How Do Artists Draw A Cartoon Fish With Big Lips Step-By-Step?

Grab your pencils, warm up your wrist, and let’s make a cartoon fish that actually looks like it wants to swim off the page. First, collect a few simple tools: a soft pencil (2B), an eraser, a fineliner or pen for inking, and some colored pencils or digital brushes. If you want inspiration, take a peek at 'Finding Nemo' or 'Spongebob SquarePants' to see how different artists exaggerate eye size, mouth shapes, and fin placement for personality. Start with the silhouette. Draw a big oval or teardrop for the body — this is the shape that reads at a glance, so exaggerate it to suit character: chubby for cute, long and sleek for sly. Add a guideline for the face where the eye will sit. Sketch a simple circle for the eye, then a smaller circle for the pupil; placing the eye high and forward makes the fish look innocent, while back and squinty gives it attitude. Draw a smiling or grumpy mouth, experiment with teeth or puckered lips. For fins and tail, use flowing, curved shapes — think of them like ribbons. Keep the pectoral fins close to the head for a playful look. Once the sketch feels right, refine lines and add small details: gill slits, cheek highlights, scale patterns (you don’t need to draw every scale; suggest texture with a few curved rows), and bubbles for motion. Ink with confident lines — vary line weight so the head or foreground has thicker lines. Color with flat, bold tones first, then add simple shading under the belly and behind fins to suggest volume. Finish with a bright highlight in the eye and maybe a splash background. Practice drawing the same fish in different poses and expressions — that’s where the personality really comes alive. I love watching mine evolve across a sketchbook page.

I've always loved the way animators exaggerate features to make characters pop, and the big-lipped cartoon fish is a perfect example of that playful exaggeration. Back in the early days of animation, caricature was king — animators took one or two features and pushed them to ridiculous extremes so the audience immediately got the joke. That tendency collided naturally with real-life fish that already have pronounced lips (think parrotfish, wrasse, or certain wrasses and groupers), and the result was a recurring visual trope: plump, puckered mouths that read as funny, sly, or kissy depending on the scene. If you trace it through pop culture, you see the motif everywhere: mid-century theatrical shorts and TV cartoons leaned on rounded, expressive mouths to sell emotion when animation had to be economical. Later, the novelty animatronic 'Big Mouth Billy Bass' from the late 1990s turbocharged the image in a different way — suddenly a singing, lip-synced mount of a largemouth bass was in bars and gift shops, and that real-world gag fed back into how people imagined cartoon fish. Shows like 'SpongeBob SquarePants' and a raft of '90s–2000s cartoons used exaggerated lips as shorthand for character type (flirty, dim, or sleazy), while indie illustrators riff on the look for absurdist humor. I think the charm lies in the mix of biology and cartoon logic: nature gives you oddly shaped mouths, and artists amplify them to give personality. Whenever I sketch fish now I find myself tempted to overdraw the lips because they instantly make the face readable and hilarious—it's a tiny visual cheat that keeps working for me every time.

Sunlight hits my sketchbook and I reach for a pencil like it's a little ritual. I start loose: a gentle curve for the spine, a rounded oval for the belly, and a small triangle for the head. Those three marks set the fish's posture and energy, whether I'm aiming for a calm goldfish or a darting trout. I redraw the flow a few times until the silhouette feels right. Next I refine shapes — turn the head triangle into a more defined snout, add an eye placement, sketch the tail as two sweeping arcs, and block in the fins with simple leaf-like shapes. I pay attention to rhythm: the fins and body lines should guide the eye. If I want scale texture I lightly mark repeating arcs across the body but keep them loose so the drawing doesn't get stiff. Finally comes value and detail. I erase construction lines, darken the main contours, and decide on lighting. Quick cross-hatching gives form; a soft smudge creates a wet, slippery look. If I'm coloring, I pick a dominant hue and layer darker tones for shadow and brighter spots for highlights near the eye or along the flank. I usually finish with a few confident ink strokes and sign it small — that little flourish always makes me smile.

If you’re hunting down that cartoon fish with the huge, comically pouty lips, I’ve got a small treasure map of places where I’ve actually found one or something close enough to scratch the itch. I’ll start with the obvious: big marketplaces like Amazon and eBay often have mass-produced plushes that match a wide range of goofy fish designs. Use search phrases like "big lip fish plush," "pucker fish plush," "cartoon fish plush," or even "kissing fish plush"—you’ll be surprised how much shows up. For licensed characters (think blue tangs from 'Finding Nemo' or similar reef buddies), check official stores like the Disney Shop or specialty retailers; licensed versions tend to have better stitching and safer materials. If you want something with personality, Etsy is my go-to. Independent makers often create quirky, stylized fish with exaggerated features, and you can message them to request color tweaks or size changes. Prices vary wildly—expect $15–$40 for smaller, mass-produced dolls, and $60–$200+ for custom, hand-sewn commissions. I’ve commissioned a small custom fish before and watched the maker post progress pics; it’s slow but deeply satisfying. Other spots I poke around: Hot Topic and BoxLunch for trendier character plushes, Squishable for rounded, cute takes, and AliExpress for cheaper bulk-ish options (but check reviews for quality). If you’re crafty, there are amigurumi patterns and sewing tutorials on platforms like Ravelry and YouTube so you can make your own expressive-lipped fish. Happy hunting—I always get a little giddy when a new oddball plush joins my shelf.

