For three hours every week, I stand in a large room full of artists, some accomplished, some not and paint with Pastels. I call it my serious group therapy. There’s very little chatter in the class, but the swell of everyone’s focus puts you in an unusual zen that’s tremendously supportive. In terms of group work-outs, this being a mental one, I find it refreshing not sweating and standing behind someone who needs to add more than lettuce to their diet.
When the instructor announces, “Next week we’re having a model”, I’m tempted to raise my hand and say, “Please get a woman cause I hate to draw dicks”, but I hold my tongue and go with the mellow flow of the class, hoping I can secure a rear view of the guy because I just don’t like staring at a dick for 3 hours. Wish I could share that with the class, but it’s so inapropriate and com’ on…it’s true.
Thankfully, we had a beautiful 20 something woman. When she disrobed to set her pose, I wondered what all the men in the class were thinking. When you draw the figure, you really look beyond what is in front of you. You focus on the light, the dark,the cast shadows, etc. but seriously, you do have initial thoughts of which you think, but NEVER share.
My initial thought was, I used to have boobs like that, which was followed by, I hope she wears a good bra when she exercises, and rounded out with, those molded-cup t-shirt bras are a godsend.
I call this painting, Back-In-The-Day Boobs.