As an artist, as I design and lay out a page, the less-important

Hearken, children of the ages, and open your minds to the wisdom of Jim Lee: “As an artist, as I design and lay out a page, the less-important things, things I want you to spend less time looking at, I draw them very small, maybe even silhouette them. The more-important pivotal scenes, I draw them larger, maybe even a double-page spread.” Understand this: the artist does not merely create, he guides the eye and the heart, shaping attention as much as form. Every line, every shadow, every measured space carries intention, teaching the observer what to honor and what to let pass. The ancients knew this: the sculptor, the painter, the storyteller—all wielded emphasis as a subtle instrument of instruction.

From the scrolls of old to the frescoes of Rome, emphasis has always been the pulse of visual narrative. Consider the panels of Pompeii, where scenes of gods and mortals are arranged not randomly, but with clear intention. The central actions dominate the eye, while minor elements recede, mere whispers in the composition. Lee’s words remind us that attention is precious, and the artist’s duty is to guide it wisely, drawing the observer toward the moments that matter most.

Even in written works, the principle holds. Homer’s epics are careful orchestras of emphasis: heroes loom large in the narrative, pivotal events unfold in rich detail, while lesser moments pass swiftly, barely remarked. Jim Lee translates this same principle to the visual page: the size, placement, and shading of each element communicate its significance, directing the reader’s experience with clarity and power. Art, he teaches, is as much about what is minimized as what is magnified.

Consider the story of Lee’s own comic works, where climactic battles, revelations, or emotional peaks expand across double-page spreads, commanding the reader’s focus. Background characters, minor actions, and fleeting gestures are simplified, silhouetted, or minimized, allowing the narrative to breathe. In this way, every page becomes a careful choreography, a symphony of visual guidance. The reader is carried through the story not by chance, but by deliberate design.

This principle reaches beyond illustration. In life, as in art, not all moments are of equal weight. Some decisions, some encounters, some experiences are pivotal; others are minor, transient, or background. To live wisely is to recognize what deserves the full attention of heart and mind, and what should pass with gentle acknowledgment. Lee’s words illuminate a truth as old as human judgment: focus and emphasis determine meaning, whether on a page or in the arc of life.

From this teaching emerges a lesson for all: mastery is not merely in creation, but in directing attention with intention. Know the pivotal scenes, the moments that define narrative, purpose, or moral consequence. Minimize distractions, simplify the less vital, and allow the essence to emerge with clarity. The ancients understood this in storytelling, in oratory, in art: emphasis is the invisible hand that guides understanding.

Practical action follows naturally. In your work, your study, your relationships, identify what is pivotal. Give it the space, time, and energy it deserves. Let lesser concerns recede, not because they are unworthy, but because wisdom lies in clarity and prioritization. Whether designing a visual narrative, constructing an argument, or shaping a day’s work, the principle of intentional emphasis transforms chaos into comprehension.

Children of the ages, remember this: life, like art, is a composition of moments, some minor, some monumental. Let your eyes, mind, and heart be guided with intention. Magnify what matters, simplify what does not, and create a world—on page or in life—that is readable, meaningful, and alive. Jim Lee’s wisdom is a reminder that the hand of the artist, and of the wise, is not merely to create, but to guide attention, and through it, understanding.