Bright colors and a very expressive pout — that's what first comes to mind when I think of cartoon fish with big lips in kids' books. The clearest, most beloved example is 'The Pout-Pout Fish' by Deborah Diesen, illustrated by Dan Hanna. The titular fish has an exaggerated, downturned mouth that's basically the whole personality: he walks around looking gloomy, and the story is about how that pout shifts when he learns to smile. The original book spawned a whole series — titles like 'The Pout-Pout Fish Goes to School', 'The Pout-Pout Fish in the Big-Big Dark', and 'The Pout-Pout Fish Finds His Smile' — so if you want lots of pouty-lip fish content, that whole shelf will deliver. If you're browsing beyond that series, you'll find cartoonish fish with prominent mouths scattered through classics and novelty books. Dr. Seuss's 'One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish' has all kinds of goofy sea-creatures with bold, stylized features, and 'The Rainbow Fish' by Marcus Pfister is another instantly-recognizable fish character (though its appeal comes from shiny scales rather than lips). In my experience in libraries and bookstores, the pouty-lipped look is mostly associated with tongue-in-cheek picture books aimed at teaching emotions and empathy, so try searching for 'pout', 'pouty', or the author Deborah Diesen if you want the exact aesthetic. I still smile when I see that oversized lip on a book cover — it's such a small, silly design choice that hooks little readers and makes the character unforgettable.

There’s a nice little rhythm to drawing anime lips once you get the basic shapes down, and I like to think of it as a melody: a soft top note, a fuller bottom note, and the tiny silence between them. Start by sketching a simple horizontal guideline where the mouth will sit — that line helps keep expressions consistent. For closed, neutral lips, draw a shallow, slightly curved line for the upper lip (think of a gentle "m" or a stretched caret), then a slightly fuller curve below for the lower lip. Keep the lines light and confident; anime lips rarely need heavy outlines except for stylistic choices. When I’m sketching expressions, I exaggerate the upper line shape to show mood: a sharp, angled top for a smirk; a flat, thin top for a tired or stoic look. For open mouths, draw an oval or rounded rectangle for the interior, add a hint of teeth as a single rectangle or two lines (avoid detailing every tooth), and place the tongue as a crescent at the bottom. Shading is your friend — a small shadow under the lower lip and a highlight on the bottom lip can give a lot of life. I often use a soft brush in my tablet program (or a 2B pencil on paper) to blend that shadow gently. Proportions change with age and style: younger characters get smaller, tighter mouths; mature characters have a fuller lower lip. Male mouths can be squarer or thinner depending on the vibe; female mouths often have a more pronounced lower curve or a subtle cupid’s bow. Finally, study frames you love — I’ll flip through panels of 'Your Name' or sketch faces from 'One Piece' to see how different artists treat lips in motion. Practice a set of ten quick mouth thumbnails for different emotions; I do this while sipping cold coffee between commissions, and it’s surprising how fast you improve.

A simple ritual I follow when tackling a realistic cartoon eye is to break it down into kindergarten shapes first: an oval for the eyeball, another for the eyelid crease, a circle for the iris, and a smaller circle for the pupil. I sketch those lightly, paying attention to the tilt and the distance to the nose — tiny shifts change expression dramatically. Next I refine the lid shapes, add the tear duct, and map where the light source hits. I darken the pupil and block in the iris tones, then place at least two highlights: a strong specular highlight and a softer secondary reflection. Shading comes in layers — midtones first, then deeper shadows under the upper lid and along the eyeball’s rim. I use short strokes to suggest texture and soft blending for the sclera; the white isn’t flat. Finishing touches are what sell realism: a faint rim light on the cornea, a wet shine on the lower lid, and eyelashes that grow from the lid with varied thickness and curve. I step back, squint, and tweak contrast. After many sketches I notice my eyes get livelier, like they’re about to blink — that little victory always makes me grin.

Sketching long-head cartoon characters is one of my favorite exercises because it forces you to rethink proportions and expression. I usually start with a loose gesture — a single curved line that gives the head its tilt and flow. From there I block in an elongated oval for the cranium, then add a narrower jaw and a slightly longer neck than usual. I like to mark the brow line, eye line, and nose line early so features sit correctly on the stretched plane. Next I refine the silhouette: exaggerate the forehead or chin depending on the character's personality, vary cheekbones, and think about how hair will read against that long skull. I use construction shapes — flattened spheres, cylinders for the neck, and a wedge for the chin — to keep the form believable from different angles. Finally, I add facial features, play with eye size and spacing, and finish with clean line work and a few shadows to sell volume. Practicing from reference and studying 'One Piece' or older cartoonists who toy with extreme shapes helped me loosen up; once you get comfortable stretching the head, characters start to pop with personality, which I find really satisfying.

My usual approach is to break the fish down into simple shapes before I ever touch texture or detail. I start with a light pencil and sketch an elongated oval for the body, a triangle or teardrop for the tail, and gentle lines to indicate the mouth and eye placement. Blocking in the fins with sweeping thin shapes helps me find the flow — fish are all about streamlined curves. I check proportions by measuring head-to-body ratios with my pencil and adjust until it looks natural. Next I lightly draw the spine and a few major fin rays to give structure; those little bones make everything feel believable. After the structure feels right, I switch to value and edges. I map out the darkest shadows along the belly or beneath overlapping fins, then lay in midtones. For scales I rarely draw every single one; instead I suggest texture with clusters of small curved marks where scales catch light, and smoother areas where skin is slimy or reflective. Highlights are crucial — a clean eraser and a tiny white gel pen or gouache spot on the eye and along the lateral line sell the wet, slippery look. Practicing from photos and real specimens — even a trip to the aquarium for reference — sharpened my eye way more than copying tutorials alone, and honestly, it's a small ritual that keeps me hooked on drawing fish.