Courtroom sketch artists serve as quiet chroniclers of history, recording the tension, drama and emotion of trials where cameras are not allowed.
One such artist, William J. Hennessy Jr., who died on Dec. 9 at 67, documented the impeachment trials of Presidents Bill Clinton and Donald J. Trump, as well as numerous court cases, creating some 10,000 sketches in colored pencil, pastel, charcoal and watercolor for newspapers, magazines and TV.
He did it under intense deadline pressure, patiently observing the proceedings until he witnessed a telling moment — an arm raised in defiance, perhaps, or the hint of a smirk — and then captured it in bold strokes within minutes. His work gave a curious public a view behind the walls of justice.
Courtroom sketching is a time-honored craft — a practice that may be older than the American legal system itself. Some of the earliest known courtroom sketches in the United States reportedly date to the Salem witch trials in Massachusetts in the 1600s, according to the Library of Congress.
The advent of photography in the 19th century reduced the need for courtroom artists for a while. But as the presence of cameras in the courtroom increased, lawyers and judges began to complain that they were intrusive and disruptive.
The conflict came to a head during the high-profile 1935 trial of Bruno Richard Hauptmann for kidnapping the son of the well-known aviator Charles A. Lindbergh. Popping flashbulbs and photographers leaping on tables to get the best shot became such a distraction that the court ordered the photojournalists out.
In 1937, the American Bar Association recommended banning cameras as part of its ethics guidelines; the suggestion was widely adopted by state and federal courts. Since then, many states have gradually allowed the return of cameras, and even live streams, but in federal courtrooms, where some of the most prominent cases are tried, cameras are still banned. There, artists provide not only a visual narrative of the events, but also a taste of the human drama.
The longtime courtroom artist Marilyn Church wrote in her memoir, “The Art of Justice: An Eyewitness View of Thirty Infamous Trials,” that she and her colleagues sometimes have to jockey for the right seat — either in the gallery, where they try to discreetly blend in with the public, or in special seating reserved for the media. Then they listen to the intense and occasionally gruesome testimony before deciding what to draw, all the while paying close attention to the body language and faces of the participants.
Courtrooms present unique challenges to an artist, she noted, including dim lighting and obstructed views, which sometimes means it’s necessary to draw from memory.
But even in the best of circumstances, choosing what to include is a subjective exercise. “Each drawing is a compromise,” Ms. Church wrote. “I’m forced to choose whether to create an exact portrait, emphasize the scope of the courtroom, zero in on some expressive gesture or include the judge’s reaction.”
Because of those judgments, sketches can offer a perspective that photography cannot.
As Ms. Church put it: “Sometimes a good drawing can tell more than a photograph. A photograph freezes a fraction of a second, while a drawing can transcend time entirely.”
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