningful when I step back. The trick is to trust in the process and to recognize that beauty often emerges from what seems like chaos.

A Poetic Version of Reality

Sargent’s work isn’t photographic realism, it’s something deeper. It’s a distilled, poetic version of reality, where every element contributes to an overall mood. This is something I aim for in my own work, whether through the lens or in post-production. A great portrait isn’t just a technical feat, it’s an emotional experience. It’s about what the image feels like, not just what it looks like.

The Irony of an Old-Fashioned Subject

I couldn’t help but laugh at myself while painting Lady Agnew. There I was, deeply immersed in recreating an aristocratic portrait from the late 19th century, far removed from the constant hustle of advertising photography and the feverish adoption of AI. And yet, despite its old-world elegance, the portrait still feels timeless. It’s a testament to the idea that great art transcends trends. Whether in painting or photography, timelessness isn’t just about style. It’s about honesty, skill, and the ability to capture something essential about the human experience.

Conclusion: What Sargent Taught Me About My Own Work

Reverse-engineering Lady Agnew was an unexpected masterclass in visual storytelling. It reminded me to observe with greater sensitivity, to study light more deeply, to persevere through difficult creative moments, and to embrace the balance between control and spontaneity. Most of all, it reinforced something I’ve always known but sometimes forget: the best art, whether on canvas or in a camera, isn’t just about technical perfection. It’s about creating a version of reality that resonates, one that feels alive, poetic, and timeless. While I can’t claim to have achieved anything near Sargent’s mastery in this painting, I feel like he taught me some important lessons that were embedded in his beautiful brushwork, and across a sea of time.

Below: A few of my previous paintings for context.