Old biographies opened with an engraved portrait facing the title page. We compose with the same grammar.
The three-quarter turn. Frontispieces rarely faced the reader squarely; the sitter turned slightly, gaze just off the lens, which reads as thought rather than performance. We brief the same turn. It flatters the line of the shoulder, gives the robe something to fall from, and leaves negative space where a title page would sit.
Lighting follows the engraving logic too: one warm source, soft falloff, the background dropped to a quiet tone. The gilt ribbon and the brass plate catch the same light, so the desk and the sitter share one illumination instead of competing.
What to avoid in the brief. Avoid props that imply a real identity — documents, screens, signage, monogrammed anything. A frontispiece promises a character, not a curriculum vitae. The moment a prop can be read, the fiction thins and the portrait stops being timeless.
Keep the palette to two families: the book’s deep blue and one wardrobe colour. Frontispieces were printed in a single ink for a reason; restraint in colour is what makes the ribbon’s gilt read as richness rather than noise.