Figure Drawing Class 1997

Some notes from a figure drawing class in 1997.

I have too many words in my head to concentrate on drawing right now. There is a naked man sitting in front of me in this stuffy classroom and it’s my responsibility as a student to find inspiration in his pose, to express myself with my stick of charcoal, to make sense of his pose, to learn something, to accomplish a drawing. But all I want to do is sit here and stare at this old man in his Speedo underwear and scribble angry frustrated marks on my cheap drawing paper. Everyone else is drawing, because that is why we are here. The sound of charcoal on newsprint fills the room. They step back from their drawings, back and forth, the figure drawing dance. All I can think about right now is how badly I don’t want to draw and I don’t have a good reason other than I’m a shit drawer and this is all a very uptight thing sitting here without a drawing to put on the wall at the end of this hour. I won’t have anything to compare to everyone else’s drawings. My instructor Waldek walks in the room and I feel myself panic. I don’t have anything but angry scratches and figure drawing angst and words. I want to vanish. My life as an artist is over. I have failed. Time to pack my bags. The old man who is my muse, he is falling asleep on the model stand. Waldek is throwing out words; pushing, pressing, possibility, minor changes, pressure, ambiguity…these words are circling around the room and hit me like pin pricks. The old man is sucking on candy and his little cloth green slippers sit on the floor next to him. When he drifts off, I wonder what he dreams about while all of us stare at him so intently. Waldek talks to Darota in Polish. They sound very serious. I’m feeling very blank. The model falls back asleep and Waldek and Ben discuss ballpoint pens and markers. Ganati is really into his drawing, ya know? I mean, he is really in there man! Darota snaps her fingers and steps away from her drawing and Shawn sits against the wall looking finished. Mark moves in his chair, moves with his drawing. Carrie steps back and forth, tilting her head. Chairs are being scooted across the cement floors in the room next door. Becky scratches her head and looks around. The model opens his eyes and surveys the room. It’s a rainy day and there’s a loud machine making noise by the river outside. It’s so stuffy in here and I’m thinking about what I have to do next. The model sits up, stretches a little and puts on his green slippers.