3 hand-drawn portrait commissions in Bic pen or fineliner (and what they really say)

When people talk about personalised portraits, they usually show the final result.
A beautiful image. A neat drawing. Something that looks “good” on a wall.

But what really matters is not just what you see.
It’s what sits behind the lines and the paper: a request that is sometimes hesitant, a relationship to protect, a presence you want to keep close without really knowing how to express it.

Among the different mediums I use for my portrait commissions, I particularly love working in black and white, with very simple tools: Bic pen, fineliner, ink – always fully hand-drawn.
No colour, no eraser to “fix” anything: everything happens through the line itself, accepted as it is, with its hesitations and its intensity.

To give you a concrete idea of what a hand-drawn black-and-white portrait commission can hold, here are three portraits.
Three anonymised stories, but very real.

1. My mother in Bic pen: holding on to a whole presence

The first Bic pen portrait I want to tell you about is not a client commission.
It’s a portrait I drew for myself, of my mother.

In the drawing, she is sticking out her tongue.
Nothing solemn, nothing dramatic, nothing that looks like an “official” picture to frame above a sideboard.
Just an almost childlike gesture that sums up, all by itself, a part of her personality, her humour, her very singular way of being in the world – long before I was born and still today, in another form.

I didn’t want to “illustrate a memory” or freeze an ideal moment from the past.
What I was looking for was a way to show her in her entirety: not just as a mother, but as a whole person, with her contradictions, her light, her way of gently shifting serious things off-centre.

The Bic pen played an important role here.
It’s an everyday tool, almost banal, that doesn’t try to look “noble” or impressive, and that ordinary quality helped me draw a presence that wasn’t sacralised, but alive, accessible, familiar.

This hand-drawn portrait has become, for me, a timeless and unifying presence.
It doesn’t lock me inside grief; it opens up a space where absence turns into a luminous form of togetherness – something that connects rather than something that separates.

What this portrait really says:

• that you can keep living with someone after they’re gone, through a drawn presence that isn’t frozen;
• that a person is not reduced to a single role (mother, parent, etc.);
• that a very simple tool can hold an enormous emotional charge.

2. A tiny portrait on a mug: a truly “no-occasion” gift

For the second example, we leave big questions of loss behind for something deliberately simple: a small black-and-white portrait, hand-drawn with fineliner, made to be printed on an everyday object like a mug.

The person who contacted me didn’t have any specific occasion to celebrate.
No birthday, no Mother’s Day, no “good excuse”.
Just this: “I’d like to give her a present, just because, without it needing to be tied to a date.”

From the very beginning, we designed the personalised portrait for this specific object: a small surface, a face or posture that has to stay legible even when you only glance at it, half-asleep with a coffee in hand.
That forces a kind of sobriety: few details, a clear, readable drawing, an expression that holds in a small space.

The mug, here, becomes a way to bring a quiet presence into everyday life.
We’re not talking about a large framed piece you look at from a distance, but about an object you touch, wash, put down and pick up again – something that’s there in very ordinary moments.

What this tiny portrait on a mug really says:

• a truly “no-occasion” personalised gift, not dictated by any calendar;
• a way of saying “you are part of my everyday life” without a long speech;
• the strength of a simple black-and-white drawing when it shows up again and again in a small, repeated gesture (drinking coffee or tea every day).

3. The cat, kitten and adult: drawing time itself

For the third example, we move into the animal world, with a specific twist: a portrait of the same cat, drawn at two different moments in its life – once as a kitten, once as an adult – in black and white, with Bic pen.

The request was not just “draw my cat.”
It was more like: “I’d like to keep a trace of what he was at the beginning, and of what he has become, because he has been there through an entire part of my life.”

Working in black and white was particularly suited to this idea of continuity.
With the same “visual language”, you can show two different ages, two presences, two energies, and still keep a coherent thread between them.

As a kitten, the drawing leans more into attentive, playful energy – big eyes, quick posture, alertness.
As an adult, the posture changes, and what comes through instead is calm and trust.

This hand-drawn black-and-white animal portrait doesn’t just tell the story of an animal growing up.
It also quietly tells the story of time passing for the person living with him: the phases of life they’ve moved through together, the habits that have formed, the silent anchor he represents.

What this kitten-and-adult cat portrait really says:

• the continuity of a bond over several years;
• the way an animal becomes a witness to your own life;
• how one simple medium can connect two very different moments without freezing them.

Why choose a hand-drawn black-and-white portrait commission (Bic pen, fineliner, ink)?

In these three portraits, the medium – Bic pen, fineliner, ink – and the fact that they’re fully hand-drawn are not just technical details.
They shape the way you look at the person (or animal) on the page.

Working in black and white, only with Bic pen, fineliner or ink, and drawing everything by hand means:

• using limited means: no colour, no eraser to fix anything later, everything depends on the line;
• paying close attention to posture, gestures, glances;
• staying close to everyday life: these are tools most of us know and have already held in our hands.

The result is not perfect, glossy, spectacular images.
It’s hand-drawn portraits that are often modest in appearance, but deeply inhabited, that keep doing their quiet work in the lives of the people who live with them.

If one of these stories feels familiar…

If one of these situations resonates with you.
If you’d like to keep a trace of someone, an animal, or a moment that matters, without having the perfect words or the “right” occasion, you can send me a message – even a very imperfect one: contact@edpunezpicco.com

You don’t need to know everything in advance: not the pose, not the exact style, not even the final support.
We’ll take the time to clarify together what needs to stay on the page: a posture, a gesture, a presence.

Find out how a hand-drawn portrait commission works with me, step by step.

And if you’d rather start by seeing a few finished portraits, you can browse some examples here:
Hand-drawn portraits for individuals