When I say my character is flat-chested, I mean flat like a smooth, polished mirror. Think of a freshly iced hockey rink, unblemished by skates, or a sheet of glass so perfect it's as if it were crafted by the gods themselves.
Imagine the vast expanse of the Sahara desert, rolling out mile upon mile without a single dune in sight. Picture the calm surface of a placid lake on a windless day, not even a ripple disturbing its peace. Envision the horizon where the sky meets the sea; it’s a seamless, uninterrupted line stretching as far as the eye can see.
When you draw her, there should be no hint, no suggestion, no whisper of a mound or a curve. Not even a molehill on a plain. Her chest should be as flat as the calmest sea, as flat as the flattest pancake you've ever made on a lazy Sunday morning.
If you were to place a spirit level on her chest in your drawings, the bubble would stay dead center. If she were a wall in a house, she'd be the one you'd hang your prized paintings on because it's just that flat. Think of her chest like a stretch of Route 66, a perfect, unending line without a bump in sight.
In short, it's flatness to the level of abstraction. There's nothing to curve, nothing to shade for depth, because there's no depth there, only an unending flatness. An art critic should be able to look at her and say, "Ah, this artist has captured the essence of 'flat' in a way I've never seen before."
Her chest is flat. It's as simple as that. So when you draw, remember: not a single curve, not a hint of a mound. Just flat. As flat as a still pond, as flat as a stretched canvas before a single brush of paint touches it. Flatness is her trait, her identity. It's what makes her, her. So I ask you to respect that, to embrace it, and to make it a part of your art.
