My Manga Art Journey Session: The First Martial Arts Pose and the Spirit of Old School

There’s something strange—and beautiful—that happened on my first manga art session. When I finally sat back and looked at my finished piece, I realized something that made me laugh out loud. The martial arts pose I had just drawn looked like it walked straight out of a manga from the 80s or 90s. The kind of art that used to fill the pages of Weekly Shonen Jump, the kind that lived on dog-eared tankōbon sitting on the shelves of kids who dreamed about being martial artists, mecha pilots, or cosmic warriors.

I wasn’t trying to do that. At least, not consciously. But when I saw the result, I couldn’t deny it: it had that vibe.

So, this blog is me unpacking that journey. From my first rough sketch all the way to the finished screen tones, I want to take you into my process. And somewhere along the way, maybe we’ll figure out why my art spirit decided to channel the ghosts of manga past.

Step One: The Rough Sketch

Every journey begins messy. Mine started with a martial arts pose—something strong, grounded, and dynamic. I sketched it out quickly, rough lines scratching across the page like bursts of energy.

When I sketch, I don’t overthink. The lines aren’t neat; they’re raw. I wanted movement, not perfection. Martial arts, after all, is about fluidity. If the pose doesn’t feel alive at the sketch stage, it won’t survive the later layers.

This rough sketch was like a foundation stone. Imperfect, but heavy with intention. And maybe that’s where some of that old-school feeling started creeping in. Old manga artists didn’t chase perfection in the first draft—they chased spirit.

Step Two: The Red/Blue Line Drawing on Tracing Paper

Now here’s where things get interesting. I didn’t just refine the sketch directly. Instead, I placed tracing paper over it and began reworking the pose using red and blue pencil lines.

This is a technique I picked up through research—many professional manga and animation artists use colored pencils during refinement to separate shapes, forms, or corrections. Red for construction lines, blue for motion corrections, or sometimes vice versa.

Why does this matter? Because this exact process mirrors how 80s and 90s manga artists worked. Before the digital era, many artists relied on layers of tracing and refinement. They’d hammer out proportions, anatomy, and balance through iterative drawing. The colored pencils, the transparency of tracing paper—it’s a workflow born in the analog era. By adopting it, even unintentionally, I may have invited that aesthetic ghost into my piece.

Step Three: Inking on Tracing Paper

Inking is where the personality really comes out. I transferred my refined drawing onto tracing paper again, this time committing with ink.

I went in with a steady hand, but not so steady that it lost energy. Old-school manga had bold, slightly imperfect lines. They wobbled, they breathed. Unlike the razor-sharp precision of modern digital tools, those lines carried human weight.

By inking on tracing paper instead of a clean digital canvas, I was giving my work that organic “flaw.” My lines weren’t sterile—they carried texture. And that texture is another marker of retro manga.

Step Four: Line Cleanup

Of course, once the ink dried, I had to clean up. Erasing stray marks, trimming edges, and making the lines cohesive. But here’s the kicker: no matter how much cleanup I did, the piece still carried that “analog” feel.

Modern manga often looks digital even when it isn’t—polished to near perfection. But older manga, even the masterpieces, always left behind a little grit. A little imperfection that told you a human hand was behind the pen.

That imperfection stayed in mine. And I kind of love it.

Step Five: Greyscale Screen Tones

Now here’s the real time machine. When I laid down greyscale screen tones, my art practically shouted: “Welcome to 1992!”

Screen tones are another relic of pre-digital manga. Artists used adhesive sheets, cutting and layering them over inked pages to create shadows, depth, and mood. Even though I used digital tools to mimic them, the aesthetic is the same.

Screen tones don’t look like Photoshop gradients. They have grain, texture, and patterns. They carry the weight of tradition. When paired with bold black ink, they automatically evoke that old-school manga energy.

I didn’t mean to, but in using tones instead of smooth shading, I anchored my work in the past.

Why Did My Art Look Like Old-School Manga?

This is the question that nagged me after I finished: Why did my piece feel like it belonged in the 80s/90s?

I’ve come up with a few possible explanations:

1. The Process Is Retro

My workflow—rough sketch, tracing paper with colored pencils, inking, tones—mirrors the analog pipeline of older manga artists. Even in 2025, it’s a system that naturally produces retro aesthetics.

2. The Martial Arts Pose

Martial arts were central to many 80s/90s manga (Fist of the North Star, Dragon Ball, Yu Yu Hakusho, Rurouni Kenshin). By choosing a martial arts stance for my first piece, I unknowingly tapped into one of the most iconic visual motifs of that era.

3. The Human Touch

Old manga carried the imperfections of ink, tracing paper, and hand-done tones. My work did too. Without digital polish, the “grit” automatically read as vintage.

4. Subconscious Influence

Even if I wasn’t aiming for it, my brain has been marinated in old manga for years. The shows I watched, the art I admired, the tankōbon I flipped through as a kid—they all left fingerprints on my style.

5. Spirit Speaks Through Hands (LOL)

Sometimes, we don’t choose what comes out. The spirit does. Maybe my inner 12-year-old who stayed up late watching Ninja Scroll VHS tapes decided to hijack the pen.

The Weight of Nostalgia

What surprised me most wasn’t just that my art looked old-school, but how right it felt. Nostalgia has a strange way of sneaking into creativity.

Even though I’ve researched manga history, techniques, and styles, I didn’t set out to mimic the past. But once I saw it, I realized something: the 80s/90s style isn’t dead. It lives in every artist who was touched by it.

My piece was less about trying to copy and more about channeling. That spirit flowed out because it’s part of my DNA now.

Looking Ahead: Where Do I Go From Here?

Now I stand at a crossroad. Do I lean into this old-school energy, polishing it into a modern-retro hybrid? Or do I shift my process toward cleaner, digital-focused styles?

The truth is, I don’t need to decide right now. This is just the first step in my manga journey. Maybe my style will evolve into something unrecognizable five years from now. Or maybe I’ll become known for reviving that throwback aesthetic.

What matters is this: I drew my first manga piece, and it spoke back to me. It told me that my creative spirit has roots deeper than I thought.

Lessons Learned From My First Manga Piece

• Don’t fight the ghost in your hand. Sometimes your subconscious knows your style better than your conscious mind.

• Process matters. The tools and methods you use shape your aesthetic, even unintentionally.

• Imperfection is power. Clean isn’t always better. Grit carries emotion.

• History lives in us. If you grew up with something, it will find its way out through your art.

Final Thoughts

My first manga piece on a martial arts pose turned out to be more than just a practice session. It became a revelation. What I thought would be a simple exercise transformed into a mirror of my influences, my process, and my spirit.

Maybe I’ll always carry a piece of that old-school manga energy with me. And honestly, I’m okay with that.

Because when I look at my drawing, I don’t just see a pose. I see the 80s and 90s alive again—reborn through my hands, unplanned but undeniable.

And if that’s what my spirit wanted to say… then I’m listening.