Eye Level

This is the first of several planned posts on various aspects of perspective. It deals with the fundamental concept of the horizon, or eye level. It was something of a lightbulb moment for me when I first realized that the horizon is at the viewer’s eye level. It’s such a simple thing, but it made so many other things fall into place! Here’s how it works:

If you understand one-point and two-point perspective, you know that the vanishing point(s) fall on the horizon line. (If you don’t understand them, click on the links for an introduction.) But horizon = eye level, which allows the artist to define the viewer’s position relative to the picture.

For example, in Caillebotte’s Paris Street; Rainy Day, the horizon (= the viewer’s eye level) coincides with the eye level of the people in the painting, especially the couple under the umbrella. This shared viewpoint draws us into the picture so we almost feel we’re on the street with them. Notice that the heads (or eye level) of all the figures, even those tiny ones in the distance, also fall on the horizon line. Artyfactory has an excellent demonstration of how important this consistent eye level is.

Now look at these:

Masaccio’s Holy Trinity was one of the earliest uses of one-point perspective in art. The orthogonal lines ( the white perspective lines) converge to the vanishing point on the horizon line. Since the horizon = the viewer’s eye level, that puts us down below the donors, at the feet of the Virgin & St. John, looking up at the majestic God, the crucified Jesus, and the dove representing the Holy Spirit. In contrast, Andrew Wyeth’s use of a high horizon in Christina’s World means that the viewer is looking down at the woman, emphasizing her struggle to crawl across the field.

Next, let’s look at three paintings by Degas.

In the first one above, Étoile, there is no obvious horizon line, but we are clearly looking down at the dancer. In the second, Singer with a Glove, we are looking up. Both give the feeling of being in the audience – perhaps in the balcony and the front row respectively. In Dance Class, though, we can draw orthogonals from the window and the floor boards to find the the horizon line, which falls right at the dancers’ head level. Our eye level is also theirs, which creates the feeling that the viewer is actually in the room, perhaps even part of the class.

Finally, in Bathers at Asnières by Seurat, the viewer is sitting on the grass, sharing the same eye level as the seated figures and looking down at the man lying on the grass and the bathers. Now imagine someone standing right behind the boy who’s sitting on the edge of the bank. Where would his eye level fall?