Charcoal is the thing for nudes. If it's done well, nothing else quite captures the form and grace, and the startling eroticism. But it's all or nothing with charcoal - each sweeping line is definitive and can't be undone. I don't really have the skill, so I make do with pencil and a sneaky rubber to correct some of the wilder mistakes. But you still need confidence. And you need the confidence to convince a model to pose in the first place. God, it's worse than asking for a date! Women are flattered and suspicious in equal proportions.
She's an unlikely model. Most men find her attractive, and she is, undeniably... but.. there's something else. More than femininity - some sort of hidden feline strength somehow. A strong woman. I like her a lot.
"What on earth do you mean, 'pose'?" she'd demanded.
"I want to draw you."
"Draw? I didn't know you could draw. What do you draw? You're having me on.."
"No, really, I'm not. What do I draw? Well, birds mostly. Oh stop leering! I mean real birds - birds of prey usually."
I was almost beginning to regret telling her. I was getting embarrassed and she was beginning to enjoy herself because of it.
"So, Mr Bird Man, why do you want to draw me? You don't mean with no bloody clothes on do you?" she added, suspiciously.
I drew a breath and took the plunge. (And this is why you need confidence).
"Well, yes, actually I do." I said, calmly.
It was worth the look on her face.
It took an hour of persuasion, and I had to show her some of my bird paintings to convince her I was actually competent. She refused to commit to going nude though. I know her well enough not to push it.
She'd turned up in jeans and a soft sweater. She'd made an effort with her make-up - I should have told her I wasn't a portrait artist, I was really just after the form of her body. Currently hidden behind a bloody great sweater. Damn.
She looked at me, amused. "So, here I am. What do I do now?"
"Coffee. And relax."
I made the coffee and pointed casually to a large white towel bathrobe. "You can go into the bathroom and get into that. Then come back here and we'll sort the pose and lighting and we'll get started."
Court. Ball. Yours... I thought. She was definitely rattled, not really wanting to acquiesce, but not wanting to refuse either.
"I'm keeping my underwear on." she said abruptly, before snatching the bathrobe and disappearing. I grinned to myself and poured out the coffee.
When she returned I was sorting out my paper and easel and sketch pads industriously. She picked up her coffee and began to drink it, eyeing me cautiously over the rim of the cup.
"Okay," I said, "So... I thought natural light - over there in the window bay on the couch. When you've finished your cup make yourself comfortable and I'll be over to sort out your pose." Her turn to feel embarrassed. I watched the annoyance on her face as she realised that she actually was, then she purposefully strode over to the bay window to hide it. Rain flicked against the window outside.
"Okay. Drop the gown, lay on the cushions, get comfy."
She looked directly at me then defiantly did as I instructed. She wore black briefs and a black laced brassiere. Her blonde hair fell around her neck and she brushed it to one side impatiently. I gestured to the cushions and she lay on the couch, rather stiffly and self consciously.
I eyed her pose critically, assessing the light as it fell on her body through the slats of the venetian blinds, gauging shadows, highlights and lines.
"You won't have to keep perfectly still. Just as long as you keep roughly the same pose, that's fine. If you're too stiff it comes across in the drawing anyway, so I'd rather you didn't freeze up. And we'll take a few breaks - for my sake as well as yours. Its gets quite tiring actually, I tend to get rather absorbed."
She unbent a little. "Oh good. I'll put my hand up if I need the loo, shall I..?"
I smiled at her sarcasm. "We'll see how it goes. Oh and I'm sorry if I sometimes seem a bit... distant. It's actually really difficult to draw and chat at the same time. Uses different parts of the brain, you see. I suppose a woman wouldn't have any problems though.."
"You mean you're going to ignore me throughout. Charming.."
She had a good body. And I could tell she was proud of it. I walked over to her and looked with an artist's eye at how she lay. I bent down and lightly but firmly grasped her lower left leg. She looked down at my hand curiously. Her lips parted slightly.
Ah..
I bent her leg at the knee to the angle that harmonised with her hips and waist and shoulders. I firmly tilted her hips, making my touch of my skin on hers cool and clinical. She said nothing. I measured the pools of light and shadow. Okay. I stepped back to my drawing board and looked across at her. Her eyes gazed at me, alive and now with her usual sardonic humour. She was no longer fazed by the situation.
I wanted to capture that. I wanted to see if I could meld it with her obvious sexuality. Charcoal would have been brilliant. Sighing, I picked up the chisel sharpened pencils and began.
A part of my brain began to shut down as I started to lay down the angles and outline of her body. She faded as a person, and became an arrangement of planes and curves as I worked.
Silently she regarded me. She was never the chatterbox type, one of the other reasons I like her. After a while she broke the silence.
"Will you draw my birthmark?"
She has a small birthmark on her face. By good fortune it isn't disfiguring, in fact it's intriguing and an obvious conversation starter to every man who casually flirts with her. I noted it when I first met her, then after ten minutes forgot about it when it became eclipsed by her personality.
"No, I'm not really going to be drawing your face."
"Oh." She was silent.
"Would you have wanted me to?" I asked, concentrating on her hip line as a talked.
She didn't answer. "Why have you never mentioned it to me? Everyone else does." she demanded, abruptly.
I shrugged. "There were always more important things to say.. Take off your underwear."
Silence again as she weighed up whether to obey. Then, looking impassively at me she slid her briefs down her long legs, and reached behind to unclip her bra.
She had good breasts, not a girl's breasts but they stood to a perfect natural valley. She was shaven, or waxed apart from a trimmed strip of blond hair over her sex.
The black underwear had spoiled the light. I was pleased it was gone. I shut down another part of my brain.
