I try to do figure drawing every once in a while to knock the rust off. I just found a group that meets every Wednesday night to draw from a model. I enjoyed my first session very much…
The problem is, I forget I’m gay. I actually forget everything but getting the anatomy right and trying to draw a nice figure. The person stops being a human and becomes an object. A beautiful object I’m trying to draw correctly.
This problem becomes evident when the “object” I’m trying to draw starts talking to me…naked. At that point I become very flustered and think, “Oh my God…she’s going to know I’ve been looking at her intently for 2 hours and she knows I’m gay and she’s going to think I’m a pervert.” I try to remain calm and impassive.
The object says things like, “when do you think the weather is going to warm up” and “I love your shoes”…very benign things like that and I start to sweat. Last week it got so bad that I took off my turtleneck sweater and changed into a short sleeve shirt I had worn to the gym earlier that day. The object said, “yeah…it is nice and warm in here isn’t it”. I then try to ease into the conversation and begin to talk back, but my right brain keeps screaming “you’re talking to a naked woman” while my left brain yells “concentrate on drawing the biceps attachment to the forearm”. Last week I finally got both sides of my brain under control when one of the guys drawing said, “hey…would you mind taping the model?”
You tape a model by tracing with masking tape around the naked person while they are in a pose so that they can take a break and come back to the same position. It usually falls on a woman to do this if the model is a woman, because you obviously have to get really close. Sometimes you even have to tape the inside of a thigh…
“Sure” I said and moved toward the naked object. I’m blushing and sweating. I just can’t help it. I want to play it cool and act like I’m all professional, but I just can’t get the idea that this woman knows a lesbian has been looking at her, drawing her and know is going to tape her inner thigh.
I literally have both my hands in between her legs with the tape when she says, “You smell great, “what’s that you’re wearing?” This has happened before…I wear Calvin Klein’s Obsession ( I know…80s) and even when I sweat, people say I smell good. It’s for that very reason I haven’t changed it since the 80s…I like the compliment…but I did not see it coming while I had my hands between this woman’s thighs.
With a droplet of sweat on the end of my nose, I smile and say, “Calvin Klein Obsession”, and go back to work taping and praying that she will stop talking. “Wow. I really works for you.” No chance…she’s chatting constantly with me now. I give in at that moment and think that if she indeed knows I’m gay she really doesn’t care. It’s very freeing and we spend the last hour chatting about music and that her boyfriend is in a band. I am gay and I am drawing a naked woman. At the end of the session she dons a robe and comes over to my easel and looks at my work. “Nice! She exclaims, and goes to the bathroom to get dressed.
This feeling of peacefulness is only slightly marred when I find out that next weeks model is a “pole dancing teacher”. I have been thinking for a week how you get to be a pole dancing teacher, and am coming up with interesting ideas. Today is in fact Wednesday and tonight I will draw the pole dancing teacher. I have a feeling she will talk to me and I have a feeling I will tape a line between her thighs at sometime in the evening. What I don’t know is how you become a “pole dancing teacher” and I guess that will be one of the conversations of the night.
My girlfriend and I have entered the post Christmas/pre Spring marathon of waiting out winter. We do this by catching up on TV series. My girlfriend is giddy over Downton Abbey starting this Sunday–I am not. I have chosen a more interesting series to follow:
Set in the 1950s through the early 1960s, the series explores the research and the relationship between Dr. William Masters (Michael Sheen) and Virginia Johnson (Lizzy Caplan), two pioneering researchers of human sexuality at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri.
As noted by the Los Angeles Times television critic, the series “hangs on bones of fact”; “it’s more useful for the viewer to think of it as all made up. Because, mostly, it is, and because to the extent it tells the story of two real people, it also adorns the telling with dramatic practicalities, invented characters and narrative detours. Indeed, it’s down these side streets, casting a brief light on a passing character (patients, prostitutes, provost’s wife), that the show finds many of its best moments.”
What that means is that it is good. Very good. You quickly see how Puritinistic most couples are in the 1950s and realize that no one really knows what’s going on…no one except the gays and lesbians. Homosexuality is brought up quickly and just as quickly you see that gays and lesbians are the only individuals that ask questions and know what they want when they have sex.
I won’t spoil it any more…lets just say that halfway through the first season I have discovered that gays and lesbians are indeed the “Masters of Sex.”
I finally got around to watching all 10 hours of Peter Pan Live and I have to admit, I watched it for all the wrong reasons.
When I was little my mother used to read me the Disney book every night. Each time she would finish I’d cry because I wanted to go to Never Never Land. I thought it was because I never wanted to grow up, but as I watched Christopher Walken forget his lines and hobble through the dance routines it dawned on me…
I thought Peter Pan was hot. I voiced this to my girlfriend who woke up and agreed. Peter looked like a cute baby dyke and was very appealing.
I did some research and it seems they cast Mary Martin as Peter because the other young actors and actresses needed to be of a certain age and a male Peter would look weird. Sandy Duncan and the rest just followed suite.
Now when I have trouble in this troubling world, I’ll just pull out my old Peter Pan book again and I’ll read it from a different point of view. As far as I’m concerned, Peter will always just be a nickname for a sweet young lesbian who never never wants to grow up…