“This is not a beauty contest,” he continues. “The bodies you’ll sketch will be young, old, fat and skinny. Your first few hundred drawings will be execrable. Don’t worry about it. Learning to portray the human form is something artists have struggled with since the caves at Lascaux, earlier even. It is a skill anyone can learn with practice and you’ll get a lot of practice this year. Keep drawing. Your drawings will get better in time.”
“Mr. Donahue will you grade every drawing?” A kid asks.
“Hi. What’s your name? I’ll learn everyone’s name in a week or so. Until then, please introduce yourself,” says Donahue.
“I’m Kevin Harris.”
“Hi, Kevin. By the way, you don’t have to dress up for class, you know.” The kid nods. “I’ll just grade the ones that aren’t totally abysmal.” He smiles at the kid. I can see him go red across his neck. “Okay, Catherine, we’re ready to begin.”
I know this part by heart, but it gives me a thrill to hear him announce my name every time. It’s like being a celebrity; I perform in the tradition of Lady Godiva. I take a few deep breaths and check that my hair is off my neck except for a few artistic tendrils.
I wait a few seconds to build the anticipation. Then I emerge wearing just my Chinese silk robe and an enigmatic smile. I feel the students’ eyes following me. This is my biggest entrance of the year, so I make the most of it. They won’t pay as much attention to me next time. And the time after that, I’ll be furniture. But today, I’m like a force field bending air and light in slow motion, as I saunter to the center of the studio.
I approach the model stand, step up with as much grace as I can manage and sit, opposite Donahue. The platform is about seven feet square and eighteen inches tall with a cube of the same height perched on top. I open my sash and let my robe cascade around me like a sigh, awaiting my instructions.
Suzanne C Martinez 