The essence of paper is flat, a dimensional plane. When possible, put your light source in a spot that helps accentuate the big plane changes of your model. This often means placing the light a little off to the side of the model. Angle the light source so either the light or the shadow shapes dominate your design. A 3-to-1 ratio is usually a safe bet.
Atmospheric perspective. Often referred to as aerial perspective, atmospheric perspective references the compounded effect that air and light have on objects as they recede. As the reflective light off the object filters its way through the intervening air to the viewer’s eyes (referred to as the line of sight), the contrast between the object and its surroundings diminish, detail decreases, color saturation (chroma) weakens and shifts towards the skylight color, which is generally blue unless it is sunrise or sunset.
Knowing when to stop is an issue many artist struggle with, particularly those employing a photo-real style. I've created some terrific architectural renderings by not stopping at the "pretty rendering" stage, but instead pushing on to that magical moment when the piece turns into a "capital -B Beautiful rendering. Yearning for something more has become my greatest struggle in creating art.
An architect friend of mine once told me that your rendering will only be as strong as your reference. With enough experience, you may be able to make a successful rendering, no matter how compelling the reference is. However, until you’re making consistently strong, engaging renders, take this idea as gospel: start with good photographic references.
Pulling a camera view and hitting render is much like picking up a point-and-shoot camera and clicking away. Many renderings I'm seeing have exceedingly little that is artistically pleasing. The renderings provide raw information that does not take into account the concept of aesthetics. An artist, working digitally, can manipulate the viewer's eye by leading it through the composition to a specific focal point. The lightest part in an architectural scene is the part that is perpendicular to the light source, and the closer the parts are to the light source, the brighter they will be. You can take some artistic liberties and pitch planes toward and away from light to create drama.
In Race Against the Machine (which is a terrific read, BTW), Andrew McAfee and Erik Brynjolfsson make the point that the impact of Moore’s Law is just beginning to hit its radical phase. Andy and Erik use the analogy of the fable of the invention of chess as a way to talk about what happens once the power of exponential improvement really takes hold of processes and people and technology. The way the fable goes is as follows. Supposedly the inventor of the game of chess showed his creation to the Emperor. The Emperor was so delighted by the game that he allows the inventor to name his own reward. The inventor was a clever man, and so he asks for a quantity of rice to be determined as follows: one grain of rice is placed on the first square of the chessboard, two grains on the second, four on the third and so on with each square receiving twice as many grains as the previous one. The Emperor agrees, thinking that this reward is far too small for such a fabulous game.
He is reassured in his thinking during the early phases of the rice doubling because it really doesn't seem that impressive initially. Even after 32 squares, the Emperor has given the inventor only about 4 billion grains of rice. Now that’s an awful lot of rice, but it is only about one large field’s worth. However, it is in the second half of the chessboard that volume of rice becomes overwhelming. In the second half of the chessboard the Emperor ultimately realizes that the number of grains of rice is equal to 2 to the 64th power – 1, or about enough rice to make a mountain the size of Mount Everest.
The point that Andy and Erik make with this fable in terms of technology is that we are now starting to move into the second half of Gordon Moore’s chessboard. It is in the second half of the chessboard that technology change accelerates. And if the changes and improvements in hardware technology (as represented by semiconductor capacity) are not impressive enough, our ability to create software and algorithms improves even more quickly than our ability to improve the hardware.
Sometimes ideas for composition just come to you, fully formed. Other times you have to build them from scratch. In both cases, you still need to play with the idea to develop it. Once you start to render, there many other things to work out that you may not notice serious compositional flaws. Once you have committed a lot of effort to developing a view, you may be reluctant to make changes.
If ten people set up to render the same thing you'll get ten different renders People see from different points of view, both literally and figuratively. Everyone has cliched ways of looking at things. Breaking those habits and taking a fresh viewpoint is vital to the artistic process. You know the experience of seeing something familiar as if for the first time; it seems alive and exciting. That's the way you want to try to see things before you render.
If any interval, or rhythm, in your rendering, becomes too repetitious or systematic, it feels lifeless and unnatural. This remains a typical problem that afflicts beginners, but it happens to me all the time. In art, the principle of line rhythm is essential in creating a hierarchy of information that feels comfortable and natural for your viewer to interpret. Without variety, your rendering can become wallpaper fading into the background of our attention. Like an endless row of fence post, we cease to notice or pay attention.
Too much variation is incredibly disruptive, Each decision you make when putting information into your model has visual implications. Not enough unity and you have confusion. Too much unity and you are bored.